The Wide, Wide World

"I'll tell you what they are going to do with 'em," said George Walsh, coming up to her with a mischievous face, and adding in a loud whisper, shielding his mouth with his hand; "they're going to make pr – "

He was laid hold of forcibly by the whole party screaming and laughing, and stopped short from finishing his speech.

"Well then, I'll take my departure," said Miss Sophia; "but how will you manage to divide all these scraps?"

"Suppose we were to put them in the bag again, and you hold the bag, and we were to draw them out without looking," said Ellen Chauncey, "as we used to do with the sugar-plums."

As no better plan was thought of this was agreed upon, and little Ellen, shutting up her eyes very tight, stuck in her hand and pulled out a little bit of green morocco about the size of a dollar. Ellen Montgomery came next; then Margaret, then Marianne, then their mutual friend Isabel Hawthorn. Each had to take her turn a great many times, and at the end of the drawing the pieces were found to be pretty equally divided among the party, with the exception of Ellen, who, besides several other good pieces, had drawn the famous blue.

"That will do very nicely," said little Ellen Chauncey; "I am glad you have got that, Ellen. Now, Aunt Sophy! one thing more – you know the silks and ribbons you promised us."

"Bless me! I haven't done yet, eh? Well, you shall have them, but we are all going out to walk now; I'll give them to you this afternoon. Come! put these away, and get on your bonnets and cloaks."

A hard measure! but it was done. After the walk came dinner; after dinner Aunt Sophia had to be found and waited on, till she had fairly sought out and delivered to their hands the wished-for bundles of silks and satins. It gave great satisfaction.

"But how shall we do about dividing these?" said little Ellen; "shall we draw lots again?"

"No, Ellen," said Marianne, "that won't do, because we might every one get just the things we do not want. I want one colour or stuff to go with my morocco, and you want another to go with yours; and you might get mine and I might get yours. We had best each choose in turn what we like, beginning at Isabel."

"Very well," said little Ellen, "I'm agreed."

"Anything for a quiet life," said George Walsh.

But this business of choosing was found to be very long and very difficult, each one was so fearful of not taking the exact piece she wanted most. The elder members of the family began to gather for dinner, and several came and stood round the table where the children were, little noticed by them, they were so wrapped up in silks and satins. Ellen seemed the least interested person at the table, and had made her selections with the least delay and difficulty; and now, as it was not her turn, sat very soberly looking on with her head resting on her hand.

"I declare it's too vexatious!" said Margaret Dunscombe; "here I've got this beautiful piece of blue satin, and can't do anything with it; it just matches that blue morocco – it's a perfect match – I could have made a splendid thing of it, and I have got some cord and tassels that would just do – I declare it's too bad."

Ellen's colour changed.

"Well, choose, Margaret," said Marianne.

"I don't know what to choose – that's the thing. What can one do with red and purple morocco and blue satin? I might as well give up. I've a great notion to take this piece of yellow satin and dress up a Turkish doll to frighten the next young one I meet with."

"I wish you would, Margaret, and give it to me when it's done," cried little Ellen Chauncey.

"Tain't made yet," said the other dryly.

Ellen's colour had changed and changed; her hand twitched nervously, and she glanced uneasily from Margaret's store of finery to her own.

"Come, choose, Margaret," said Ellen Chauncey; "I dare say Ellen wants the blue morocco as much as you do."

"No, I don't!" said Ellen abruptly, throwing it over the table to her; "take it, Margaret, you may have it."

"What do you mean?" said the other astounded.

"I mean you may have it," said Ellen; "I don't want it."

"Well, I'll tell you what," said the other, "I'll give you yellow satin for it – or some of my red morocco?"

"No, I had rather not," repeated Ellen; "I don't want it – you may have it."

"Very generously done," remarked Miss Sophia; "I hope you'll all take a lesson in the art of being obliging."

"Quite a noble little girl," said Mrs. Gillespie.

Ellen crimsoned. "No, ma'am, I'm not indeed," she said, looking at them with eyes that were filling fast, "please don't say so – I don't deserve it."

"I shall say what I think, my dear," said Mrs. Gillespie, smiling, "but I'm glad you add the grace of modesty to that of generosity; it is the more uncommon of the two."

"I am not modest! I am not generous! you mustn't say so," cried Ellen. She struggled; the blood rushed to the surface, suffusing every particle of skin that could be seen; then left it, as with eyes cast down she went on – "I don't deserve to be praised! it was more Margaret's than mine. I oughtn't to have kept it at all, for I saw a little bit when I put my hand in. I didn't mean to, but I did!"

Raising her eyes hastily to Alice's face, they met those of John, who was standing behind her. She had not counted upon him for one of her listeners; she knew Mrs. Gillespie, Mrs. Chauncey, Miss Sophia, and Alice had heard her, but this was the one drop too much. Her head sank; she covered her face a moment, and then made her escape out of the room before even Ellen could follow her.

There was a moment's silence. Alice seemed to have some difficulty not to follow Ellen's example. Margaret pouted; Mrs. Chauncey's eyes filled with tears, and her little daughter seemed divided between doubt and dismay. Her first move, however, was to run off in pursuit of Ellen. Alice went after her.

"Here's a beautiful example of honour and honesty for you!" said Margaret Dunscombe, at length.

"I think it is," said John quietly.

"An uncommon instance," said Mrs. Chauncey.

"I'm glad everybody thinks so," said Margaret sullenly; "I hope I shan't copy it, that's all."

"I think you are in no danger," said John again.

"Very well," said Margaret, who, between her desire of speaking and her desire of concealing her vexation, did not know what to do with herself; "everybody must judge for himself, I suppose; I've got enough of her, for my part."

"Where did you ever see her before?" said Isabel Hawthorn.

"Oh, she came up the river with us – mamma had to take care of her – she was with us two days."

"And didn't you like her?"

"No, I guess I didn't! she was a perfect plague. All the day on board the steamboat she scarcely came near us; we couldn't pretend to keep sight of her; mamma had to send her maid out to look after her I don't know how many times. She scraped acquaintance with some strange man on board, and liked his company better than ours, for she stayed with him the whole blessed day, waking and sleeping: of course mamma didn't like it at all. She didn't go a single meal with us; you know of course that wasn't proper behaviour."

"No, indeed," said Isabel.

"I suppose," said John coolly, "she chose the society she thought the pleasantest Probably Miss Margaret's politeness was more than she had been accustomed to."

Margaret coloured, not quite knowing what to make of the speaker or his speech.

"It would take much to make me believe," said gentle Mrs. Chauncey, "that a child of such refined and delicate feeling as that little girl evidently has, could take pleasure in improper company."

Margaret had a reply at her tongue's end, but she had also an uneasy feeling that there were eyes not far off too keen of sight to be baffled; she kept silence till the group dispersed, and she had an opportunity of whispering in Marianne's ear that "that was the very most disagreeable man she had ever seen in her life."

"What a singular fancy you have taken to this little pet of Alice's, Mr. John," said Mrs. Marshman's youngest daughter. "You quite surprise me."

"Did you think me a misanthrope, Miss Sophia?"