The Wide, Wide World. Warner Susan

said his mother; "you needn't say nothin' agin her, I ain't a-going to believe it."

      "No more am I—I'm the best friend she's got, if she only knowed it; but don't you think," said Mr. Van Brunt, laughing, "I asked her to give me a kiss this forenoon, and if I'd been an owl she couldn't ha' been more scared; she went off like a streak, and Miss Fortune said she was as mad as she could be, and that's the last of her."

      "How did you find her out?"

      "I met that mischievous Vawse girl, and I made her tell me; she had no mind to at first. It'll be the worse for Ellen if she takes to that wicked thing."

      "She won't. Nancy has been taking her for a walk, and worked it so as to get her into the brook, and then she brought her here, just as dripping wet as she could be. I gave her something hot and put her to bed, and she'll do, I reckon; but I tell you it gave me queer feelings to see the poor little thing just as white as ashes, and all of a tremble, and looking so sorrowful too. She's sleeping finely now; but it ain't right to see a child's face look so; it ain't right," repeated Mrs. Van Brunt thoughtfully. "You ha'n't had supper, have you?"

      "No, mother, and I must take that young one back. Ain't she awake yet?"

      "I'll see directly; but she ain't going home, nor you neither, 'Brahm, till you've got your supper; it would be a sin to let her. She shall have a taste of my splitters this very night; I've been making them o' purpose for her. So you may just take off your hat and sit down."

      "You mean to let her know where to come when she wants good things, mother. Well, I won't say splitters ain't worth waiting for."

      Ellen heard him sit down, and then she guessed from the words that passed that Mrs. Van Brunt and her little maid were busied in making the cakes. She lay quiet.

      "You're a good friend, 'Brahm," began the old lady again, "nobody knows that better than me; but I hope that poor little thing has got another one to-day that'll do more for her than you can."

      "What, yourself, mother? I don't know about that."

      "No, no; do you think I mean myself? There, turn it quick, Sally! Miss Alice has been here."

      "How; this evening?"

      "Just a little before dark, on her grey pony. She came in for a minute, and I took her—that'll burn, Sally!—I took her in to see the child while she was asleep, and I told her all you told me about her. She didn't say much, but she looked at her very sweet, as she always does, and I guess—there—now I'll see after my little sleeper."

      And presently Mrs. Van Brunt came to the bedside with a light, and her arms full of Ellen's dry clothes. Ellen felt as if she could have put her arms round her kind old friend and hugged her with all her heart; but it was not her way to show her feelings before strangers. She suffered Mrs. Van Brunt to dress her in silence, only saying with a sigh, "How kind you are to me, ma'am;" to which the old lady replied with a kiss, and telling her she mustn't say a word about that.

      The kitchen was bright with firelight and candlelight; the tea-table looked beautiful with its piles of white splitters, besides plenty of other and more substantial things; and at the corner of the hearth sat Mr. Van Brunt.

      "So," said he, smiling, as Ellen came in and took her stand at the opposite corner, "so I drove you away this morning? You ain't mad with me yet, I hope."

      Ellen crossed directly over to him, and putting her little hand in his great rough one, said, "I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Van Brunt, for taking so much trouble to come and look after me."

      She said it with a look of gratitude and trust that pleased him very much.

      "Trouble, indeed!" said he good-humouredly, "I'll take twice as much any day for what you wouldn't give me this forenoon. But never fear, Miss Ellen, I ain't a-goin' to ask you that again."

      He shook the little hand, and from that time Ellen and her rough charioteer were firm friends.

      Mrs. Van Brunt now summoned them to table, and Ellen was well feasted with the splitters, which were a kind of rich short-cake baked in irons, very thin and crisp, and then split in two and buttered, whence their name. A pleasant meal was that. Whatever an epicure might have thought of the tea, to Ellen, in her famished state, it was delicious; and no epicure could have found fault with the cold ham and the butter and the cakes; but far better than all was the spirit of kindness that was there. Ellen feasted on that more than on anything else. If her host and hostess were not very polished, they could not have been outdone in their kind care of her and kind attention to her wants. And when the supper was at length over, Mrs. Van Brunt declared a little colour had come back to the pale cheeks. The colour came back in good earnest a few minutes after, when a great tortoise-shell cat walked into the room. Ellen jumped down from her chair, and presently was bestowing the tenderest caresses upon pussy, who stretched out her head and purred as if she liked them very well.

      "What a nice cat," said Ellen.

      "She has five kittens," said Mrs. Van Brunt.

      "Five kittens!" said Ellen. "Oh, may I come some time and see them?"

      "You shall see 'em right away, dear, and come as often as you like too. Sally, just take a basket, and go fetch them kittens here."

      Upon this Mr. Van Brunt began to talk about its being time to go, if they were going. But his mother insisted that Ellen should stay where she was; she said she was not fit to go home that night, that she oughtn't to walk a step, and that 'Brahm should go and tell Miss Fortune the child was safe and well, and would be with her early in the morning. Mr. Van Brunt shook his head two or three times, but finally agreed, to Ellen's great joy. When he came back she was sitting on the floor before the fire, with all the five kittens in her lap, and the old mother cat walking around and over her and them. But she looked up with a happier face than he had ever seen her wear, and told him she was "so much obliged to him for taking such a long walk for her;" and Mr. Van Brunt felt that, like his oxen, he could have done a great deal more with pleasure.

      CHAPTER XIII

       Table of Contents

      It's hardly in a body's pow'r

       To keep at times frae being sour.

      —Burns.

      Before the sun was up the next morning, Mrs. Van Brunt came into Ellen's room and aroused her.

      "It's a real shame to wake you up," she said, "when you were sleeping so finely; but 'Brahm wants to be off to his work, and won't stay for breakfast. Slept sound, did you?"

      "Oh yes, indeed; as sound as a top," said Ellen, rubbing her eyes; "I am hardly awake yet."

      "I declare it's too bad," said Mrs. Van Brunt, "but there's no help for it. You don't feel no headache, do you, nor pain in your bones?"

      "No, ma'am, not a bit of it; I feel nicely."

      "Ah! well," said Mrs. Van Brunt, "then your tumble into the brook didn't do you any mischief; I thought it wouldn't. Poor little soul!"

      "I am very glad I did fall in," said Ellen, "for if I hadn't I shouldn't have come here, Mrs. Van Brunt."

      The old lady instantly kissed her.

      "Oh! mayn't I just take one look at the kitties?" said Ellen, when she was ready to go.

      "Indeed you shall," said Mrs. Van Brunt, "if 'Brahm's hurry was ever so much; and it ain't besides. Come here, dear."

      She took Ellen back to a waste lumber-room, where in a corner, on some old pieces of carpet, lay pussy and her family. How fondly Ellen's hand was passed over each little soft back! How hard it was for her to leave them!

      "Wouldn't you like to take one home with you, dear?" said Mrs. Van Brunt at length.

      "Oh! may I?" said Ellen, looking up in delight; "are you in earnest? Oh, thank you, dear Mrs. Van Brunt! Oh, I shall be so glad!"

      "Well,