And he had ridden o'er dale and downBy eight o'clock in the day,When he was ware of a bold Tanner,Came riding along the way.
—Old Ballad.
The yellow door, as the old woman had said, was not to be mistaken. Again Ellen dismounted and knocked; then she heard a slow step coming along the entry, and the pleasant kind face of Miss Janet appeared at the open door. It was a real refreshment, and Ellen wanted one.
"Why, it's dear little—ain't it—her that lives down to Miss Fortune Emerson's?—yes, it is; come in, dear; I'm very glad to see you. How's all at your house?"
"Is the doctor at home, ma'am?"
"No, dear, he ain't to home just this minute, but he'll be in directly. Come in;—is that your horse?—just hitch him to the post there so he won't run away, and come right in. Who did you come along with?"
"Nobody, ma'am; I came alone," said Ellen, while she obeyed Miss Janet's directions.
"Alone! on that 'ere little skittish creeter?—he's as handsome as a picture too—why do tell if you warn't afraid? it a'most scares me to think of it."
"I was a little afraid," said Ellen, as she followed Miss Janet along the entry, "but I couldn't help that. You think the doctor will soon be in, ma'am?"
"Yes, dear, sure of it," said Miss Janet, kissing Ellen and taking off her bonnet; "he won't be five minutes, for it's a'most dinner time. What's the matter, dear? is Miss Fortune sick again?"
"No, ma'am," said Ellen sadly, "Mr. Van Brunt has fallen through the trap-door in the barn and broken his leg."
"Oh!" cried the old lady, with a face of real horror, "you don't tell me! Fell through the trap-door! and he ain't a light weight neither. Oh, that is a lamentable event! And how is the poor old mother, dear?"
"She is very much troubled, ma'am," said Ellen, crying at the remembrance: "and he has been lying ever since early this morning without anybody to set it; I have been going round and round for a doctor this ever so long."
"Why, warn't there nobody to come but you, you poor lamb?" said Miss Janet.
"No, ma'am; nobody quick enough; and I had the Brownie, there, and so I came."
"Well, cheer up, dear! the doctor will be here now, and we'll send him right off; he won't be long about his dinner, I'll engage. Come and set in this big cheer—do—it'll rest you; I see you're a'most tired out, and it ain't a wonder. There, don't that feel better? now I'll give you a little sup of dinner, for you won't want to swallow it at the rate Leander will his'n. Dear! dear! to think of poor Mr. Van Brunt. He's a likely man too; I'm very sorry for him and his poor mother. A kind body she is as ever the sun shined upon."
"And so is he," said Ellen.
"Well, so I daresay," said Miss Janet, "but I don't know somuch about him; howsoever he's got everybody's good word as far as I know; he's a likely man."
The little room in which Miss Janet had brought Ellen was very plainly furnished indeed, but as neat as hands could make it. The carpet was as crumbless and lintless as if meals were never taken there nor work seen; and yet a little table ready set for dinner forbade the one conclusion, and a huge basket of naperies in one corner showed that Miss Janet's industry did not spend itself in housework alone. Before the fire stood a pretty good-sized kettle, and a very appetising smell came from it to Ellen's nose. In spite of sorrow and anxiety her ride had made her hungry. It was not without pleasure that she saw her kind hostess arm herself with a deep plate and tin dipper, and carefully taking off the pot cover, so that no drops might fall on the hearth, proceed to ladle out a goodly supply of what Ellen knew was that excellent country dish called pot-pie. Excellent it is when well made, and that was Miss Janet's. The pieces of crust were white and light like new bread, the very tit-bits of the meat she culled out for Ellen; and the soup-gravy poured over all would have met even Miss Fortune's wishes, from its just degree of richness and exact seasoning. Smoking hot it was placed before Ellen on a little stand by her easy-chair, with some nice bread and butter; and presently Miss Janet poured her out a cup of tea; "for," she said, "Leander never could take his dinner without it." Ellen's appetite needed no silver fork. Tea and pot-pie were never better liked; yet Miss Janet's enjoyment was perhaps greater still. She sat talking and looking at her little visitor with secret but immense satisfaction.
"Have you heard what fine doings we're agoing to have here by-and-by?" said she. "The doctor's tired of me; he's going to get a new housekeeper; he's going to get married some of these days."
"Is he?" said Ellen. "Not to Jenny?"
"Yes, indeed he is—to Jenny—Jenny Hitchcock; and a nice little wife she'll make him. You're a great friend of Jenny, I know."
"How soon?" said Ellen.
"Oh, not just yet—by-and-by—after we get a little smarted up, I guess; before a great while. Don't you think he'll be a happy man?"
Ellen could not help wondering, as the doctor just then came in, and she looked up at his unfortunate three-cornered face, whether Jenny would be a happy woman. But as people often do, she only judged from the outside; Jenny had not made such a bad choice after all.
The doctor said he would go directly to Mr. Van Brunt after he had been over to Mrs. Sibnorth's; it wouldn't be a minute. Ellen meant to ride back in his company; and having finished her dinner, waited now only for him. But the one minute passed—two minutes—ten—twenty—she waited impatiently, but he came not.
"I'll tell you how it must be," said his sister, "he's gone off without his dinner, calculating to get it at Miss Hitchcock's; he'd be glad of the chance. That's how it is, dear; and you'll have to ride home alone. I'm real sorry. S'pose you stop till evening, and I'll make the doctor go along with you. But, oh dear! maybe he wouldn't be able to neither; he's got to go up to that tiresome Mrs. Robin's; it's too bad. Well, take good care of yourself, darling. Couldn't you stop till it's cooler? Well, come and see me as soon as you can again, but don't come without some one else along! Good-bye! I wish I could keep you."
She went to the door to see her mount, and smiled and nodded her off.
Ellen was greatly refreshed with her rest and her dinner; it grieved her that the Brownie had not fared as well. All the refreshment that kind words and patting could give him she gave, promised him the freshest of water and the sweetest of hay when he should reach home, and begged him to keep up his spirits and hold on for a little longer. It may be doubted whether the Brownie understood the full sense of her words, but he probably knew what the kind tones and gentle hand meant. He answered cheerfully; threw up his head and gave a little neigh, as much as to say,hewasn't going to mind a few hours of sunshine; and trotted on as if he knew his face was towards home—which no doubt he did. Luckily it was not a very hot day; for August it was remarkably cool and beautiful; indeed, there was little very hot weather ever known in Thirlwall. Ellen's heart felt easier, now that her business was done; and when she had left the town behind her and was again in the fields, she was less timid than she had been before; she was going towards home; that makes a great difference; and every step was bringing her nearer. "I am glad I came after all," she thought; "but I hope I shall never have to do such a thing again. But I am glad I came."
She had no more than crossed the little bridge, however, when she saw what brought her heart into her mouth. It was Mr. Saunders, lolling under it tree. What could he have come there for at that time of day? A vague feeling crossed her mind that if she could only get past him she should pass a danger; shethought to ride by without seeming to see him, and quietly gave the Brownie a pat to make him go faster. But as she drew near Mr. Saunders rose up, came to the middle of the road, and taking hold of her bridle, checked her pony's pace so that he could walk alongside, to Ellen's unspeakable dismay.
"What's kept you so long?" said he; "I've been looking out for you this great while. Had hard work to find the doctor?"
"Won't you please to let go of my horse?" said Ellen, her heart beating very fast; "I am in a great hurry to get home; please don't keep me."
"Oh, I want to see you a little," said Mr. Saunders; "you ain't in such a hurry to get away from me as that comes to, are you?"
Ellen was silent.
"It's quite a long time since I saw you last," said he; "how have the merinoes worn?"
Ellen could not bear to look at his face, and did not see the expression which went with these words, yet shefeltit.
"They have worn very well," said she; "but I want to get home very much—pleaselet me go."
"Not yet—not yet," said he—"oh no, not yet. I want to talk to you. Why, what are you in such a devil of a hurry for? I came out on purpose; do you think I am going to have all my long waiting for nothing?"
Ellen did not know what to say; her heart sprang with a nameless pang to the thought, if she ever got free from this! Meanwhile she was not free.
"Whose horse is that you're on?"
"Mine," said Ellen.
"Your'n! that's a likely story. I guess he ain't your'n, and so you won't mind if I touch him up a little; I want to see how well you can sit on a horse."
Passing his arm through the bridle as he said these words, Mr. Saunders led the pony down to the side of the road where grew a clump of high bushes, and with some trouble cut off a long stout sapling. Ellen looked in every direction while he was doing this, despairing, as she looked, of aid from any quarter of the broad quiet open country. Oh for wings! But she could not leave the Brownie if she had them.
Returning to the middle of the road, Mr. Saunders amused himself as they walked along with stripping off all the leaves and little twigs from his sapling, leaving it when done a very good imitation of an ox-whip in size and length, with a fine lash-like point. Ellen watched him in an ecstasy of apprehension, afraid alike to speak or to be silent.
"There! what do you think of that?" said he, giving it two or three switches in the air to try its suppleness and toughness; "don't that look like a whip? Now we'll see how he'll go!"
"Please don't do anything with it," said Ellen earnestly; "I never touch him with a whip—he doesn't need it—he isn't used to it; pray, pray do not!"
"Oh, we'll just tickle him a little with it," said Mr. Saunders coolly; "I want to see how well you'll sit him; just make him caper a little bit."
He accordingly applied the switch lightly to the Brownie's heels, enough to annoy without hurting him. The Brownie showed signs of uneasiness, quitted his quiet pace, and took to little starts and springs and whiskey motions, most unpleasing to his rider.
"Oh, do not!" cried Ellen, almost beside herself; "he's very spirited, and I don't know what he will do if you trouble him."
"You let me take care of that," said Mr. Saunders; "if he troublesmeI'll give it to him! If he rears up, only you catch hold of his mane and hold on tight, and you won't fall off; I want to see him rear."
"But you'll give him bad tricks!" said Ellen. "Oh, pray don't do so! It's very bad for him to be teased. I am afraid he will kick if you do so, and he'd be ruined if he got a habit of kicking. Oh,pleaselet us go!" said she, with the most acute accent of entreaty—"I want to be home."
"You keep quiet," said Mr. Saunders coolly; "if he kicks I'll give him such a lathering as he never had yet; he won't do it but once. I ain't agoing to hurt him, but I am agoing to make him rear; no, I won't—I'll make him leap over a rail, the first bar-place we come to; that'll be prettier."
"Oh, you mustn't do that," said Ellen; "I have not learned to leap yet; I couldn't keep on; you mustn't do that, if you please."
"You just hold fast and hold your tongue. Catch hold of his ears, and you'll stick on fast enough; if you can't you may get down, for I am going to make him take the leap whether you will or no." Ellen feared still more to get off and leave the Brownie to her tormentor's mercy than to stay where she was and take her chance. She tried in vain, as well as she could, to soothe her horse; the touches of the whip coming now in one place and now in another, and some of them pretty sharp, he began to grow very frisky indeed; and she began to be very much frightened for fear she should suddenly be jerked off. With a good deal of presence of mind, though wrought up to aterrible pitch of excitement and fear, Ellen gave her best attention to keeping her seat as the Brownie sprang and started and jumped to one side and the other; Mr. Saunders holding the bridle as loose as possible so as to give him plenty of room. For some little time he amused himself with this game, the horse growing more and more irritated. At length a smart stroke of the whip upon his haunches made the Brownie spring in a way that brought Ellen's heart into her mouth, and almost threw her off.
"Oh, don't!" cried Ellen, bursting into tears for the first time; she had with great effort commanded them back until now. "Poor Brownie! How can you! Oh, please let us go!—please let us go!"
For one minute she dropped her face in her hands.
"Be quiet!" said Mr. Saunders. "Here's a bar-place—now for the leap!"
Ellen wiped away her tears, forced back those that were coming, and began the most earnest remonstrance and pleading with Mr. Saunders that she knew how to make. He paid her no sort of attention. He led the Brownie to the side of the road, let down all the bars but the lower two, let go the bridle, and stood a little off prepared with his whip to force the horse to take the spring.
"I tell you I shall fall," said Ellen, reining him back. "How can you be so cruel? I want to go home!"
"Well, you ain't agoing home yet. Get off if you are afraid," said Mr. Saunders.
But though trembling in every nerve from head to foot, Ellen fancied the Brownie was safer so long as he had her on his back; she would not leave him. She pleaded her best, which Mr. Saunders heard as if it was amusing, and without making any answer kept the horse capering in front of the bars, pretending every minute he was going to whip him up to take the leap. His object, however, was merely to gratify the smallest of minds by teasing a child he had a spite against; he had no intention to risk breaking her bones by a fall from her horse; so in time he had enough of the bar-place; took the bridle again and walked on. Ellen drew breath a little more freely.
"Did you hear how I handled your old gentleman after that time?" said Mr. Saunders.
Ellen made no answer.
"No one ever affronts me that don't hear news of it afterwards, and so he found to his cost.Ipaid him off, to my heart's content. I gave the old fellow a lesson to behave in future. I forgive him now entirely. By the way, I've a little account tosettle with you. Didn't you ask Mr. Perriman this morning if Dr. Gibson was in the house?"
"I don't know who it was," said Ellen.
"Well, hadn't I told you just before he warn't there?"
Ellen was silent.
"What did you do that for, eh? Didn't you believe me?"
Still she did not speak.
"I say!" said Mr. Saunders, touching the Brownie as he spoke, "did you think I told you a lie about it?—eh?"
"I didn't know but he might be there," Ellen forced herself to say.
"Then you didn't believe me?" said he, always with that same smile upon his face; Ellen knew that.
"Now that warn't handsome of you; and I am agoing to punish you for it, somehow or 'nother; but it ain't pretty to quarrel with ladies, so Brownie and me'll settle it together. You won't mind that, I dare say."
"What are you going to do?" said Ellen, as he once more drew her down to the side of the fence.
"Get off, and you'll see," said he, laughing. "Get off, and you'll see."
"What do you want to do?" repeated Ellen, though scarce able to speak the words.
"I'm just going to tickle Brownie a little, to teach you to believe honest folks when they speak the truth. Get off!"
"No, I won't," said Ellen, throwing both arms round the neck of her pony. "Poor Brownie! You shan't do it. He hasn't done you any harm, nor I either. You are a bad man!"
"Get off!" repeated Mr. Saunders.
"I will not!" said Ellen, still clinging fast.
"Very well," said he coolly, "then I will take you off; it don't make much difference. We'll go along a little further till I find a nice stone for you to sit down upon. If you had got off then I wouldn't ha' done much to him, but I'll give it to him now! If he hasn't been used to a whip he'll know pretty well what it means by the time I have done with him; and then you may go home as fast as you can."
It is very likely Mr. Saunders would have been as good, or as bad, as his word. His behaviour to Ellen in the store at New York, and the measures taken by the old gentleman who had befriended her, had been the cause of his dismissal from the employ of Messrs. St. Clair and Fleury. Two or three other attempts to get into business had come to nothing, and he had been obliged to return to his native town. Ever since, Ellen and the old gentleman had lived in his memory as objects of the deepestspite;—the one for interfering, the other for having been the innocent cause; and he no sooner saw her in the post-office than he promised himself revenge, such revenge as only the meanest and most cowardly spirit could have taken pleasure in. His best way of distressing Ellen, he found, was through her horse; he had almost satisfied himself; but very naturally his feelings of spite had grown stronger and blunter with indulgence, and he meant to wind up with such a treatment of her pony, real or seeming, as he knew would give great pain to the pony's mistress. He was prevented.
As they went slowly along, Ellen still clasping the Brownie's neck, and resolved to cling to him to the last, Mr. Saunders making him caper in a way very uncomfortable to her, one was too busy and the other too deafened by fear to notice the sound of fast approaching hoofs behind them. It happened that John Humphreys had passed the night at Ventnor; and having an errand to do for a friend at Thirlwall, had taken that road, which led him but a few miles out of his way, and was now at full speed on his way home. He had never made the Brownie's acquaintance, and did not recognise Ellen as he came up; but in passing them, some strange notion crossing his mind, he wheeled his horse round directly in front of the astonished pair.
Ellen quitted her pony's neck, and stretching out both arms towards him, exclaimed, and almost shrieked, "Oh, John, John! send him away! make him let me go!"
"What are you about, sir?" said the new comer sternly.
"It's none of your business!" answered Mr. Saunders, in whom rage for the time overcame cowardice.
"Take your hand off the bridle!" with a slight touch of the riding-whip upon the hand in question.
"Not for you, brother," said Mr. Saunders sneeringly. "I'll walk with any lady I've a mind to. Look out for yourself!"
"We will dispense with your further attendance," said John coolly. "Do you hear me? Do as I order you!"
The speaker did not put himself in a passion, and Mr. Saunders, accustomed for his own part to make bluster serve instead of prowess, despised a command so calmly given. Ellen, who knew the voice, and still better, could read the eye, drew conclusions very different. She was almost breathless with terror. Saunders was enraged and mortified at an interference that promised to baffle him; he was a stout young man, and judged himself the stronger of the two, and took notice besides that the stranger had nothing in his hand but a slight riding-whip. He answered very insolently and with an oath; and John saw thathe was taking the bridle in his left hand and shifting his sapling whip so as to bring the club end of it uppermost. The next instant he aimed a furious blow at his adversary's horse. The quick eye and hand of the rider disappointed that with a sudden swerve. In another moment, and Ellen hardly saw how, it was so quick, John had dismounted, taken Mr. Saunders by the collar, and hurled him quite over into the gully at the side of the road, where he lay at full length without stirring. "Ride on, Ellen!" said her deliverer.
She obeyed. He stayed a moment to say to his fallen adversary a few words of pointed warning as to ever repeating his offence; then remounted and spurred forward to join Ellen. All her power of keeping up was gone, now that the necessity was over. Her head was once more bowed on her pony's neck, her whole frame shaking with convulsive sobs; she could scarce with great effort keep from crying out aloud.
"Ellie!" said her adopted brother, in a voice that could hardly be known for the one that had last spoken. She had no words, but as he gently took one of her hands, the convulsive squeeze it gave him showed the state of nervous excitement she was in. It was very long before his utmost efforts could soothe her, or she could command herself enough to tell him her story. When at last told, it was with many tears.
"Oh how could he! how could he!" said poor Ellen; "how could he do so—it was very hard!"
An involuntary touch of the spurs made John's horse start.
"But what took you to Thirlwall alone?" said he; "you have not told me that yet."
Ellen went back to Timothy's invasion of the cabbages, and gave him the whole history of the morning.
"I thought when I was going for the doctor at first," said she, "and then afterwards when I had found him, what a good thing it was that Timothy broke down the garden fence and got in this morning; for if it had not been for that I should not have gone to Mr. Van Brunt's; and then again after that I thought, if he only hadn't!"
"Little things often draw after them long trains of circumstances," said John, "and that shows the folly of those people who think that God does not stoop to concern Himself about trifles; life, and much more than life, may hang upon the turn of a hand. But, Ellen, you must ride no more alone. Promise me that you will not."
"I will not to Thirlwall, certainly," said Ellen, "but mayn't I to Alice's? how can I help it?"
"Well—to Alice's—that is a safe part of the country; but Ishould like to know a little more of your horse before trusting you even there."
"Of the Brownie?" said Ellen; "oh, he is as good as he can be; you need not be afraid of him; he has no trick at all; there never was such a good little horse."
John smiled. "How do you like mine?" said he.
"Is that your new one? Oh, what a beauty!—oh me—what a beauty! I didn't look at him before. Oh, I like him much! he's handsomer than the Brownie; do you like him?"
"Very well! this is the first trial I have made of him. I was at Mr. Marshman's last night, and they detained me this morning, or I should have been here much earlier. I am very well satisfied with him so far."
"And if you hadnotbeen detained," said Ellen.
"Yes, Ellie, I should not have fretted at my late breakfast, and having to try Mr. Marshman's favourite mare, if I had known what good purpose the delay was to serve. I wish I could have been here half-an-hour sooner, though."
"Is his name the Black Prince?" said Ellen, returning to the horse.
"Yes, I believe so; but you shall change it, Ellie, if you can find one you like better."
"Oh, I cannot! I like that very much. How beautiful he is! Is he good?"
"I hope so," said John, smiling; "if he is not I shall be at the pains to make him so. We are hardly acquainted yet."
Ellen looked doubtfully at the black horse and his rider, and patting the Brownie's neck, observed with great satisfaction thathewas very good.
John had been riding very slowly on Ellen's account; they now mended their pace. He saw, however, that she still looked miserable, and exerted himself to turn her thoughts from everything disagreeable. Much to her amusement he rode round her two or three times, to view her horse and show her his own; commended the Brownie; praised her bridle hand; corrected several things about her riding; and by degrees engaged her in a very animated conversation. Ellen roused up; the colour came back to her cheeks; and when they reached home and rode round to the glass door she looked almost like herself.
She sprang off as usual without waiting for any help. John scarce saw that she had done so, when Alice's cry of joy brought him to the door, and from that together they went into their father's study. Ellen was left alone on the lawn. Something was the matter, for she stood with swimming eyes and a trembling lip rubbing her stirrup, which really needed no polishing, and forgetting the tired horses, which would have had her sympathy at any other time. Whatwasthe matter? Only—that Mr. John had forgotten the kiss he always gave her on going or coming. Ellen was jealous of it as a pledge of sistership, and could not want it; and though she tried as hard as she could to get her face in order, so that she might go in and meet them, somehow it seemed to take a great while. She was still busy with her stirrup, when she suddenly felt two hands on her shoulders, and looking up, received the very kiss, the want of which she had been lamenting. But John saw the tears in her eyes, and asked her, she thought, with somewhat of a comical look, what the matter was. Ellen was ashamed to tell, but he had her there by the shoulders, and besides, whatever that eye demanded, she never knew how to keep back, so with some difficulty she told him.
"You are a foolish child, Ellie," said he gently, and kissing her again. "Run in out of the sun while I see to the horses."
Ellen ran in and told her long story to Alice; and then feeling very weary and weak she sat on the sofa and lay resting in her arms in a state of the most entire and unruffled happiness. Alice, however, after a while, transferred her to bed, thinking, with good reason, that a long sleep would be the best thing for her.
Now is the pleasant time,The cool, the silent, save where silence yieldsTo the night-warbling bird; that now awake,Tunes sweetest her love-laboured song; now reignsFull orbed the moon, and with more pleasing lightShadowy, sets off the face of things.
—Milton
When Ellen came out of Alice's room again it was late in the afternoon. The sun was so low that the shadow of the house had crossed the narrow lawn and mounted up near to the top of the trees; but on them he was still shining brightly, and on the broad landscape beyond, which lay open to view through the gap in the trees. The glass door was open; the sweet summer air and the sound of birds and insects and fluttering leaves floated into the room, making the stillness musical. On the threshold pussy sat crouched, with his fore feet doubled under his breast, watching with intense gravity the operations of Margery, who was setting the table on the lawn just before his eyes. Alice was paring peaches.
"Oh, we are going to have tea out of doors, aren't we?" said Ellen, "I'm very glad. What a lovely evening, isn't it? Just look at pussy, will you, Alice? don't you believe he knows what Margery is doing? Why didn't you call me to go along with you after peaches?"
"I thought you were doing the very best thing you possibly could, Ellie, my dear. How do you do?"
"Oh, nicely now? Where's Mr. John? I hope he won't ask for my last drawing to-night, I want to fix the top of that tree before he sees it."
"Fixthe top of your tree, you little Yankee!" said Alice; "what do you think John would say to that!unfix it, you mean; it is too stiff already, isn't it?"
"Well, whatshallI say?" said Ellen, laughing. "I am sorry that is Yankee, for I suppose one must speak English. I want to do something to my tree, then. Where is he, Alice?"
"He is gone down to Mr. Van Brunt's to see how he is, and to speak to Miss Fortune about you on his way back."
"Oh how kind of him! he'sverygood; that is just what I want to know; but I am sorry, after this long ride——"
"He don't mindthat, Ellie. He'll be home presently."
"How nice those peaches look; they are as good as strawberries, don't you think so? better, I don't know which is the best; but Mr. John likes these best, don't he? Now you've done; shall I set them on the table? and here's a pitcher of splendid cream, Alice!"
"You had better not tell John so, or he will make you definesplendid."
John came back in good time, and brought word that Mr. Van Brunt was doing very well, so far as could be known; also, that Miss Fortune consented to Ellen's remaining where she was. He wisely did not say, however, that her consent had been slow to gain till he had hinted at his readiness to provide a substitute for Ellen's services; on which Miss Fortune had instantly declared that she did not want her, and she might stay as long as she pleased. This was all that was needed to complete Ellen's felicity.
"Wasn't your poor horse too tired to go out again this afternoon, Mr. John?"
"I did not ride him, Ellie; I took yours."
"The Brownie! did you? I'm very glad! How did you like him? But perhapshewas tired a little, and you couldn't tell so well to-day."
"He was not tired with any work you had given him, Ellie; perhaps he may be a little now."
"Why?" said Ellen, somewhat alarmed.
"I have been trying him; and instead of going quietly along the road we have been taking some of the fences in our way. As I intend practising you at the bar, I wished to make sure in the first place that he knew his lesson."
"Well, how did he do?"
"Perfectly well; I believe he is a good little fellow. I wanted to satisfy myself if he was fit to be trusted with you, and I rather think Mr. Marshman has taken care of that."
The whole wall of trees was in shadow when the little family sat down to table; but there was still the sunlit picture behind; and there was another kind of sunshine in every face at the table. Quietly happy the whole four, or at least the whole three, were; first, in being together; after that, in all things besides. Never was tea so refreshing, or bread and butter so sweet, or the song of birds so delightsome. When the birds had gone to their nests, the cricket and grasshopper and tree toad and katy-did, and nameless other songsters, kept up a concert—nature's own, in delicious harmony with woods and flowers, and summer breezes and evening light. Ellen's cup of enjoyment was running over. From one beautiful thing to another her eye wandered, from one joy to another her thoughts went, till her heart full fixed on the God who had made and given them all, and that Redeemer whose blood had been their purchase money. From the dear friends beside her, the best-loved she had in the world, she thought of the one dearer yet, from whom death had separated her, yet living still, and to whom death would restore her, thanks to Him who had burst the bonds of death and broken the gates of the grave, and made a way for His ransomed to pass over. And the thought of Him was the joyfullest of all!
"You look happy, Ellie," said her adopted brother.
"So I am," said Ellen, smiling a very bright smile.
"What are you thinking about?"
But John saw it would not do to press his question.
"You remind me," said he, "of some old fairy story that my childish ears received, in which the fountains of the sweet and bitter waters of life were said to stand very near each other, and to mingle their streams but a little way from their source. Your tears and smiles seem to be brothers and sisters; whenever we see one we may be sure the other is not far off."
"My dear Jack," said Alice, laughing, "what an unhappy simile! Are brothers and sisters always found like that?"
"I wish they were," said John, sighing and smiling; "but my last words had nothing to do with my simile as you call it."
When tea was over, and Margery had withdrawn the things and taken away the table, they still lingered in their places. Itwas far too pleasant to go in. Mr. Humphreys moved his chair to the side of the house, and throwing a handkerchief over his head to defend him from the mosquitoes, a few of which were buzzing about, he either listened, meditated, or slept; most probably one of the two latter; for the conversation was not very loud nor very lively; it was happiness enough merely to breathe so near each other. The sun left the distant fields and hills; soft twilight stole through the woods, down the gap, and over the plain; the grass lost its green; the wall of trees grew dark and dusky; and very faint and dim showed the picture that was so bright a little while ago. As they sat quite silent, listening to what nature had to say to them, or letting fancy and memory take their way, the silence was broken—hardly broken—by the distinct far-off cry of a whip-poor-will. Alice grasped her brother's arm, and they remained motionless, while it came nearer, nearer—then quite near—with its clear, wild, shrill, melancholy note sounding close by them again and again, strangely, plaintively; then leaving the lawn, it was heard further and further off, till the last faint "whip-poor-will," in the far distance, ended its pretty interlude. It was almost too dark to read faces, but the eyes of the brother and sister had sought each other and remained fixed till the bird was out of hearing; then Alice's hand was removed to his, and her head found its old place on her brother's shoulder.
"Sometimes, John," said Alice, "I am afraid I have one tie too strong to this world. I cannot bear, as I ought, to have you away from me."
Her brother's lips were instantly pressed to her forehead.
"I may say to you, Alice, as Colonel Gardiner said to his wife, 'We have an eternity to spend together!'"
"I wonder," said Alice, after a pause, "how those can bear to love and be loved, whose affection can see nothing but a blank beyond the grave."
"Few people, I believe," said her brother, "would come exactly under that description; most flatter themselves with a vague hope of reunion after death."
"But that is a miserable hope—very different from ours."
"Very different indeed! and miserable; for it can only deceive; but ours is sure. 'Them that sleep in Jesus will God bring with Him.'"
"Precious!" said Alice. "How exactly fitted to every want and mood of the mind are the sweet Bible words."
"Well!" said Mr. Humphreys, rousing himself, "I am going in! These mosquitoes have half eaten me up. Are you going to sit there all night?"
"We are thinking of it, papa," said Alice cheerfully.
He went in, and was heard calling Margery for a light.
They had better lights on the lawn. The stars began to peep out through the soft blue, and as the blue grew deeper they came out more and brighter, till all heaven was hung with lamps. But that was not all. In the eastern horizon, just above the low hills that bordered the far side of the plain, a white light, spreading and growing and brightening, promised the moon, and promised that she would rise very splendid; and even before she came began to throw a faint lustre over the landscape. All eyes were fastened, and exclamations burst, as the first silver edge showed itself, and the moon rapidly rising looked on them with her whole broad bright face; lighting up not only their faces and figures but the wide country view that was spread out below, and touching most beautifully the trees in the edge of the gap, and faintly the lawn; while the wall of wood stood in deeper and blacker shadow than ever.
"Isn't that beautiful!" said Ellen.
"Come round here, Ellie," said John. "Alice may have you all the rest of the year, but when I am at home you belong to me. What was your little head busied upon a while ago?"
"When?" said Ellen.
"When I asked you——"
"Oh, I know—I remember. I was thinking——"
"Well——?"
"I was thinking—do you want me to tell you?"
"Unless you would rather not."
"I was thinking about Jesus Christ," said Ellen, in a low tone.
"What about Him, dear Ellie?" said her brother, drawing her closer to his side.
"Different things—I was thinking of what He said about little children—and about what He said, you know—'In my Father's house are many mansions'; and I was thinking that mamma was there; and I thought—that we all——"
Ellen could get no further.
"'He that believeth in Him shall not be ashamed,'" said John softly. "'This is the promise that He hath promised us, even eternal life; and who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Not death, nor things present, nor things to come. But he that hath this hope in him purifieth himself even as He is pure;' let us remember that too."
"Mr. John," said Ellen presently, "don't you like some of the chapters in the Revelation very much?"
"Yes, very much. Why?—do you?"
"Yes. I remember reading parts of them to mamma, and that is one reason, I suppose; but I like them very much. There is a great deal I can't understand, though."
"There is nothing finer in the Bible than parts of that book," said Alice.
"Mr. John," said Ellen, "what is meant by the 'white stone'?"
"And in the stone a new name written——"
"Yes, that I mean."
"Mr. Baxter says it is the sense of God's love in the heart; and indeed that is it 'which no man knoweth saving him that receiveth it.' This, I take it, Ellen, was Christian's certificate, which he used to comfort himself with reading in, you remember?"
"Can a child have it?" said Ellen thoughtfully.
"Certainly—many children have had it—you may have it. Only seek it faithfully. 'Thou meetest him that rejoiceth and worketh righteousness, those that remember thee in thy ways.' And Christ said, 'He that loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him, and I will manifest myself to him.' There is no failure in these promises, Ellie; He that made them is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever."
For a little while each was busy with his own meditations. The moon meanwhile, rising higher and higher, poured a flood of light through the gap in the woods before them, and stealing among the trees here and there lit up a spot of ground under their deep shadow. The distant picture lay in mazy brightness. All was still, but the ceaseless chirrup of insects and gentle flapping of leaves; the summer air just touched their cheeks with the lightest breath of a kiss, sweet from distant hay-fields, and nearer pines and hemlocks, and other of nature's numberless perfume-boxes. The hay-harvest had been remarkably late this year.
"This is higher enjoyment," said John, "than half those who make their homes in rich houses and mighty palaces have any notion of."
"But cannot rich people look at the moon?" said Ellen.
"Yes, but the taste for pure pleasure is commonly gone when people make a trade of pleasure."
"Mr. John," Ellen began.
"I will forewarn you," said he, "that Mr. John has made up his mind he will do nothing more for you. So if you have anything to ask, it must lie still, unless you will begin again."
Ellen drew back. He looked grave, but she saw Alice smiling.
"But what shall I do?" said she, a little perplexed andhalf laughing. "What do you mean, Mr. John? What does he mean, Alice?"
"You could speak without a 'Mr.' to me this morning when you were in trouble."
"Oh!" said Ellen, laughing, "I forgot myself then."
"Have the goodness to forget yourself permanently for the future."
"Was that man hurt this morning, John?" said his sister.
"What man?"
"That man you delivered Ellen from."
"Hurt? no—nothing material; I did not wish to hurt him. He richly deserved punishment, but it was not for me to give it."
"He was in no hurry to get up," said Ellen.
"I do not think he ventured upon that till we were well out of the way. He lifted his head and looked after us as we rode off."
"But I wanted to ask something," said Ellen. "Oh! what is the reason the moon looks so much larger when she first gets up than she does afterwards?"
"Whom are you asking?"
"You."
"And who isyou? Here are two people in the moonlight."
"Mr. John Humphreys, Alice's brother, and that Thomas calls 'the young master,'" said Ellen, laughing.
"You are more shy of taking a leap than your little horse is," said John, smiling, "but I shall bring you up to it yet. What is the cause of the sudden enlargement of my thumb?"
He had drawn a small magnifying glass from his pocket and held it between his hand and Ellen.
"Why, it is not enlarged," said Ellen, "it is only magnified."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Why, the glass makes it look larger."
"Do you know how, or why?"
"No."
He put up the glass again.
"But what do you mean by that?" said Ellen; "there is no magnifying glass between us and the moon to makeherlook larger."
"You are sure of that?"
"Why, yes!" said Ellen; "I am perfectly sure; there is nothing in the world. There she is, right up there, looking straight down upon us, and there is nothing between."
"What is it that keeps up that pleasant fluttering of leaves in the wood?"
"Why, the wind."
"And what is the wind?"
"It is air—air moving, I suppose."
"Exactly. Then thereissomething between us and the moon."
"The air? But, Mr. John, one can see quite clearly through the air; it doesn't make things look larger or smaller."
"How far do you suppose the air reaches from us towards the moon?"
"Why, all the way, don't it?"
"No—only about forty miles. If it reached all the way there would indeed be no magnifying glass in the case."
"But how is it?" said Ellen. "I don't understand."
"I cannot tell you to-night, Ellie. There is a long ladder of knowledge to go up before we can get to the moon, but we will begin to mount to-morrow, if nothing happens. Alice, you have that little book of Conversations on Natural Philosophy, which you and I used to delight ourselves with in old time?"
"Safe and sound in the bookcase," said Alice. "I have thought of giving it to Ellen before, but she has been busy enough with what she had already."
"I have done Rollin now, though," said Ellen; "that is lucky. I am ready for the moon."
This new study was begun the next day, and Ellen took great delight in it. She would have run on too fast in her eagerness but for the steady hand of her teacher; he obliged her to be very thorough. This was only one of her items of business. The weeks of John's stay were as usual not merely weeks of constant and varied delight, but of constant and swift improvement too.
A good deal of time was given to the riding-lessons. John busied himself one morning in preparing a bar for her on the lawn; so placed that it might fall if the horse's heels touched it. Here Ellen learned to take first standing, and then running, leaps. She was afraid at first, but habit wore that off; and the bar was raised higher and higher, till Margery declared she "couldn't stand and look at her going over it." Then John made her ride without the stirrup, and with her hands behind her, while he, holding the horse by a long halter, made him go round in a circle, slowly at first, and afterwards trotting and cantering, till Ellen felt almost as secure on his back as in a chair. It took a good many lessons, however, to bring her to this, and she trembled very much at the beginning. Her teacher was careful and gentle, but determined; and whatever he said she did, tremble or no tremble; and in general loved her riding lessons dearly.
Drawing too went on finely. He began to let her draw things from nature; and many a pleasant morning the three went out together with pencils and books and work, and spent hours in the open air. They would find a pretty point of view, or a nice shady place where the breeze came, and where there was some good old rock with a tree beside it, or a piece of fence, or the house or barn in the distance, for Ellen to sketch; and while she drew and Alice worked, John read aloud to them. Sometimes he took a pencil too, and Alice read; and often, often pencils, books, and work were all laid down; and talk, lively, serious, earnest, always delightful, took the place of them. When Ellen could not understand the words, at least she could read the faces; and that was a study she was never weary of. At home there were other studies and much reading; many tea-drinkings on the lawn, and even breakfastings, which she thought pleasanter still.
As soon as it was decided that Mr. Van Brunt's leg was doing well, and in a fair way to be sound again, Ellen went to see him; and after that rarely let two days pass without going again. John and Alice used to ride with her so far, and taking a turn beyond while she made her visit, call for her on their way back. She had a strong motive for going in the pleasure her presence always gave, both to Mr. Van Brunt and his mother. Sam Larkens had been to Thirlwall and seen Mrs. Forbes, and from him they had heard the story of her riding up and down the town in search of the doctor; neither of them could forget it. Mrs. Van Brunt poured out her affection in all sorts of expressions whenever she had Ellen's ear; her son was not a man of many words; but Ellen knew his face and manner well enough without them, and read there whenever she went into his room what gave her great pleasure.
"How do you do, Mr. Van Brunt?" she said on one of these occasions.
"Oh, I'm getting along, I s'pose," said he; "getting along as well as a man can that's lying on his back from morning to night; prostrated, as 'Squire Dennison said his corn was t'other day."
"It is very tiresome, isn't it?" said Ellen.
"It's the tiresomest work that ever was, for a man that has two arms to be adoing nothing, day after day. And what bothers me is the wheat in that ten-acre lot, thatoughtto be prostrated too, and ain't, nor ain't like to be, as I know, unless the rain comes and does it. Sam and Johnny 'll make no headway at all with it—I can tell as well as if I see 'em."
"But Sam is good, isn't he?" said Ellen.
"Sam's as good a boy as ever was; but then Johnny Low is mischievous, you see, and he gets Sam out of his tracks once in a while. I never see a finer growth of wheat. I had a sight rather cut and harvest the hull of it than to lie here and think of it getting spoiled. I'm a'most out o' conceit o' trap-doors, Ellen."
Ellen could not help smiling.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Van Brunt?"
"There ain't nothing," said he; "I wish there was. How are you coming along at home?"
"I don't know," said Ellen; "I am not there just now, you know; I am staying up with Miss Alice again."
"Oh ay! while her brother's at home. He's a splendid man, that young Mr. Humphreys, ain't he?"
"Oh,Iknew that a great while ago," said Ellen, the bright colour of pleasure overspreading her face.
"Well,Ididn't, you see, till the other day, when he came here, very kindly, to see how I was getting on. I wish something would bring him again. I never heerd a man talk I liked to hear so much."
Ellen secretly resolved somethingshouldbring him; and went on with a purpose she had had for some time in her mind.
"Wouldn't it be pleasant, while you are lying there and can do nothing—wouldn't you like to have me read something to you, Mr. Van Brunt?Ishould like to, very much."
"It's just like you," said he gratefully, "to think of that; but I wouldn't have you be bothered with it."
"It wouldn't indeed. I should like it very much."
"Well, if you've a mind," said he; "I can't say but it would be a kind o' comfort to keep that grain out o' my head a while. Seems to me I have cut and housed it all three times over already. Read just whatever you have a mind to. If you was to go over a last year's almanac, it would be as good as a fiddle to me."
"I'll do better for you than that, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen, laughing in high glee at having gained her point. She had secretly brought her "Pilgrim's Progress" with her, and now with marvellous satisfaction drew it forth.
"I ha'n't been as much of a reader as I had ought to," said Mr. Van Brunt, as she opened the book and turned to the first page; "but, however, I understand my business pretty well; and a man can't be everything to once. Now let's hear what you've got there."
With a throbbing heart Ellen began, and read, notes and all, till the sound of trampling hoofs and Alice's voice made her break off. It encouraged and delighted her to see that Mr. Van Brunt'sattention was perfectly fixed. He lay still, without moving his eyes from her face, till she stopped; then thanking her, he declared that was a "first-rate book," and he "should like mainly to hear the hull on it."
From that time Ellen was diligent in her attendance on him. That she might have more time for reading than the old plan gave her, she set off by herself alone some time before the others, of course riding home with them. It cost her a little sometimes to forego so much of their company; but she never saw the look of grateful pleasure with which she was welcomed without ceasing to regret her self-denial. How Ellen blessed those notes as she went on with her reading! They said exactly what she wanted Mr. Van Brunt to hear, and in the best way, and were too short and simple to interrupt the interest of the story. After a while she ventured to ask if she might read him a chapter in the Bible. He agreed very readily; owning "he hadn't ought to be so long without reading one as he had been." Ellen then made it a rule to herself, without asking any more questions, to end every reading with a chapter in the Bible; and she carefully sought out those that might be most likely to take hold of his judgment or feelings. They took hold of her own very deeply, by the means; what was strong or tender before, now seemed to her too mighty to be withstood; and Ellen read not only with her lips but with her whole heart the precious words, longing that they might come with their just effect upon Mr. Van Brunt's mind.
Once as she finished reading the tenth chapter of John, a favourite chapter, which between her own feeling of it and her strong wish for him had moved her even to tears, she cast a glance at his face to see how he took it. His head was a little turned to one side, and his eyes closed; she thought he was asleep. Ellen was very much disappointed. She sank her head upon her book and prayed that a time might come when he would know the worth of those words. The touch of his hand startled her.
"What is the matter?" said he. "Are you tired?"
"No," said Ellen, looking hastily up; "oh no! I'm not tired."
"But what ails you?" said the astonished Mr. Van Brunt; "what have you been a crying for? what's the matter?"
"Oh, never mind," said Ellen, brushing her hand over her eyes, "it's no matter."
"Yes, but I want to know," said Mr. Van Brunt; "you shan't have anything to vex you thatIcan help; what is it?"
"It is nothing, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen, bursting into tears again, "only I thought you were asleep; I—I thought youdidn't care enough about the Bible to keep awake; I want so much that you should be a Christian!"
He half groaned and turned his head away.
"What makes you wish that so much?" said he, after a minute or two.
"Because I want you to be happy," said Ellen, "and I know you can't without."
"Well, I am pretty tolerable happy," said he; "as happy as most folks, I guess."
"But I want you to be happy when you die, too," said Ellen; "I want to meet you in heaven."
"I hope I will go there, surely," said he gravely, "when the time comes."
Ellen was uneasily silent, not knowing what to say.
"I ain't as good as I ought to be," said he presently, with a half sigh; "I ain't good enough to go to heaven; I wish I was.Youare, Idobelieve."
"I! Oh no, Mr. Van Brunt, do not say that; I am not good at all; I am full of wrong things."
"Well, I wish I was full of wrong things too, in the same way," said he.
"But I am," said Ellen, "whether you will believe it or not. Nobody is good, Mr. Van Brunt. But Jesus Christ has died for us, and if we ask Him, He will forgive us, and wash away our sins, and teach us to love Him, and make us good, and take us to be with Him in heaven. Oh, I wish you would ask Him!" she repeated with an earnestness that went to his heart. "I don't believe any one can be very happy that doesn't love Him."
"Is that what makesyouhappy?" said he.
"I have a great many things to make me happy," said Ellen, soberly, "but that is the greatest of all. It always makes me happy to think of Him, and it makes everything else a thousand times pleasanter. I wish you knew how it is, Mr. Van Brunt."
He was silent for a little, and disturbed, Ellen thought.
"Well!" said he at length, "'taint the folks that thinks themselves the best thatisthe best always; if you ain't good I should like to know what goodness is.There'ssomebody that thinks you be," said he a minute or two afterwards, as the horses were heard coming to the gate.
"No, she knows me better than that," said Ellen.
"It isn't anyshethat I mean," said Mr. Van Brunt. "There's somebody else out there, ain't there?"
"Who?" said Ellen, "Mr. John? Oh no, indeed he don't. It was only this morning he was telling me of something I did that was wrong." Her eyes watered as she spoke.
"He must have mighty sharp eyes, then," said Mr. Van Brunt, "for it beats allmypowers of seeing things."
"And so he has," said Ellen, putting on her bonnet, "he always knows what I am thinking of just as well as if I told him. Good-bye!"
"Good-bye," said he; "I ha'n't forgotten what you've been saying, and I don't mean to."
How full of sweet pleasure was the ride home!
The "something wrong," of which Ellen had spoken, was this. The day before, it happened that Mr. John had broken her off from a very engaging book to take her drawing-lesson; and as he stooped down to give a touch or two to the piece she was to copy, he said, "I don't want you to read any more of that, Ellie; it is not a good book for you." Ellen did not for a moment question that he was right, nor wish to disobey; but she had become very much interested, and was a good deal annoyed at having such a sudden stop put to her pleasure. She said nothing, and went on with her work. In a little while Alice asked her to hold a skein of cotton for her while she wound it. Ellen was annoyed again at the interruption; the harp-strings were jarring yet, and gave fresh discord to every touch. She had, however, no mind to let her vexation be seen; she went immediately and held the cotton, and as soon as it was done sat down again to her drawing. Before ten minutes had passed Margery came to set the table for dinner; Ellen's papers and desk must move.
"Why, it is not dinner-time yet this great while, Margery," said she; "it isn't much after twelve."
"No, Miss Ellen," said Margery under her breath, for John was in one corner of the room reading, "but by-and-by I'll be busy with the chops and frying the salsify, and I couldn't leave the kitchen; if you'll let me have the table now."
Ellen said no more, and moved her things to a stand before the window, where she went on with her copying till dinner was ready. Whatever the reason was, however, her pencil did not work smoothly; her eye did not see true; and she lacked her usual steady patience. The next morning, after an hour and more's work and much painstaking, the drawing was finished. Ellen had quite forgotten her yesterday's trouble. But when John came to review her drawing, he found several faults with it; pointed out two or three places in which it had suffered from haste and want of care; and asked her how it had happened. Ellen knew it happened yesterday. She was vexed again, though she did her best not to show it; she stood quietly and heard what he had to say. He then told her to get ready for her riding lesson.
"Mayn't I just make this right first?" said Ellen; "it won't take me long."
"No," said he, "you have been sitting long enough; I must break you off. The Brownie will be here in ten minutes."
Ellen was impatiently eager to mend the bad places in her drawing, and impatiently displeased at being obliged to ride first. Slowly and reluctantly she went to get ready; John was already gone; she would not have moved so leisurely if he had been anywhere within seeing distance. As it was, she found it convenient to quicken her movements; and was at the door ready as soon as he and the Brownie. She was soon thoroughly engaged in the management of herself and her horse; a little smart riding shook all the ill humour out of her, and she was entirely herself again. At the end of fifteen or twenty minutes they drew up under the shade of a tree to let the Brownie rest a little. It was a warm day, and John had taken off his hat and stood resting too, with his arm leaning on the neck of the horse. Presently he looked round to Ellen, and asked her with a smile if she felt right again.
"Why?" said Ellen, the crimson of her cheeks mounting to her forehead. But her eye sank immediately at the answering glance of his. He then, in very few words, set the matter before her, with such a happy mixture of pointedness and kindness, that while the reproof, coming from him, went to the quick, Ellen yet joined with it no thought of harshness or severity. She was completely subdued, however; the rest of the lesson had to be given up, and for an hour Ellen's tears could not be stayed. But it was, and John had meant it should be, a strong check given to her besetting sin. It had a long and lasting effect.