The Wide, Wide World

"No, Ellen," said John, who none of the children thought was near, "it would be ungenerous; I wouldn't deprive Master William of his best arguments."

"What do you mean by my arguments?" said William sharply.

"Generally, those which are the most difficult to take in," answered his tormentor, with perfect gravity.

Ellen tried to keep from smiling, but could not; and others of the party did not try. William and his sister were enraged, the more because John had said nothing they could take hold of, or even repeat. Gilbert made common cause with them.

"I wish I was grown up for once," said William.

"Will you fight me, sir?" asked Gilbert, who was a matter of three years older, and well grown enough.

His question received no answer, and was repeated.

"No, sir."

"Why not, sir?"

"I am afraid you'd lay me up with a sprained ankle," said John, "and I should not get back to Doncaster as quickly as I must."

"It is very mean of him," said Gilbert, as John walked away; "I could whip him, I know."

"Who's that?" said Mr. Howard Marshman.

"John Humphreys."

"John Humphreys! You had better not meddle with him, my dear fellow. It would be no particular proof of wisdom."

"Why, he's no such great affair," said Gilbert; "he is tall enough, to be sure, but I don't believe he is heavier than I am."

"You don't know, in the first place, how to judge of the size of a perfectly well-made man; and in the second place, I was not a match for him a year ago; so you may judge. I do not know precisely," he went on to the lady he was walking with, "what it takes to rouse John Humphreys, but when he is roused, he seems to me to have strength enough for twice his bone and muscle. I have seen him do curious things once or twice!"

"That quiet Mr. Humphreys?"

"Humph!" said Mr. Howard; "gunpowder is pretty quiet stuff so long as it keeps cool."

The next day another matter happened to disturb Ellen. Margaret had received an elegant pair of ear-rings as a Christmas present, and was showing them for the admiration of her young friends. Ellen's did not satisfy her.

"Ain't they splendid?" said she. "Tell the truth now, Ellen Montgomery, wouldn't you give a great deal if somebody would send you such a pair?"

"They are very pretty," said Ellen, "but I don't think I care much for such things; I would rather have the money."

"Oh, you avaricious! Mr. Marshman!" cried Margaret, as the old gentleman was just then passing through the room, "here's Ellen Montgomery says she'd rather have money than anything else for her present."

He did not seem to hear her, and went out without making any reply.

"O Margaret!" said Ellen, shocked and distressed, "how could you! how could you! What will Mr. Marshman think?"

Margaret answered she didn't care what he thought. Ellen could only hope he had not heard.

But a day or two after, when neither Ellen nor her friends were present, Mr. Marshman asked who it was that had told him Ellen Montgomery would like money better than anything else for her New Year's present.

"It was I, sir," said Margaret.

"It sounds very unlike her to say so," remarked Mrs. Chauncey.

"Did she say so?" inquired Mr. Marshman.

"I understood her so," said Margaret; "I understood her to say she wouldn't care for anything else."

"I am disappointed in her," said the old gentleman; "I wouldn't have believed it."

"I do not believe it," said Mrs. Chauncey quietly; "there has been some mistake."

It was hard for Ellen now to keep to what she thought right. Disagreeable feelings would rise when she remembered the impoliteness, the half-sneer, the whole taunt, and the real unkindness of several of the young party. She found herself ready to be irritated, inclined to dislike the sight of those, even wishing to visit some sort of punishment upon them. But Christian principle had taken strong hold in little Ellen's heart; she fought her evil tempers manfully. It was not an easy battle to gain. Ellen found that resentment and pride had roots deep enough to keep her pulling up the shoots for a good while. She used to get alone when she could, to read a verse, if no more, of her Bible, and pray; she could forgive William and Margaret more easily then. Solitude and darkness saw many a prayer and tear of hers that week. As she struggled thus to get rid of sin, and to be more like what would please God, she grew humble and happy. Never was such a struggle carried on by faith in Him without success. And after a time, though a twinge of the old feeling might come, it was very slight; she would bid William and Margaret good-morning, and join them in any enterprise of pleasure or business, with a brow as unclouded as the sun. They, however, were too conscious of having behaved unbecomingly towards their little strange guest to be over fond of her company. For the most part she and Ellen Chauncey were left to each other.

Meanwhile the famous needle-book was in a fair way to be finished. Great dismay had at first been excited in the breast of the intended giver by the discovery that Gilbert had consulted what seemed to be a very extraordinary fancy, in making the rose a yellow one. Ellen did her best to comfort her. She asked Alice, and found there were such things as yellow roses, and they were very beautiful too; and, besides, it would match so nicely the yellow butterfly on the other leaf.

"I had rather it wouldn't match!" said Ellen Chauncey; "and it don't match the rose-coloured silk besides. Are the yellow roses sweet?"

"No," said Ellen; "but this couldn't have been a sweet rose at any rate, you know."

"Oh, but," said the other, bursting out into a fresh passion of inconsolable tears, "I wanted it should be the picture of a sweet rose! And I think he might have put a purple butterfly; yellow butterflies are so common! I had a great deal rather had a purple butterfly and a red rose!"

What cannot be cured, however, must be endured. The tears were dried in course of time, and the needle-book with its yellow pictures and pink edges was very neatly finished. Ellen had been busy too on her own account. Alice had got a piece of fine linen for her from Miss Sophia; the collar for Mr. Van Brunt had been cut out, and Ellen with great pleasure had made it. The stitching, the strings, and the very button-holes, after infinite pains, were all finished by Thursday night. She had also made a needle-case for Alice, not of so much pretension as the other one; this was green morocco lined with crimson satin; no leaves, but ribbon stitched in to hold papers of needles, and a place for a bodkin. Ellen worked very hard at this; it was made with the extremest care, and made beautifully. Ellen Chauncey admired it very much, and anew lamented the uncouth variety of colours in her own. It was a grave question whether pink or yellow ribbon should be used for the latter; Ellen Montgomery recommended pink, she herself inclined to yellow; and tired of doubting, at last resolved to split the difference, and put one string of each colour. Ellen thought that did not mend matters, but wisely kept her thoughts to herself. Besides the needle-case for Alice, she had snatched the time whenever she could get away from Ellen Chauncey to work at something for her. She had begged Alice's advice and help; and between them, out of Ellen's scraps of morocco and silk, they had manufactured a little bag of all the colours of the rainbow, and very pretty and tasteful withal. Ellen thought it a chef-d'œuvre, and was unbounded in her admiration. It lay folded up in white paper in a locked drawer ready for New Year's day. In addition to all these pieces of business, John had begun to give her drawing lessons, according to his promise. These became Ellen's delight. She would willingly have spent much more time upon them than he would allow her. It was the most loved employment of the day. Her teacher's skill was not greater than the perfect gentleness and kindness with which he taught. Ellen thought of Mr. Howard's speech about gunpowder; she could not understand it.

"What is your conclusion on the whole?" asked John one day, as he stood beside her mending a pencil.

"Why," said Ellen, laughing and blushing, "how could you guess what I was thinking about, Mr. John?"

"Not very difficult when you are eyeing me so hard."

"I was thinking," said Ellen; "I don't know whether it is right in me to tell it, because somebody said you – "

"Well?"

"Were like gunpowder."

"Very kind of somebody! And so you have been in doubt of an explosion?"

"No; I don't know; I wondered what he meant."

"Never believe what you hear said of people, Ellen; judge for yourself. Look here; that house has suffered from a severe gale of wind, I should think; all the uprights are slanting off to the right; can't you set it up straight?"

Ellen laughed at the tumble-down condition of the house as thus pointed out to her, and set about reforming it.

It was Thursday afternoon that Alice and Ellen were left alone in the library, several of the family having been called out to receive some visitors; Alice had excused herself, and Ellen, as soon as they were gone, nestled up to her side.

"How pleasant it is to be alone together, dear Alice! I don't have you even at night now."