The Wide, Wide World

"I got this," said John, handing her a little book which lay beside him.

"What is this? Wime's – Wiem's – Life of Washington – Washington? he was – may I look at it?"

"Certainly!"

She opened the book, and presently sat down on the floor where she was by the side of the sofa. Whatever she had found within the leaves of the book, she had certainly lost herself. An hour passed. Ellen had not spoken or moved except to turn over leaves.

"Ellen!" said John.

She looked up, her cheeks coloured high.

"What have you found there?" said he, smiling.

"Oh, a great deal! But – did Mr. Marshman give you this?"

"No."

"Oh!" said Ellen, looking puzzled, "I thought you said you got this this morning."

"No, I got it last night. I got it for you, Ellie."

"For me!" said Ellen, her colour deepening very much – "for me! did you? Oh, thank you! – oh, I'm so very much obliged to you, Mr. John."

"It is only an answer to one of your questions."

"This! is it? – I don't know what, I am sure. Oh, I wish I could do something to please you, Mr. John!"

"You shall, Ellie; you shall give me a brother's right again."

Blushingly Ellen approached her lips to receive one of his grave kisses; and then, not at all displeased, went down on the floor and was lost in her book.

Oh, the long joy of that New Year's day! how shall it be told? The pleasure of that delightful book, in which she was wrapped the whole day; even when called off, as she often was, by Ellen Chauncey to help her in fifty little matters of business or pleasure. These were attended to, and faithfully and cheerfully, but the book was in her head all the while. And this pleasure was mixed with Alice's pleasure, the flowers and the miniature, and Mr. Marshman's restored kindness. She never met John's or Alice's eye that day without a smile. Even when she went to be dressed her book went with her, and was laid on the bed within sight, ready to be taken up the moment she was at liberty. Ellen Chauncey lent her a white frock, which was found to answer very well with a tuck let out; and Alice herself dressed her. While this was doing, Margaret Dunscombe put her head in at the door to ask Anne, Miss Sophia's maid, if she was almost ready to come and curl her hair.

"Indeed I can't say that I am, Miss Margaret," said Anne. "I've something to do for Miss Humphreys, and Miss Sophia hasn't so much as done the first thing towards beginning to get ready yet. It'll be a good hour and more."

Margaret went away exclaiming impatiently that she could get nobody to help her, and would have to wait till everybody was downstairs.

A few minutes after she heard Ellen's voice at the door of her room asking if she might come in.

"Yes – what's that? what do you want?"

"I'll fix your hair if you'll let me," said Ellen.

"You? I don't believe you can."

"Oh yes, I can; I used to do mamma's very often; I am not afraid if you'll trust me."

"Well, thank you, I don't care if you try then," said Margaret, seating herself, "it won't do any harm, at any rate; and I want to be downstairs before anybody gets here; I think it's half the fun to see them come in. Bless me! you're dressed and all ready."

Margaret's hair was in long thick curls; it was not a trifling matter to dress them. Ellen plodded through it patiently and faithfully, taking great pains, and doing the work well; and then went back to Alice. Margaret's thanks, not very gracefully given, would have been a poor reward for the loss of three-quarters of an hour of pleasure. But Ellen was very happy in having done right. It was no longer time to read; they must go downstairs.

The New Year's party was a nondescript, young and old together; a goodly number of both were gathered from Randolph and the neighbouring country. There were games for the young, dancing for the gay, and a superb supper for all; and the big bright rooms were full of bright faces. It was a very happy evening to Ellen. For a good part of it Mr. Marshman took possession of her, or kept her near him; and his extreme kindness would alone have made the evening pass pleasantly; she was sure he was her firm friend again.

In the course of the evening Mrs. Chauncey found occasion to ask her about her journey up the river, without at all mentioning Margaret or what she had said.

Ellen answered that she had come with Mrs. Dunscombe and her daughter.

"Did you have a pleasant time?" asked Mrs. Chauncey.

"Why, no, ma'am," said Ellen, "I don't know – it was partly pleasant and partly unpleasant."

"What made it so, love?"

"I had left mamma that morning, and that made me unhappy."

"But you said it was partly pleasant?"

"Oh, that was because I had such a good friend on board," said Ellen, her face lighting up as his image came before her.

"Who was that?"

"I don't know, ma'am, who he was."

"A stranger to you?"

"Yes, ma'am – I never saw him before – I wish I could see him again."

"Where did you find him?"

"I didn't find him – he found me, when I was sitting up on the highest part of the boat."

"And your friends with you?"

"What friends?"

"Mrs. Dunscombe and her daughter."

"No, ma'am; they were down in the cabin."

"And what business had you to be walking about the boat alone?" said Mr. Marshman good-humouredly.

"They were strangers, sir," said Ellen, colouring a little.

"Well, so was this man – your friend – a stranger too, wasn't he?"

"Oh, he was a very different stranger," said Ellen, smiling; "and he wasn't a stranger long, besides."

"Well, you must tell me more about him; come, I'm curious. What sort of a strange friend was this?"