The Wide, Wide World

"I think I could prevent that," said Ellen, who, to say truth, was willing to have anybody come to share what she felt would be a very great burden. "She knows I could tell Mr. Van Brunt if she didn't do right, and she would be afraid of that."

"Well," said Miss Fortune disconsolately, "let her stay then. Oh dear, to lie here! but tell her, if she don't do just what you tell her, I'll have Mr. Van Brunt turn her out by the ears. And don't let her come near me, for she drives me mad. And, Ellen, put the keys in your pocket. Have you got a pocket in that dress?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Put 'em in there and don't take 'em out. Now go."

Nancy agreed to the conditions with great glee; and the little housekeeper felt her mind a good deal easier; for though Nancy herself was somewhat of a charge, she was strong and willing and ready, and if she liked anybody, liked Ellen. Mr. Van Brunt privately asked Ellen if she chose to have Nancy stay; and told her, if she gave her any trouble to let him know, and he would make short work with her. The young lady herself also had a hint on the subject.

"I'll tell you what," said Nancy, when this business was settled, "we'll let the men go off to Miss Van Brunt's to meals; we'll have enough to do without 'em. That's how Miss Fortune has fixed herself, she would have Sam and Johnny in to board; they never used to, you know, afore this winter."

"The men may go," said Ellen, "but I had a great deal rather Mr. Van Brunt would stay than not, if we can only manage to cook things for him; we should have to do it at any rate for ourselves, and for grandma."

"Well, I ain't as fond as him as all that," said Nancy, "but it'll have to be as you like, I suppose. We'll feed him somehow."

Mr. Van Brunt came in to ask if they had anything in the house for supper. Ellen told him "plenty," and would have him come in just as usual. There was nothing to do but to make tea; cold meat and bread and butter and cheese were all in the buttery; so that evening went off very quietly.

When she came down the next morning the fire was burning nicely, and the kettle on and singing. Not Nancy's work; Mr. Van Brunt had slept in the kitchen, whether on the table, the floor, or the chairs, was best known to himself; and before going to his work had left everything he could think of ready done to her hand; wood for the fire, pails of water brought from the spout, and some matters in the lower kitchen got out of the way. Ellen stood warming herself at the blaze, when it suddenly darted into her head that it was milking time. In another minute she had thrown open the door and was running across the chip-yard to the barn. There, in the old place, were all her old friends, both four-legged and two-legged; and with great delight she found Dolly had a fine calf and Streaky another superb one brindled just like herself. Ellen longed to get near enough to touch their little innocent heads, but it was impossible; and recollecting the business on her hands, she too danced away.

"Whew!" said Nancy, when Ellen told her of the new inmates of the barn-yard: "there'll be work to do! Get your milk-pans ready, Ellen; in a couple of weeks we'll be making butter."

"Aunt Fortune will be well by that time, I hope," said Ellen.

"She won't, then, so you may just make up your mind to it. Dr. Gibson was to see her yesterday forenoon, and he stopped at Miss Lowndes' on his way back; and he said it was a chance if she got up again in a month an' more. So that's what it is, you see."

"A month and more." It was all that. Miss Fortune was not dangerously ill; but one part of the time in a low, nervous fever, part of the time encumbered with other ailments, she lay from week to week, bearing her confinement as ill as possible, and making it as disagreeable and burdensome as possible for Ellen to attend upon her. Those were weeks of trial. Ellen's patience and principle and temper were all put to the proof. She had no love, in the first place, for household work, and now her whole time was filled up with it. Studies could not be thought of. Reading was only to be had by mere snatches. Walks and rides were at an end. Often when already very tired she had to run up and down stairs for her aunt, or stand and bathe her face and hands with vinegar, or read the paper to her when Miss Fortune declared she was so nervous she should fly out of her skin if she didn't hear something besides the wind. And very often when she was not wanted upstairs, her old grandmother would beg her to come and read to her– perhaps at the very moment when Ellen was busiest. Ellen did her best. Miss Fortune never could be put off; her old mother sometimes could, with a kiss and a promise; but not always; and then, rather than she should fret, Ellen would leave everything and give half-an-hour to soothing and satisfying her. She loved to do this at other times; now it was sometimes burdensome. Nancy could not help her at all in these matters, for neither Miss Fortune nor the old lady would let her come near them. Besides all this there was a measure of care constantly upon Ellen's mind; she felt charged with the welfare of all about the house; and under the effort to meet the charge, joined to the unceasing bodily exertion, she grew thin and pale. She was tired with Nancy's talk; she longed to be reading and studying again; she longed, oh how she longed! for Alice's and John's company again; and it was no wonder if she sometimes cast very sad longing looks further back still. Now and then an old fit of weeping would come. But Ellen remembered John's words; and often in the midst of her work, stopping short with a sort of pang of sorrow and weariness, and the difficulty of doing right, she would press her hands together and say to herself, "I will try to be a good pilgrim!" Her morning hour of prayer was very precious now; and her Bible grew more and more dear. Little Ellen found its words a mighty refreshment; and often when reading it she loved to recall what Alice had said at this and the other place, and John, and Mr. Marshman, and before them her mother. The passages about heaven, which she well remembered reading to her one particular morning, became great favourites; they were joined with her mother in Ellen's thoughts; and she used to go over and over them till she nearly knew them by heart.

"What do you keep reading that for, the whole time?" said Nancy one day.

"Because I like to," said Ellen.

"Well, if you do, you're the first one ever I saw that did."

"O Nancy!" said Ellen; "your grandma!"

"Well, she does, I believe," said Nancy, "for she's always at it; but all the rest of the folks that ever I saw are happy to get it out of their hands, I know. They think they must read a little, and so they do, and they are too glad if something happens to break 'em off. You needn't tell me; I've seen 'em."

"I wish you loved it, Nancy," said Ellen.

"Well, what do you love it for? come! let's hear; maybe you'll convert me."

"I love it for a great many reasons," said Ellen, who had some difficulty in speaking of what she felt Nancy could not understand.

"Well, I ain't any wiser yet."

"I like to read it because I want to go to heaven, and it tells me how."

"But what's the use?" said Nancy; "you ain't going to die yet; you are too young; you have time enough."

"O Nancy! little John Dolan, and Eleanor Parsons, and Mary Huff, all younger than you and I; how can you say so?"

"Well," said Nancy, "at any rate, that ain't reading it because you love it; it's because you must, like other folks."

"That's only one of my reasons," said Ellen, hesitating and speaking gravely; "I like to read about the Saviour, and what He has done for me, and what a friend He will be to me, and how He forgives me. I had rather have the Bible, Nancy, than all the other books in the world."

"That ain't saying much," said Nancy; "but how come you to be so sure you are forgiven?"

"Because the Bible says, 'He that believeth on Him shall not be ashamed,' and I believe in Him; and that He will not cast out any one that comes to Him, and I have come to Him; and that He loves those that love Him, and I love Him. If it did not speak so very plainly I should be afraid, but it makes me happy to read such verses as these. I wish you knew, Nancy, how happy it makes me." This profession of faith was not spoken without starting tears. Nancy made no reply.

As Miss Fortune had foretold, plenty of people came to the house with proffers of service. Nancy's being there made it easy for Ellen to get rid of them all. Many were the marvels that Miss Fortune should trust her house "to two girls like that," and many the guesses that she would rue it when she got up again. People were wrong. Things went on very steadily and in an orderly manner; and Nancy kept the peace as she would have done in few houses. Bold and insolent as she sometimes was to others, she regarded Ellen with a mixed notion of respect and protection, which led her at once to shun doing anything that would grieve her, and to thrust her aside from every heavy or difficult job, taking the brunt herself. Nancy might well do this, for she was at least twice as strong as Ellen; but she would not have done it for everybody.

There were visits of kindness as well as visits of officiousness. Alice and Mrs. Van Brunt and Margery, one or the other every day. Margery would come in and mix up a batch of bread; Alice would bring a bowl of butter, or a basket of cake; and Mrs. Van Brunt sent whole dinners. Mr. Van Brunt was there always at night, and about the place as much as possible during the day; when obliged to be absent, he stationed Sam Larkens to guard the house, also to bring wood and water, and do whatever he was bid. All the help, however, that was given from abroad could not make Ellen's life an easy one; Mr. Van Brunt's wishes that Miss Fortune would get up again began to come very often. The history of one day may serve for the history of all those weeks.

It was in the beginning of April. Ellen came downstairs early, but come when she would she found the fire made and the kettle on. Ellen felt a little as if she had not quite slept off the remembrance of yesterday's fatigue; however, that was no matter; she set to work. She swept up the kitchen, got her milk strainer and pans ready upon the buttery shelf, and began to set the table. By the time this was half done, in came Sam Larkens with two great pails of milk, and Johnny Low followed with another. They were much too heavy for Ellen to lift, but, true to her charge, she let no one come into the buttery but herself; she brought the pans to the door, where Sam filled them for her, and as each was done she set it in its place on the shelf. This took some time, for there were eight of them. She had scarce wiped up the spilt milk and finished setting the table when Mr. Van Brunt came in.

"Good morning!" said he. "How d'ye do to-day?"

"Very well, Mr. Van Brunt."

"I wish you'd look a little redder in the face. Don't you be too busy. Where's Nancy?"

"Oh, she's busy out with the clothes."

"Same as ever upstairs? What are you going to do for breakfast, Ellen?"

"I don't know, Mr. Van Brunt; there isn't anything cooked in the house; we have eaten everything up."

"Cleaned out, eh? Bread and all?"

"Oh no, not bread; there's plenty of that, but there's nothing else."

"Well, never mind; you bring me a ham and a dozen of eggs, and I'll make you a first-rate breakfast."

Ellen laughed, for this was not the first time Mr. Van Brunt had acted as cook for the family. While she got what he had asked for, and bared a place on the table for his operations, he went to the spout and washed his hands.

"Now a sharp knife, Ellen, and the frying-pan, and a dish, and that's all I want of you."

Ellen brought them, and while he was busy with the ham she made the coffee and set it by the side of the fire to boil; got the cream and butter, and set the bread on the table; and then set herself down to rest, and amuse herself with Mr. Van Brunt's cookery. He was no mean hand, his slices of ham were very artist-like, and frying away in the most unexceptional manner. Ellen watched him and laughed at him, till the ham was taken out and all the eggs broke in; then, after seeing that the coffee was right, she went upstairs to dress her grandmother – always the last thing before breakfast.

"Who's frying ham and eggs downstairs?" inquired Miss Fortune.

"Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen.

This answer was unexpected. Miss Fortune tossed her head over in a dissatisfied kind of way, and told Ellen to "tell him to be careful."

"Of what?" thought Ellen; and wisely concluded with herself not to deliver the message; very certain she should laugh if she did, and she had running in her head an indistinct notion of the command, "Honour thy father and thy mother."

Breakfast was ready but no one there when she got downstairs. She placed her grandmother at table, and called Nancy, who all this time had been getting the clothes out of the rinsing water and hanging them out on the line to dry; the said clothes having been washed the day before by Miss Sarah Lowndes, who came there for the purpose. Ellen poured out the coffee, and then in came Mr. Van Brunt with a head of early lettuce which he had pulled in the garden and washed at the spout. Ellen had to jump up again to get the salt and pepper and vinegar; but she always jumped willingly for Mr. Van Brunt. The meals were pleasanter during those weeks than in all the time Ellen had been in Thirlwall before; or she thought so. That sharp eye at the head of the table was pleasantly missed. They with one accord sat longer at meals; more talking and laughing went on; nobody felt afraid of being snapped up. Mr. Van Brunt praised Ellen's coffee (he had taught her how to make it), and she praised his ham and eggs. Old Mrs. Montgomery praised everything, and seemed to be in particular comfort: talking as much as she had a mind, and was respectfully attended to. Nancy was in high feather; and the clatter of knives and forks and teacups went on very pleasantly. But at last chairs were pushed from the table, and work began again.