The Wide, Wide World

With another gracious nod and smile Nancy departed.

"Well," said Mr. Van Brunt, rising, "I'll despatch this business downstairs, and then I'll bring up the sleigh. The pickle's ready, I suppose?"

"No, it ain't," said Miss Fortune. "I couldn't make it yesterday; but it's all in the kettle, and I told Sam to make a fire downstairs, so you can put it on when you go down. The kits are all ready, and the salt and everything else."

Mr. Van Brunt went down the stairs that led to the lower kitchen, and Miss Fortune, to make up for lost time, set about her morning's work with even an uncommon measure of activity. Ellen, in consideration of her being still weak, was not required to do anything. She sat and looked on, keeping out of the way of her bustling aunt as far as it was possible; but Miss Fortune's gyrations were of that character that no one could tell five minutes beforehand what she might consider "in the way." Ellen wished for her quiet room again. Mr. Van Brunt's voice sounded downstairs in tones of business; what could he be about? It must be very uncommon business that kept him in the house. Ellen grew restless with the desire to go and see, and to change her aunt's company for his; and no sooner was Miss Fortune fairly shut up in the buttery at some secret work, than Ellen gently opened the door at the head of the lower stairs and looked down. Mr. Van Brunt was standing at the bottom, and he looked up.

"May I come down there, Mr. Van Brunt?" said Ellen softly.

"Come down here? to be sure you may. You may always come straight where I am without asking any questions."

Ellen went down. But before she reached the bottom stair she stopped with almost a start, and stood fixed with such a horrified face that neither Mr. Van Brunt nor Sam Larkens, who was there, could help laughing.

"What's the matter?" said the former, "they're all dead enough, Miss Ellen; you needn't be scared."

Three enormous hogs which had been killed the day before greeted Ellen's eyes. They lay in different parts of the room, with each a cob in his mouth. A fourth lay stretched upon his back on the kitchen table, which was drawn out into the middle of the floor. Ellen stood fast on the stair.

"Have they been killed?" was her first astonished exclamation, to which Sam responded with another burst.

"Be quiet, Sam Larkens," said Mr. Van Brunt. "Yes, Miss Ellen, they've been killed, sure enough."

"Are these the same pigs I used to see you feeding with corn, Mr. Van Brunt?"

"The identical same ones," replied that gentleman, as laying hold of the head of the one on the table and applying his long sharp knife with the other hand, he, while he was speaking, severed it neatly and quickly from the trunk. "And very fine porkers they are; I ain't ashamed of 'em."

"And what's going to be done with them now?" said Ellen.

"I am just going to cut them up and lay them down. Bless my heart! you never see nothing of the kind before, did you?"

"No," said Ellen. "What do you mean by 'laying them down,' Mr. Van Brunt?"

"Why, laying 'em down in salt for pork and hams. You want to see the whole operation, don't you? Well, here's a seat for you. You'd better fetch that painted coat o' yourn and wrap round you, for it ain't quite so warm here as upstairs; but it's getting warmer. Sam, just you shut that door to, and throw on another log."

Sam built up as large a fire as could be made under a very large kettle that hung in the chimney. When Ellen came down in her wrapper she was established close in the chimney corner; and then Mr. Van Brunt, not thinking her quite safe from the keen currents of air that would find their way into the room, despatched Sam for an old buffalo robe that lay in the shed. This he himself, with great care, wrapped round her, feet and chair and all, and secured it in various places with old forks. He declared then she looked for all the world like an Indian, except her face, and in high good-humour both, he went to cutting up the pork, and Ellen, from out of her buffalo robe, watched him.

It was beautifully done. Even Ellen could see that, although she could not have known if it had been done ill. The knife, guided by strength and skill, seemed to go with the greatest ease and certainty just where he wished it; the hams were beautifully trimmed out; the pieces fashioned clean; no ragged cutting; and his quick-going knife disposed of carcase after carcase with admirable neatness and celerity. Sam meanwhile arranged the pieces in different parcels at his direction, and minded the kettle, in which a great boiling and scumming was going on. Ellen was too much amused for a while to ask any questions. When the cutting up was all done, the hams and shoulders were put in a cask by themselves, and Mr. Van Brunt began to pack down the other pieces in the kits, strewing them with an abundance of salt.

"What's the use of putting all that salt with the pork, Mr. Van Brunt?" said Ellen.

"It wouldn't keep good without that; it would spoil very quick."

"Will the salt make it keep?"

"All the year round – as sweet as a nut."

"I wonder what is the reason of that?" said Ellen. "Will salt make everything keep good?"

"Everything in the world – if it only has enough of it, and is kept dry and cool."

"Are you going to do the hams in the same way?"

"No; they are to go in that pickle over the fire."

"In this kettle? what is in it?" said Ellen.

"You must ask Miss Fortune about that; sugar and salt and saltpetre and molasses, and I don't know what all."

"And will this make the hams so different from the rest of the pork?"

"No; they've got to be smoked after they have laid in that for a while."

"Smoked!" said Ellen; "how?"

"Why, ha'n't you been in the smoke-house? The hams has to be taken out of the pickle and hung up there; and then we make a little fire of oak chips and keep it burning night and day."

"And how long must they stay in the smoke?"

"Oh, three or four weeks or so."

"And then they are done?"

"Then they are done."

"How very curious!" said Ellen. "Then it's the smoke that gives them that nice taste? I never knew smoke was good for anything before."

"Ellen!" said the voice of Miss Fortune from the top of the stairs, "come right up here this minute! you'll catch your death!"

Ellen's countenance fell.

"There's no sort of fear of that, ma'am," said Mr. Van Brunt quietly, "and Miss Ellen is fastened up so she can't get loose; and I can't let her out just now."

The upper door was shut again pretty sharply, but that was the only audible expression of opinion with which Miss Fortune favoured them.

"I guess my leather curtains keep off the wind, don't they?" said Mr. Van Brunt.

"Yes, indeed they do," said Ellen, "I don't feel a breath; I am as warm as a toast, too warm almost. How nicely you have fixed me up, Mr. Van Brunt."

"I thought that 'ere old buffalo had done its work," he said, "but I'll never say anything is good for nothing again. Have you found out where the apples are yet?"

"No," said Ellen.

"Ha'n't Miss Fortune showed you? Well, it's time you'd know. Sam, take that little basket and go fill it at the bin; I guess you know where they be, for I believe you put 'em there."

Sam went into the cellar, and presently returned with the basket nicely filled. He handed it to Ellen.

"Are all these for me?" she said in surprise.

"Every one of 'em," said Mr. Van Brunt.