The Wide, Wide World

"Very well," said John. "I see you understand me. I like to think of that land, Ellen – very much."

"Mr. John," said Ellen, "don't you think people will know each other again?"

"Those that love each other here? I have no doubt of it."

Before either John or Ellen had broken the long musing fit that followed these words, they were joined by Alice. Her head was better; and taking her place in the window-seat, the talk began again, between the brother and sister now; Ellen too happy to sit with them and listen. They talked of that land again, of the happy company preparing for it; of their dead mother, but not much of her; of the glory of their King, and the joy of His service, even here – till thoughts grew too strong for words, and silence again stole upon the group. The short winter day came to an end; the sunlight faded away into moonlight. No shadows lay now on the lawn; and from where she sat Ellen could see the great hemlock all silvered with the moonlight which began to steal in at the window. It was very, very beautiful: yet she could think now without sorrow that all this should come to an end, because of that new heaven and new earth wherein righteousness should dwell.

"We have eaten up all your grapes, Ellie," said Alice, "or rather I have, for John didn't help me much. I think I never ate so sweet grapes in my life. John said the reason was because every one tasted of you."

"I am very glad," said Ellen, laughing.

"There is no evil without some good," Alice went on; "except for my headache, John would not have held my head by the hour as he did; and you couldn't have given me the pleasure you did, Ellie. Oh, Jack! there has been many a day lately when I would gladly have had a headache for the power of laying my head on your shoulder."

"And if mamma had not gone away I should never have known you," said Ellen. "I wish she never had gone, but I am very, very glad for this."

She had kneeled upon the window-seat and clasped Alice round the neck, just as they were called to tea. The conversation had banished every disagreeable feeling from Ellen's mind. She met her companions in the drawing-room, almost forgetting that she had any cause of complaint against them. And this appeared when in the course of the evening it came in her way to perform some little office of politeness for Marianne. It was done with the gracefulness that could only come from a spirit entirely free from ungrateful feelings. The children felt it, and for the time were shamed into better behaviour. The evening passed pleasantly, and Ellen went to bed very happy.

CHAPTER XXXI

The ancient heroes were illustrious,
For being benign, and not blustrous.

    – Hudibras.

The next day it happened that the young people were amusing themselves with talking in a room where John Humphreys, walking up and down, was amusing himself with thinking. In the course of his walk, he began to find their amusement rather disturbing to his. The children were all grouped closely around Margaret Dunscombe, who was entertaining them with a long and very detailed account of a wedding and great party at Randolph which she had had the happiness of attending. Eagerly fighting her battles over again, and pleased with the rapt attention of her hearers, the speaker forgot herself, and raised her voice much more than she meant to do. As every turn of his walk brought John near, there came to his ears sufficient bits and scraps of Margaret's story to give him a very fair sample of the whole; and he was sorry to see Ellen among the rest, and as the rest, hanging upon her lips and drinking in what seemed to him to be very poor nonsense. "Her gown was all blue satin, trimmed here – and so – you know, with the most exquisite lace, as deep as that – and on the shoulders and here – you know, it was looped up with the most lovely bunches of" – here John lost the sense. When he came near again she had got upon a different topic – "'Miss Simmons,' says I, 'what did you do that for?' 'Why,' says she, 'how could I help it? I saw Mr. Payne coming, and I thought I'd get behind you, and so – .'" The next time the speaker was saying with great animation, "And lo, and behold, when I was in the midst of all my pleasure, up comes a little gentleman of about his dimensions – ." He had not taken many turns when he saw that Margaret's nonsense was branching out right and left into worse than nonsense.

"Ellen," said he suddenly, "I want you in the library."

"My conscience!" said Margaret as he left the room, "King John the Second, and no less."

"Don't go on till I come back," said Ellen. "I won't be three minutes. Just wait for me."

She found John seated at one of the tables in the library, sharpening a pencil.

"Ellen," said he, in his usual manner, "I want you to do something for me."

She waited eagerly to hear what, but instead of telling her he took a piece of drawing-paper and began to sketch something. Ellen stood by, wondering and impatient, to the last degree; not caring, however, to show her impatience, though her very feet were twitching to run back to her companions.

"Ellen," said John, as he finished the old stump of a tree with one branch left on it, and a little bit of ground at the bottom, "did you ever try your hand at drawing?"

"No," said Ellen.

"Then sit down here," said he, rising from his chair, "and let me see what you can make of that."

"But I don't know how," said Ellen.

"I will teach you. There is a piece of paper, and this pencil is sharp enough. Is that chair too low for you?"

He placed another, and with extreme unwillingness and some displeasure Ellen sat down. It was on her tongue to ask if another time would not do, but somehow she could not get the words out. John showed her how to hold her pencil, how to place her paper, where to begin, and how to go on; and then went to the other end of the room and took up his walk again. Ellen at first felt more inclined to drive her pencil through the paper than to make quiet marks upon it. However necessity was upon her. She began her work, and once fairly begun, it grew delightfully interesting. Her vexation went off entirely; she forgot Margaret and her story; the wrinkles on the old trunk smoothed those on her brow, and those troublesome leaves at the branch end brushed away all thoughts of everything else. Her cheeks were burning with intense interest, when the library door burst open and the whole troop of children rushed in; they wanted Ellen for a round game in which all their number were needed; and she must come directly.

"I can't come just yet," said she; "I must finish this first."

"Afterwards will just do as well," said George; "come, Ellen, do! you can finish it afterwards."

"No, I can't," said Ellen; "I can't leave it till it's done. Why, I thought Mr. John was here! I didn't see him go out. I'll come in a little while."

"Did he set you about that precious piece of business?" said William.

"Yes."

"I declare," said Margaret, "he's fitter to be the Grand Turk than any one else I know of."

"I'll tell you," said William, putting his mouth close to her ear, and speaking in a disagreeable loud whisper, "it's the biggest gobbler in the yard."

"Ain't you ashamed, William?" cried little Ellen Chauncey.

"That's it exactly," said Margaret; "always strutting about."

"He isn't a bit," said Ellen, very angry; "I've seen people a great deal more like gobblers than he is."

"Well," said William, reddening in his turn, "I had rather, at any rate, be a good turkey gobbler than one of those outlandish birds that have an appetite for stones and glass and bits of morocco, and such things. Come, let us leave her to do the Grand Turk's bidding. Come, Ellen Chauncey, you mustn't stay to interrupt her; we want you!"

They left her alone. Ellen had coloured, but William's words did not hit very sore. Since John's talk with her about the matter referred to she had thought of it humbly and wisely; it is only pride that makes such fault-finding very hard to bear. She was very sorry, however, that they had fallen out again, and that her own passion, as she feared, had been the cause. A few tears had to be wiped away before she could see exactly how the old tree stood; then, taking up her pencil, she soon forgot everything in her work. It was finished, and with head now on one side, now on the other, she was looking at her picture with very great satisfaction, when her eye caught the figure of John standing before her.

"Is it done?" said he.

"It is done," said Ellen, smiling, as she rose up to let him come. He sat down to look at it.

"It is very well," he said; "better than I expected. It is very well indeed. Is this your first trial, Ellen?"

"Yes, the first."

"You found it pleasant work?"

"Oh, very! very pleasant. I like it dearly."

"Then I will teach you. This shows you have a taste for it, and that is precisely what I wanted to find out. I will give you an easier copy next time. I rather expected when you sat down," said he, smiling a little, "that the old tree would grow a good deal more crooked under your hands than I meant it to be."

Ellen blushed exceedingly. "I do believe, Mr. John," she said, stammering, "that you know everything I am thinking about."

"I might do that, Ellen, without being as wise as an oracle. But I do not expect to make any very painful discoveries in that line," answered John Humphreys.

Ellen thought, if he did not, it would not be her fault. She truly repented her momentary anger and hasty speech to William. Not that he did not deserve it, or that it was not true; but it was unwise, and had done mischief, and "it was not a bit like peacemaking, nor meek at all," Ellen said to herself. She had been reading that morning the fifth chapter of Matthew, and it ran in her head, "Blessed are the meek;" "Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God." She strove to get back a pleasant feeling toward her young companions, and prayed that she might not be angry at anything they should say. She was tried again at tea-time.

Miss Sophia had quitted the table, bidding William hand the dough-nuts to those who could not reach them. Marianne took a great while to make her choice. Her brother grew impatient.

"Well, I hope you have suited yourself," said he. "Come, Miss Montgomery, don't you be as long; my arm is tired. Shut your eyes, and then you'll be sure to get the biggest one in the basket."