"Looking for her! ay, looking for her ever since sundown. She has been missing at the house since some time this forenoon. I believe her aunt got a bit scared about her; any how, I did. She's a queer little chip, as ever I see." "She's a dear little soul, _I_ know," said his mother; "you needn't say nothin' agin her, I ain't agoing 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 a walk, and worked it so as to get her into the brook, and then 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 han'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 makin' 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 gray 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."