"They've no business in here, anyhow," said Nancy, rolling them up in a hard ball and giving them a sudden fling at Ellen. They just missed her face, and struck the wall beyond. Ellen seized them to throw back, but her weakness warned her she was not able, and a moment reminded her of the folly of doing anything to rouse Nancy, who, for the present, was pretty quiet. Ellen lay upon her pillow and looked on, ready to cry with vexation. All her nicely-stowed piles of white clothes were ruthlessly hurled out and tumbled about; her capes tried on; her summer dresses unfolded, displayed, criticised. Nancy decided one was too short; another very ugly; a third horribly ill-made; and when she had done with each, it was cast out of her way, on one side or the other, as the case might be. The floor was littered with clothes in various states of disarrangement and confusion. The bottom of the trunk was reached at last, and then Nancy suddenly recollected her gruel, and sprang to it. But it had grown cold again. "This won't do," said Nancy, as she put it on the coals again — "it must be just right; it'll warm soon, and then, Miss Ellen, you're agoing to take it, whether or no. I hope you won't give me the pleasure of pouring it down." Meanwhile she opened the little door of Ellen's study closet and went in there, though Ellen begged her not. She pulled the door to, and stayed some time perfectly quiet. Not able to see or hear what she was doing, and fretted beyond measure that her work-box and writing-desk should be at Nancy's mercy, or even feel the touch of her fingers, Ellen at last could stand it no longer, but threw herself out of the bed, weak as she was, and went to see what was going on. Nancy was seated quietly on the floor, examining, with much seeming interest, the contents of the work-box; trying on the thimble, cutting bits of thread with the scissors, and marking the ends of the spools — with whatever like pieces of mischief her restless spirit could devise; but when Ellen opened the door, she put the box from her and started up. "My goodness me!" said she, "this'll never do. What are you out here for? you'll catch your death with those dear little bare feet, and we shall have the mischief to pay!"