The Wide, Wide World. Warner Susan

be too industrious."

      "Well, Mamma, I am as willing as can be."

      This was the beginning of a pleasant two weeks to Ellen weeks to which she often looked back afterwards, so quietly and swiftly the days fled away, in busy occupation and sweet intercourse with her mother. The passions, which were apt enough to rise in Ellen's mind upon occasions, were, for the present, kept effectually in check. She could not forget that her days with her mother would very soon be at an end, for a long time at least; and this consciousness, always present to her mind, forbade even the wish to do anything that might grieve or disturb her. Love and tenderness had absolute rule for the time, and even had power to overcome the sorrowful thoughts that would often rise; so that in spite of them peace reigned. And perhaps both mother and daughter enjoyed this interval the more keenly because they knew that sorrow was at hand.

      All this while there was scarcely a day that the old gentleman's servant did not knock at their door, bearing a present of game. The second time he came with some fine larks; next was a superb grouse; then woodcock again. Curiosity strove with astonishment and gratitude in Ellen's mind.

      "Mamma," she said, after she had admired the grouse for five minutes, "I cannot rest without finding out who this old gentleman is."

      "I am sorry for that," replied Mrs. Montgomery, gravely, "for

       I see no possible way of your doing it."

      "Why, Mamma, couldn't I ask the man that brings the birds what his name is? He must know it."

      "Certainly not; it would be very dishonourable."

      "Would it, Mamma? why?"

      "This old gentleman has not chosen to tell you his name; he wrote his note without signing it, and his man has obviously been instructed not to disclose it. Don't you remember, he did not tell it when you asked him, the first time he came? Now this shows the old gentleman wishes to keep it secret, and to try to find it out in any way would be a very unworthy return for his kindness."

      "Yes, it wouldn't be doing as I would be done by, to be sure; but would it be dishonourable, Mamma?"

      "Very. It is very dishonourable to try to find out that about other people which does not concern you, and which they wish to keep from you. Remember that, my dear daughter."

      "I will, Mamma. I'll never do it, I promise you."

      "Even in talking with people, if you discern in them any unwillingness to speak upon a subject, avoid it immediately, provided, of course, that some higher interest do not oblige you to go on. That is true politeness, and true kindness, which are nearly the same; and not to do so, I assure you, Ellen, proves one wanting in true honour."

      "Well, Mamma, I don't care what his name is at least I won't try to find out; but it does worry me that I cannot thank him. I wish he knew how much I feel obliged to him."

      "Very well; write him and tell him so."

      "Mamma!" said Ellen, opening her eyes very wide "can I? would you?"

      "Certainly if you like. It would be very proper."

      "Then I will! I declare that is a good notion. I'll do it the first thing, and then I can give it to that man if he comes to-morrow, as I suppose he will. Mamma," said she, on opening her desk, "how funny! don't you remember you wondered who I was going to write notes to? Here is one now, Mamma; it is very lucky I have got note-paper."

      More than one sheet of it was ruined before Ellen had satisfied herself with what she wrote. It was a full hour from the time she began when she brought the following note for her mother's inspection:

      "Ellen Montgomery does not know how to thank the old gentleman who is so kind to her. Mamma enjoys the birds very much, and I think I do more; for I have the double pleasure of giving them to Mamma, and of eating them afterwards; but your kindness is the best of all. I can't tell you how much I am obliged to you, Sir, but I will always love you for all you have done for me.

      "ELLEN MONTGOMERY."

      This note Mrs. Montgomery approved; and Ellen having, with great care and great satisfaction, enclosed it in an envelope, succeeded in sealing it according to rule, and very well. Mrs. Montgomery laughed when she saw the direction, but let it go. Without consulting her, Ellen had written on the outside, "To the old gentleman." She sent it the next morning by the hands of the same servant, who this time was the bearer of a plump partridge "To Miss Montgomery;" and her mind was a great deal easier on this subject from that time.

      CHAPTER VI.

      Night and Morning.

      October was now far advanced. One evening the evening of the last Sunday in the month Mrs. Montgomery was lying in the parlour alone. Ellen had gone to bed some time before; and now, in the stillness of the Sabbath evening, the ticking of the clock was almost the only sound to be heard. The hands were rapidly approaching ten. Captain Montgomery was abroad; and he had been so according to custom or in bed, the whole day. The mother and daughter had had the Sabbath to themselves; and most quietly and sweetly it had passed. They had read together, prayed together, talked together a great deal; and the evening had been spent in singing hymns; but Mrs. Montgomery's strength failed here, and Ellen sang alone. She was not soon weary. Hymn succeeded hymn, with fresh and varied pleasure; and her mother could not tire of listening. The sweet words, and the sweet airs which were all old friends, and brought of themselves many a lesson of wisdom and consolation, by the mere force of association needed not the recommendation of the clear childish voice in which they were sung, which was, of all things, the sweetest to Mrs. Montgomery's ear. She listened till she almost felt as if earth were left behind, and she and her child already standing within the walls of that city where sorrow and sighing shall be no more, and the tears shall be wiped from all eyes for ever. Ellen's next hymn, however, brought her back to earth again; but though her tears flowed freely while she heard it, all her causes of sorrow could not render them bitter.

      "God in Israel sows the seeds

      Of affliction, pain, and toil;

      These spring up and choke the weeds

      Which would else o'erspread the soil.

      Trials make the promise sweet

      Trials give new life to prayer

      Trials bring me to his feet,

      Lay me low, and keep me there."

      "It is so, indeed, dear Ellen," said Mrs. Montgomery, when she had finished and holding the little singer to her breast "I have always found it so. God is faithful. I have seen abundant cause to thank him for all the evils he has made me suffer heretofore, and I do not doubt it will be the same with this last and worst one. Let us glorify him in the fires, my daughter; and if earthly joys be stripped from us, and if we be torn from each other, let us cling the closer to him he can, and he will, in that case, make up to us more than all we have lost."

      Ellen felt her utter inability to join in her mother's expressions of confidence and hope; to her there was no brightness on the cloud that hung over them it was all dark. She could only press her lips, in tearful silence, to the one and the other of her mother's cheeks alternately. How sweet the sense of the coming parting made every such embrace! This one, for particular reasons, was often and long remembered. A few minutes they remained thus in each other's arms, cheek pressed against cheek, without speaking; but then Mrs. Montgomery remembered that Ellen's bed-time was already past, and dismissed her.

      For a while after, Mrs. Montgomery remained just where Ellen had left her, her busy thoughts roaming over many things, in the far past, and the sad present, and the uncertain future. She was unconscious of the passage of time, and did not notice how the silence deepened as the night drew on, till scarce a footfall was heard in the street, and the ticking of the clock sounded with that sad distinctness which seems to say "Time is going on time is going on, and you are going with it do what you will, you can't help that." It was just upon the stroke of ten, and Mrs. Montgomery was still wrapped in her deep