"You are an odd little girl," said she. "I gave you liberty to ask me questions." "Yes, Ma’am," said Ellen, doubtfully. "There is a question you have not asked me that I have been expecting. Do you know who I am?" "No, Ma’am." "Don't you want to know?" "Yes, Ma’am, very much," said Ellen, laughing at her friend's look; "but Mamma told me never to try to find out anything about other people that they didn't wish me to know, or that wasn't my business." "Well, I think this is your business decidedly. Who are you going to ask for when you come to see me to-morrow? Will you ask for 'the young lady that lives in this house?' or will you give a description of my nose and eyes and height?" Ellen laughed. "My dear Ellen," said the lady, changing her tone, "do you know you please me very much? For one person that shows herself well-bred in this matter, there are a thousand, I think, that ask impertinent questions. I am very glad you are an exception to the common rule. But, dear Ellen, I am quite willing you should know my name — it is Alice Humphreys. Now, kiss me again, and run home; it is quite, quite time; I have kept you too late. Good night, my dear! Tell your aunt I beg she will allow you to take tea with me to-morrow." They parted; and Ellen hastened homewards, urged by the rapidly-growing dusk of the evening. She trod the green turf with a step lighter and quicker than it had been a few hours before, and she regained her home in much less time than it had taken her to come from thence to the mountain. Lights were in the kitchen, and the table set; but though weary and faint, she was willing to forego her supper rather than meet her aunt just then, so she stole quietly up to her room. She did not forget her friend's advice. She had no light; she could not read; but Ellen did pray. She did carry all her heart- sickness, her wants, and her woes, to that Friend whose ear is always open to hear the cry of those who call upon Him in truth; and then, relieved, refreshed, almost healed, she went to bed and slept sweetly. CHAPTER XVI. Counsel, Cakes, and Captain Parry. Early next morning Ellen awoke with a sense that something pleasant had happened. Then the joyful reality darted into her mind, and jumping out of bed, she set about her morning work with a better heart than she had been able to bring to it for many a long day. When she had finished, she went to the window. She had found out how to keep it open now, by means of a big nail stuck in a hole under the sash. It was very early, and in the perfect stillness, the soft gurgle of the little brook came distinctly to her ear. Ellen leaned her arms on the window-sill, and tasted the morning air; almost wondering at its sweetness, and at the loveliness of field and sky, and the bright eastern horizon. For days and days all had looked dark and sad.