"No matter — you must come right away down. There's Mr. Van Brunt says he won't begin supper till you come." "But does Aunt Fortune want me too?" "Yes, I tell you! and the quicker you come the better she'll be pleased. She sent me after you in all sorts of a hurry. She said she didn't know where you was!" "Said she didn't know where I was! Why, she told me herself," — Ellen began, and stopped short. "Of course!" said Nancy; "don't you think I know that? But _he_ don't, and if you want to plague her, you'll just tell him. Now come, and be quick, will you? The supper's splendid." Ellen lost the first view of the table, for everything had begun to be pulled to pieces before she came in. The company were all crowded round the table, eating and talking, and helping themselves; and ham and bread and butter, pumpkin-pies and mince-pies and apple-pies, cake of various kinds, and glasses of egg-nogg and cider, were in everybody's hands. One dish in the middle of the big table had won the praise of every tongue; nobody could guess, and many asked how it was made, but Miss Fortune kept a satisfied silence, pleased to see the constant stream of comers to the big dish, till it was near empty. Just then, Mr. Van Brunt, seeing Ellen had nothing, gathered up all that was left, and gave it to her. It was sweet, and cold, and rich. Ellen told her mother afterwards it was the best thing she had ever tasted except the ice-cream she once gave her in New York. She had taken, however, but one spoonful, when her eye fell upon Nancy, standing at the back of all the company, and forgotten. Nancy had been upon her good behaviour all the evening, and it was a singular proof of this that she had not pushed in and helped herself among the first. Ellen's eye went once or twice from her plate to Nancy, and then she crossed over and offered it to her. It was eagerly taken, and, a little disappointed Ellen stepped back again. But she soon forgot the disappointment. "She'll know now that I don't bear her any grudge," she thought. "Han't you got nothing?" said Nancy, coming up presently; "that wasn't your'n that you gave me — was it?" Ellen nodded, smilingly. "Well, there ain't no more of it," said Nancy. "The bowl is empty." "I know it," said Ellen. "Why, didn't you like it?" "Yes — very much." "Why, you're a queer little fish," said Nancy. "What did you get Mr. Van Brunt to let me in for?" "How did you know I did?" " 'Cause he told me. Say — what did you do it for? Mr. Dennison, won't you give Ellen a piece of cake or something? Here — take this," said Nancy, pouncing upon a glass of egg- nog, which a gap in the company enabled her to reach; "I made it more than half myself. Ain't it good?" "Yes, very," said Ellen, smacking her lips; "what's in it?" "Oh, plenty of good things. But what made you ask Mr. Van Brunt to let me stop to-night? you didn't tell me — did you want me to stay?" "Never mind," said Ellen; "don't ask me any questions."