The Wide, Wide World

"Take care, dear Ellen, don't take up the trade of suspecting evil; you could not take up a worse; and even when it is forced upon you, see as little of it as you can, and forget as soon as you can what you see. Your aunt, it may be, is not a very happy person, and no one can tell but those that are unhappy how hard it is not to be unamiable too. Return good for evil as fast as you can; and you will soon either have nothing to complain of or be very well able to bear it."

They now began to go up the mountain, and the path became in places steep and rugged enough. "There is an easier way on the other side," said Alice, "but this is the nearest for us." Captain Parry now showed signs of being decidedly weary, and permitted Alice to take him up. But he presently mounted from her arms to her shoulder, and to Ellen's great amusement kept his place there, passing from one shoulder to the other, and every now and then sticking his nose up into her bonnet as if to kiss her.

"What does he do that for?" said Ellen.

"Because he loves me and is pleased," said Alice. "Put your ear close, Ellen, and hear the quiet way he is purring to himself – do you hear? – that's his way; he very seldom purrs aloud."

"He's a very funny cat," said Ellen, laughing.

"Cat," said Alice – "there isn't such a cat as this to be seen. He's a cat to be respected, my old Captain Parry. He is not to be laughed at, Ellen, I can tell you."

The travellers went on with goodwill; but the path was so steep and the way so long, that when about half way up the mountain they were fain to follow the example of their four-footed companion, and rest themselves. They sat down on the ground. They had warmed themselves with walking, but the weather was as chill and disagreeable and gusty as ever; every now and then the wind came sweeping by, catching up the dried leaves at their feet and whirling and scattering them off to a distance – winter's warning voice.

"I never was in the country before when the leaves were off the trees," said Ellen. "It isn't so pretty, Miss Alice, do you think so?"

"So pretty? No, I suppose not, if we were to have it all the while; but I like the change very much."

"Do you like to see the leaves off the trees?"

"Yes – in the time of it. There's beauty in the leafless trees that you cannot see in summer. Just look, Ellen – no, I cannot find you a nice specimen here, they grow too thick; but where they have room the way the branches spread and ramify, or branch out again, is most beautiful. There's first the trunk – then the large branches – then those divide into smaller ones; and those part and part again into smaller and smaller twigs, till you are canopied as it were with a network of fine stems. And when the snow falls gently on them – Oh, Ellen, winter has its own beauties. I love it all; the cold, and the wind, and the snow, and the bare forests, and our little river of ice. What pleasant sleigh-rides to church I have had upon that river. And then the evergreens – look at them; you don't know in summer how much they are worth; wait till you see the hemlock branches bending with a weight of snow, and then if you don't say the winter is beautiful, I'll give you up as a young lady of bad taste."

"I dare say I shall," said Ellen; "I am sure I shall like what you like. But, Miss Alice, what makes the leaves fall when the cold weather comes?"

"A very pretty question, Ellen, and one that can't be answered in a breath."

"I asked Aunt Fortune the other day," said Ellen, laughing very heartily – "and she told me to hush up and not be a fool; and I told her I really wanted to know, and she said she wouldn't make herself a simpleton if she was in my place; so I thought I might as well be quiet."

"By the time the cold weather comes, Ellen, the leaves have done their work and are no more needed. Do you know what work they have to do? – do you know what is the use of leaves?"

"Why, for prettiness, I suppose," said Ellen, "and to give shade – I don't know anything else."

"Shade is one of their uses, no doubt, and prettiness too; He who made the trees made them 'pleasant to the eyes' as well as 'good for food.' So we have an infinite variety of leaves; one shape would have done the work just as well for every kind of tree, but then we should have lost a great deal of pleasure. But, Ellen, the tree could not live without leaves. In the spring the thin sap which the roots suck up from the ground is drawn into the leaves; there by the help of the sun and air it is thickened and prepared in a way you cannot understand, and goes back to supply the wood with the various matters necessary for its growth and hardness. After this has gone on some time the little vessels of the leaves become clogged and stopped up with earthy and other matter; they cease to do their work any longer; the hot sun dries them up more and more, and by the time the frost comes they are as good as dead. That finishes them, and they drop off from the branch that needs them no more. Do you understand all this?"

"Yes, ma'am, very well," said Ellen; "and it's exactly what I wanted to know, and very curious. So the trees couldn't live without leaves?"

"No more than you could without a heart and lungs."

"I am very glad to know that," said Ellen. "Then how is it with the evergreens, Miss Alice? Why don't their leaves die and drop off too?"

"They do; look how the ground is carpeted under that pine tree."

"But they stay green all winter, don't they?"

"Yes; their leaves are fitted to resist frost; I don't know what the people in cold countries would do else. They have the fate of all other leaves, however; they live awhile, do their work, and then die; not all at once, though; there is always a supply left on the tree. Are we rested enough to begin again?"

"I am," said Ellen; "I don't know about the Captain. Poor fellow! he's fast asleep. I declare it's too bad to wake you up, pussy. Haven't we had a pleasant little rest, Miss Alice? I have learnt something while we have been sitting here."

"That is pleasant, Ellen," said Alice, as they began their upward march – "I would I might be all the while learning something."

"But you have been teaching, Miss Alice, and that's as good. Mamma used to say it is more blessed to give than to receive."

"Thank you, Ellen," said Alice, smiling; "that ought to satisfy me certainly."

They bent themselves against the steep hill again and pressed on. As they rose higher they felt it grow more cold and bleak; the woods gave them less shelter, and the wind swept round the mountain head and over them with great force, making their way quite difficult.

"Courage, Ellen!" said Alice, as they struggled on; "we'll soon be there."

"I wonder," said the panting Ellen, as making an effort she came up alongside of Alice – "I wonder why Mrs. Vawse will live in such a disagreeable place."

"It is not disagreeable to her, Ellen; though I must say I should not like to have too much of this wind."

"But does she really like to live up here better than down below where it is warmer? – and all alone too?"

"Yes, she does. Ask her why, Ellen, and see what she will tell you. She likes it so much better that this little cottage was built on purpose for her ten years ago, by a good old friend of hers, a connection of the lady whom she followed to this country."

"Well," said Ellen, "she must have a queer taste – that is all I can say."

They were now within a few easy steps of the house, which did not look so uncomfortable when they came close to it. It was small and low, of only one storey, though it is true the roof ran up very steep to a high and sharp gable. It was perched so snugly in a niche of the hill that the little yard was completely sheltered with a high wall of rock. The house itself stood out more boldly, and caught pretty well near all the winds that blew; but so, Alice informed Ellen, the inmate likes to have it.

"And that roof," said Alice, "she begged Mr. Marshman when the cottage was building that the roof might be high and pointed; she said her eyes were tired with the low roofs of this country, and if he would have it made so it would be a great relief to them."

The odd roof Ellen thought was pretty. But they now reached the door, protected with a deep porch. Alice entered and knocked at the other door. They were bade to come in. A woman was there stepping briskly back and forth before a large spinning-wheel. She half turned her head to see who the comers were, then stopped her wheel instantly, and came to meet them with open arms.

"Miss Alice! dear Miss Alice, how glad I am to see you."

"And I you, dear Mrs. Vawse," said Alice, kissing her. "Here's another friend you must welcome for my sake – little Ellen Montgomery."

"I am very glad to see Miss Ellen," said the old woman, kissing her also; and Ellen did not shrink from the kiss, so pleasant were the lips that tendered it; so kind and frank the smile, so winning the eye; so agreeable the whole air of the person. She turned from Ellen again to Miss Alice.

"It's a long while that I have not seen you, dear – not since you went to Mrs. Marshman's. And what a day you have chosen to come at last!"

"I can't help that," said Alice, pulling off her bonnet, "I couldn't wait any longer. I wanted to see you dolefully, Mrs. Vawse."

"Why, my dear? what's the matter? I have wanted to see you, but not dolefully."

"That's the very thing, Mrs. Vawse; I wanted to see you to get a lesson of quiet contentment."

"I never thought you wanted such a lesson, Miss Alice. What's the matter?"

"I can't get over John's going away."

Her lip trembled and her eye was swimming as she said so. The old woman passed her hands over the gentle head and kissed her brow.

"So I thought – so I felt, when my mistress died; and my husband; and my sons, one after the other. But now I think I can say with Paul, 'I have learned in whatsoever state I am therewith to be content.' I think so; maybe that I deceive myself; but they are all gone, and I am certain that I am content now."

"Then surely I ought to be," said Alice.

"It is not till one looses one's hold of other things and looks to Jesus alone that one finds how much He can do. 'There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother;' but I never knew all that meant till I had no other friends to lean upon; nay, I should not say no other friends; but my dearest were taken away. You have your dearest still, Miss Alice."