The Wide, Wide World. Warner Susan

cried Margaret, "come here and fix me—quick! and step softly, will you? or you'll wake that young one up, and then, you see, I shall have to stay upstairs."

      This did not happen, however; Ellen's sleep was much too deep to be easily disturbed. The tea-bell itself, loud and shrill as it was, did not even make her eyelids tremble. After Mrs. and Miss Dunscombe were gone down, Timmins employed herself a little while in putting all things about the room to rights, and then sat down to take her rest, dividing her attention between the fire and Ellen, towards whom she seemed to feel more and more kindness, as she saw that she was likely to receive it from no one else. Presently came a knock at the door—"The tea for the young lady," on a waiter. Miss Timmins silently took the tray from the man and shut the door. "Well!" said she to herself, "if that ain't a pretty supper to send up to a child that has gone two hundred miles to-day and had no breakfast—a cup of tea, cold enough I'll warrant, bread and butter enough for a bird, and two little slices of ham as thick as a wafer! Well, I just wish Mrs. Dunscombe had to eat it herself, and nothing else! I'm not going to wake her up for that, I know, till I see whether something better ain't to be had for love or money. So just you sleep on, darling, till I see what I can do for you."

      In great indignation downstairs went Miss Timmins, and at the foot of the stairs she met a rosy-cheeked, pleasant-faced girl coming up.

      "Are you the chambermaid?" said Timmins.

      "I'm one of the chambermaids," said the girl, smiling; "there's three of us in this house, dear."

      "Well, I am a stranger here," said Timmins; "but I want you to help me, and I am sure you will. I've got a dear little girl upstairs that I want some supper for; she's a sweet child, and she's under the care of some proud folks here in the tea-room that think it too much trouble to look at her, and they've sent her up about supper enough for a mouse—and she's half-starving; she lost her breakfast this morning by their ugliness. Now ask one of the waiters to give me something nice for her, will you?—there's a good girl."

      "James!" said the girl in a loud whisper to one of the waiters who was crossing the hall. He instantly stopped and came towards them, tray in hand, and making several extra polite bows as he drew near.

      "What's on the supper-table, James?" said the smiling damsel.

      "Everything that ought to be there, Miss Johns," said the man, with another flourish.

      "Come, stop your nonsense," said the girl, "and tell me quick; I'm in a hurry."

      "It's a pleasure to perform your commands, Miss Johns. I'll give you the whole bill of fare. There's a very fine beefsteak, fricasseed chickens, stewed oysters, sliced ham, cheese, preserved quinces—with the usual complement of bread and toast and muffins, and doughnuts, and new-year cake, and plenty of butter, likewise salt and pepper, likewise tea and coffee and sugar, likewise——"

      "Hush!" said the girl. "Do stop, will you?" and then laughing and turning to Miss Timmins, she added, "What will you have?"

      "I guess I'll have some of the chickens and oysters," said Timmins; "that will be the nicest for her, and a muffin or two."

      "Now, James, do you hear?" said the chambermaid; "I want you to get me now, right away, a nice little supper of chickens and oysters and a muffin—it's for a lady upstairs. Be as quick as you can."

      "I should be very happy to execute impossibilities for you, Miss Johns; but Mrs. Custers is at the table herself."

      "Very well—that's nothing; she'll think it's for somebody upstairs—and so it is."

      "Ay, but the upstairs people is Tim's business—I should be hauled over the coals directly."

      "Then ask Tim, will you? How slow you are! Now, James, if you don't I won't speak to you again."

      "Till to-morrow? I couldn't stand that. It shall be done, Miss Johns, instantum."

      Bowing and smiling, away went James, leaving the girls giggling on the staircase and highly gratified.

      "He always does what I want him to," said the good-humoured chambermaid; "but he generally makes a fuss about it first. He'll be back directly with what you want."

      Till he came, Miss Timmins filled up the time with telling her new friend as much as she knew about Ellen and Ellen's hardships, with which Miss Johns was so much interested that she declared she must go up and see her; and when James in a few minutes returned with a tray of nice things, the two women proceeded together to Mrs. Dunscombe's room. Ellen had moved so far as to put herself on the floor with her head on the cushion for a pillow, but she was as sound asleep as ever.

      "Just see now!" said Timmins; "there she lies on the floor—enough to give her her death of cold. Poor child, she's tired to death, and Mrs. Dunscombe made her walk up from the steamboat to-night rather than do it herself; I declare I wished the coach would break down, only for the other folks. I am glad I have got a good supper for her though—thank you, Miss Johns."

      "And I'll tell you what, I'll go and get you some nice hot tea," said the chambermaid, who was quite touched by the sight of Ellen's little pale face.

      "Thank you," said Timmins, "you're a darling. This is as cold as a stone."

      While the chambermaid went forth on her kind errand, Timmins stooped down by the little sleeper's side. "Miss Ellen!" she said; "Miss Ellen! wake up, dear—wake up and get some supper—come! you'll feel a great deal better for it; you shall sleep as much as you like afterwards."

      Slowly Ellen raised herself and opened her eyes. "Where am I?" she asked, looking bewildered.

      "Here, dear," said Timmins; "wake up and eat something—it will do you good."

      With a sigh, poor Ellen arose and came to the fire. "You're tired to death, ain't you?" said Timmins.

      "Not quite," said Ellen. "I shouldn't mind that if my legs would not ache so—and my head too."

      "Now I'm sorry!" said Timmins; "but your head will be better for eating, I know. See here, I've got you some nice chicken and oysters, and I'll make this muffin hot for you by the fire; and here comes your tea. Miss Johns, I'm your servant, and I'll be your bridesmaid with the greatest pleasure in life. Now, Miss Ellen, dear, just you put yourself on that low chair, and I'll fix you off."

      Ellen thanked her, and did as she was told. Timmins brought another chair to her side, and placed the tray with her supper upon it, and prepared her muffin and tea; and having fairly seen Ellen begin to eat, she next took off her shoes, and seating herself on the carpet before her, she made her lap the resting-place for Ellen's feet, chafing them in her hands and heating them at the fire, saying there was nothing like rubbing and roasting to get rid of the leg-ache. By the help of the supper, the fire, and Timmins, Ellen mended rapidly. With tears in her eyes, she thanked the latter for her kindness.

      "Now just don't say one word about that," said Timmins; "I never was famous for kindness, as I know; but people must be kind sometimes in their lives, unless they happen to be made of stone, which I believe some people are. You feel better, don't you?"

      "A great deal," said Ellen. "Oh, if I only could go to bed now!"

      "And you shall," said Timmins. "I know about your bed, and I'll go right away and have it brought in." And away she went.

      While she was gone, Ellen drew from her pocket her little hymn-book, to refresh herself with looking at it. How quickly and freshly it brought back to her mind the friend who had given it, and his conversations with her, and the resolve she had made; and again Ellen's whole heart offered the prayer she had repeated many times that day—

      "Open my heart, Lord, enter in;

       Slay every foe, and conquer sin."

      Her head was still bent upon her little book when Timmins entered. Timmins was not alone; Miss Johns and a little cot bedstead came in with her. The latter was put at the foot of Mrs. Dunscombe's bed, and speedily made up by the chambermaid, while Timmins undressed Ellen; and very soon all the sorrows and vexations of the day were forgotten in a sound, refreshing sleep. But not till she had removed her little