"The spout of water, Ma’am, just down a little way from the kitchen door. The water comes in a little, long, very long, trough from a spring at the back of the pig-field; and at the end of the trough, where it pours out, is the spout." "Have you no conveniences for washing in your room?" "Not a sign of such a thing, Ma’am. I have washed at the spout ever since I have been here," said Ellen, laughing in spite of her vexation. "And do the pigs share the water with you?" "The pigs! Oh, no, Ma’am; the trough is raised up from the ground on little heaps of stones; they can't get at the water, unless they drink at the spring, and I don't think they do that, so many big stones stand around it." "Well, Ellen, I must say that is rather uncomfortable, even without any danger of four-footed society." "It isn't so bad just now," said Ellen, "in this warm weather; but in that cold time we had a week or two back — do you remember, Miss Alice? — just before the Indian summer began? — oh, how disagreeable it was! Early in the morning, you know; the sun scarcely up, and the cold wind blowing my hair and my clothes all about; and then that board before the spout that I have to stand on, is always kept wet by the spattering of the water, and it's muddy besides, and very slippery — there's a kind of green stuff comes upon it; and I can't stoop down for fear of muddying myself; I have to tuck my clothes round me and bend over as well as I can, and fetch up a little water to my face in the hollow of my hand, and of course I have to do that a great many times before I get enough. I can't help laughing," said Ellen, "but it isn't a laughing matter, for all that." "So you wash your face in your hands, and have no pitcher but a long wooden trough? Poor child! I am sorry for you; I think you must have some other way of managing before the snow comes." "The water is bitter cold already," said Ellen; "it's the coldest water I ever saw. Mamma gave me a nice dressing-box before I came away, but I found very soon this was a queer place for a dressing-box to come to. Why, Miss Alice, if I take out my brush or comb, I haven't any table to lay them on but one that's too high, and my poor dressing-box has to stay on the floor. And I haven't a sign of a bureau — all my things are tumbling about in my trunk." "I think if I were in your place I would not permit that, at any rate," said Alice; "if my things were confined to my truck, I would have them keep good order there, at least." "Well, so they do," said Ellen — "pretty good order; I didn't mean 'tumbling about' exactly." "Always try to say what you mean _exactly_. — "But now, Ellen, love, do you know I must send you away? Do you see, the sunlight has quitted those distant hills, and it will be quite gone soon. You must hasten home." Ellen made no answer. Alice had taken her on her lap again, and she was nestling there with her friend's arms wrapped around her. Both were quite still for a minute.