The Wide, Wide World

At last came ten o'clock and the young ones were sent off; and from beginning to end that had been a Christmas day of unbroken and unclouded pleasure. Ellen's last act was to take another look at her Cologne bottle, gloves, pin-cushion, grapes, and paper of sugar-plums, which were laid side by side carefully in a drawer.

CHAPTER XXX

But though life's valley be a vale of tears,
A brighter scene beyond that vale appears,
Whose glory, with a light that never fades,
Shoots between scattered rocks and opening shades.

    – Cowper.

Mr. Humphreys was persuaded to stay over Sunday at Ventnor; and it was also settled that his children should not leave it till after New Year. This was less their own wish than his; he said Alice wanted the change, and he wished she looked a little fatter. Besides the earnest pleading of the whole family was not to be denied. Ellen was very glad of this, though there was one drawback to the pleasures of Ventnor – she could not feel quite at home with any of the young people, but only Ellen Chauncey and her cousin George Walsh. This seemed very strange to her; she almost thought Margaret Dunscombe was at the bottom of it all, but she recollected she had felt something of this before Margaret came. She tried to think nothing about it; and in truth it was not able to prevent her from being very happy. The breach, however, was destined to grow wider.

About four miles from Ventnor was a large town called Randolph. Thither they drove to church Sunday morning, the whole family; but the hour of dinner and the distance prevented any one from going in the afternoon. The members of the family were scattered in different parts of the house, most in their own rooms. Ellen with some difficulty made her escape from her young companions, whose manner of spending the time did not satisfy her notions of what was right on that day, and went to look in the library for her friends. They were there, and alone; Alice half reclining on the sofa, half in her brother's arms; he was reading or talking to her; there was a book in his hand.

"Is anything the matter?" said Ellen, as she drew near; "aren't you well, dear Alice? – Headache? oh, I am sorry. Oh! I know – "

She darted away. In two minutes she was back again with a pleased face, her bunch of grapes in one hand, her bottle of Cologne water in the other.

"Won't you open that, please, Mr. John," said she; "I can't open it; I guess it will do her good, for Ellen says it's delicious. Mamma used to have Cologne water for her headaches. And here, dear Alice, won't you eat these? – do! – try one."

"Hasn't that bottle been open yet?" said Alice, as she smilingly took a grape.

"Why, no, to be sure it hasn't. I wasn't going to open it till I wanted it. Eat them all, dear Alice, please do!"

"But I don't think you have eaten one yourself, Ellen, by the look of the bunch. And here are a great many too many for me."

"Yes, I have, I've eaten two; I don't want 'em. I give them all to you and Mr. John. I had a great deal rather!"

Ellen took, however, as precious payment Alice's look and kiss; and then with a delicate consciousness that perhaps the brother and sister might like to be alone, she left the library. She did not know where to go, for Miss Sophia was stretched on the bed in her room, and she did not want any company. At last with her little Bible she placed herself on the old sofa in the hall above stairs, which was perfectly well warmed, and for some time she was left there in peace. It was pleasant, after all the hubbub of the morning, to have a little quiet time that seemed like Sunday; and the sweet Bible words came, as they often now came to Ellen, with a healing breath. But after half-an-hour or so, to her dismay she heard a door open, and the whole gang of children came trooping into the hall below, where they soon made such a noise that reading or thinking was out of the question.

"What a bother it is that one can't play games on a Sunday!" said Marianne Gillespie.

"One can play games on a Sunday," answered her brother, "Where's the odds? It's all Sunday's good for, I think."

"William! William!" sounded the shocked voice of little Ellen Chauncey, "you're a real wicked boy!"

"Well now!" said William, "how am I wicked? Now say, I should like to know. How is it any more wicked for us to play games than it is for Aunt Sophia to lie abed and sleep, or for Uncle Howard to read novels, or for grandpa to talk politics, or for mother to talk about the fashions? – there was she and Miss What's-her-name for ever so long this morning doing everything but make a dress. Now, which is the worst?"

"Oh, William! William! for shame! for shame!" said little Ellen again.

"Do hush, Ellen Chauncey! will you?" said Marianne sharply; "and you had better hush too, William, if you know what is good for yourself. I don't care whether it's right or wrong, I do get dolefully tired with doing nothing."

"Oh, so do I!" said Margaret, yawning. "I wish one could sleep all Sunday."

"I'll tell you what," said George, "I know a game we can play, and no harm, either, for it's all out of the Bible."

"Oh, do you? let's hear it, George," cried the girls.

"I don't believe it's good for anything if it is out of the Bible," said Margaret. "Now stare, Ellen Chauncey, do!"

"I ain't staring," said Ellen indignantly, "but I don't believe it is right to play it, if it is out of the Bible."

"Well, it is though," said George. "Now listen; I'll think of somebody in the Bible, some man or woman, you know; and you may all ask me twenty questions about him to see if you can find out who it is."

"What kind of questions?"

"Any kind of questions, whatever you like."

"That will improve your knowledge of Scripture history," said Gilbert.

"To be sure; and exercise our memory," said Isabel Hawthorn.

"Yes, and then we are thinking of good people and what they did all the time," said little Ellen.

"Or bad people and what they did," said William.

"But I don't know enough about people and things in the Bible," said Margaret; "I couldn't guess."

"Oh, never mind; it will be all the more fun," said George. "Come! let's begin. Who'll take somebody?"

"Oh, I think this will be fine!" said little Ellen Chauncey; "but Ellen – where's Ellen? we want her."

"No, we don't want her! we've enough without her; she won't play!" shouted William, as the little girl ran upstairs. She persevered, however. Ellen had left her sofa before this, and was found seated on the foot of her bed. As far and as long as she could she withstood her little friend's entreaties, and very unwillingly at last yielded and went with her downstairs.

"Now we are ready," said little Ellen Chauncey; "I have told Ellen what the game is; who's going to begin?"

"We have begun," said William. "Gilbert has thought of somebody. Man or woman?"

"Man."

"Young or old?"

"Why, he was young first and old afterwards."

"Pshaw, William! what a ridiculous question," said his sister. "Besides, you mustn't ask more than one at a time. Rich or poor, Gilbert?"

"Humph! why, I suppose he was moderately well off. I dare say I should think myself a lucky fellow if I had as much."

"Are you answering truly, Gilbert?"

"Upon my honour!"

"Was he in a high or low station of life?" asked Miss Hawthorn.

"Neither at the top nor the bottom of the ladder – a very respectable person indeed."

"But we are not getting on," said Margaret. "According to you he wasn't anything in particular; what kind of a person was he, Gilbert?"

"A very good man."