The Wide, Wide World. Warner Susan

at that moment cared about that. She stood motionless, utterly astounded at this unheard-of proposal, and not a little indignant; but when, with a good-natured smile upon his round face, he came near to claim the kiss he no doubt thought himself sure of, Ellen shot from him like an arrow from a bow. She rushed to the house, and bursting open the door, stood with flushed face and sparkling eyes in the presence of her astonished aunt.

      "What in the world is the matter?" exclaimed that lady.

      "He wanted to kiss me!" said Ellen, scarce knowing whom she was talking to, and crimsoning more and more.

      "Who wanted to kiss you?"

      "That man out there."

      "What man?"

      "That man that drives the oxen."

      "What, Mr. Van Brunt?" And Ellen never forgot the loud ha! ha! which burst from Miss Fortune's wide-opened mouth.

      "Well, why didn't you let him kiss you?"

      The laugh, the look, the tone, stung Ellen to the very quick. In a fury of passion she dashed away out of the kitchen and up to her own room. And there, for a while, the storm of anger drove over her with such violence that conscience had hardly time to whisper. Sorrow came in again as passion faded, and gentler but very bitter weeping took the place of convulsive sobs of rage and mortification, and then the whispers of conscience began to be heard a little. "Oh, mamma! mamma!" cried poor Ellen in her heart; "how miserable I am without you! I never can like Aunt Fortune; it's of no use – I never can like her. I hope I sha'n't get to hate her! – and that isn't right. I am forgetting all that is good, and there's nobody to put me in mind. Oh, mamma! if I could lay my head in your lap for a minute!" Then came thoughts of her Bible and hymn-book, and the friend who had given it – sorrowful thoughts they were; and at last, humbled and sad, poor Ellen sought that great Friend she knew she had displeased, and prayed earnestly to be made a good child. She felt and owned she was not one now.

      It was long after mid-day when Ellen rose from her knees. Her passion was all gone; she felt more gentle and pleasant than she had done for days; but at the bottom of her heart resentment was not all gone. She still thought she had cause to be angry, and she could not think of her aunt's look and tone without a thrill of painful feeling. In a very different mood, however, from that in which she had flown upstairs two or three hours before, she now came softly down and went out by the front door to avoid meeting her aunt. She had visited that morning a little brook which ran through the meadow on the other side of the road. It had great charms for her; and now crossing the lane and creeping under the fence, she made her way again to its banks. At a particular spot, where the brook made one of its sudden turns, Ellen sat down upon the grass and watched the dark water – whirling, brawling over the stones, hurrying past her with ever the same soft, pleasant sound, and she was never tired of it. She did not hear footsteps drawing near, and it was not till some one was close beside her, and a voice spoke almost in her ears, that she raised her startled eyes and saw the little girl who had come the evening before for a pitcher of milk.

      "What are you doing?" said the latter.

      "I'm watching for fish," said Ellen.

      "Watching for fish!" said the other, rather disdainfully.

      "Yes," said Ellen; "there, in that little quiet place they come sometimes. I've seen two."

      "You can look for fish another time. Come now and take a walk with me."

      "Where?" said Ellen.

      "Oh, you shall see. Come! I'll take you all about and show you where people live. You ha'n't been anywhere yet, have you?"

      "No," said Ellen, "and I should like dearly to go, but – "

      She hesitated. Her aunt's words came to mind, that this was not a good girl, and that she must have nothing to do with her; but she had not more than half believed them, and she could not possibly bring herself now to go in and ask Miss Fortune's leave to take this walk. "I am sure," thought Ellen, "she would refuse me if there was no reason in the world." And then the delight of rambling through the beautiful country and being for awhile in other company than that of her Aunt Fortune and the old grandmother! The temptation was too great to be withstood.

      "Well, what are you thinking about?" said the girl. "What's the matter? Won't you come?"

      "Yes," said Ellen, "I'm ready. Which way shall we go?"

      With the assurance from the other that she would show her plenty of ways, they set off down the lane; Ellen with a secret fear of being seen and called back, till they had gone some distance, and the house was hid from view. Then her pleasure became great. The afternoon was fair and mild, the footing pleasant, and Ellen felt like a bird out of a cage. She was ready to be delighted with every trifle; her companion could not by any means understand or enter into her bursts of pleasure at many a little thing which she of the black eyes thought not worthy of notice. She tried to bring Ellen back to higher subjects of conversation.

      "How long have you been here?" she asked.

      "Oh, a good while," said Ellen; "I don't know exactly; it's a week, I believe."

      "Why, do you call that a good while?" said the other.

      "Well, it seems a good while to me," said Ellen, sighing; "it seems as long as four, I am sure."

      "Then you don't like to live here much, do you?"

      "I had rather be at home, of course."

      "How do you like your Aunt Fortune?"

      "How do I like her?" said Ellen, hesitating. "I think she's good-looking, and very smart."

      "Yes, you needn't tell me she's smart – everybody knows that; that ain't what I ask you. How do you like her?"

      "How do I like her?" said Ellen again; "how can I tell how I shall like her? I haven't lived with her but a week yet."

      "You might just as well ha' spoke out," said the other somewhat scornfully. "Do you think I don't know you half hate her already? and it'll be whole hating in another week more. When I first heard you'd come, I guessed you'd have a sweet time with her."

      "Why?" said Ellen.

      "Oh, don't ask me why," said the other impatiently, "when you know as well as I do. Every soul that speaks of you says, 'poor child,' and 'I'm glad I ain't her.' You needn't try to come cunning over me. I shall be too much for you, I tell you."

      "I don't know what you mean," said Ellen.

      "Oh no, I suppose you don't," said the other in the same tone; "of course you don't; I suppose you don't know whether your tongue is your own or somebody's else. You think Miss Fortune is an angel, and so do I; to be sure she is!"

      Not very well pleased with this kind of talk, Ellen walked on for a while in grave silence. Her companion meantime recollected herself; when she spoke again it was with an altered tone.

      "How do you like Mr. Van Brunt?"

      "I don't like him at all," said Ellen, reddening.

      "Don't you?" said the other, surprised, "why, everybody likes him. What don't you like him for?"

      "I don't like him," repeated Ellen.

      "Ain't Miss Fortune queer to live in the way she does?"

      "What way?" said Ellen.

      "Why, without any help – doing all her own work, and living all alone, when she's so rich as she is."

      "Is she rich?" asked Ellen.

      "Rich! I guess she is! she's one of the very best farms in the country, and money enough to have a dozen help, if she wanted 'em. Van Brunt takes care of the farm, you know."

      "Does he?" said Ellen.

      "Why, yes, of course he does! didn't you know that? what did you think he was at your house all the time for?"

      "I am sure I don't know," said Ellen. "And are those Aunt Fortune's oxen that he drives?"

      "To be sure they are. Well, I do think you are green, to have been there all this time and not found that out. Mr. Van Brunt does just what he pleases over the whole farm, though; hires what help he wants,