"Yes, but I will though: and you've got to answer me. Why did you? Come! do you like me? — say!" "I should like you, I dare say, if you would be different." "Well, I don't care," said Nancy, after a little pause; "I like _you_, though you're as queer as you can be. I don't care whether you like me or not. Look here, Ellen, _that_ cake there is the best — I know it is, for I've tried 'em all. — You know I told Van Brunt that I would tell him what you were crying about?" "Yes, and I asked you not. Did you?" Nancy nodded, being at the moment still further engaged in "trying" the cake. "I am sorry you did. What did he say?" "He didn't say much to _me_ — somebody else will hear of it, I guess. He was mad about it, or I am mistaken. What makes you sorry?" "It will only do harm, and make Aunt Fortune angry." "Well, that's just what I should like, if I were you. I can't make you out." "I'd a great deal rather have her like me," said Ellen. "Was she vexed when Grandma came down?" "I don't know, but she had to keep it to herself if she was; everybody else was so glad, and Mr. Van Brunt made such a fuss. Just look at the old lady, how pleased she is! I declare if the folks ain't talking of going! Come, Ellen! now for the cloaks! you and me'll finish our supper afterwards." That, however, was not to be. Nancy was offered a ride home to Mrs. Van Brunt's, and a lodging there. They were ready cloaked and shawled, and Ellen was still hunting for Miss Janet's things in the moonlit hall, when she heard Nancy close by, in a lower tone than common, say — "Ellen, will you kiss me?" Ellen dropped her armful of things, and, taking Nancy's hands, gave her truly the kiss of peace. When she went up to undress for the second time, she found on her bed — her letter! And with tears Ellen kneeled down and gave earnest thanks for this blessing, and that she had been able to gain Nancy's good-will. CHAPTER XXVI. Sundry things round a pot of chocolate. It was Tuesday, the 22nd of December, and late in the day. Not a pleasant afternoon. The grey snow-clouds hung low; the air was keen and raw. It was already growing dark, and Alice was sitting alone in the firelight, when two little feet came running round the corner of the house; the glass door opened, and Ellen rushed in. "I have come! I have come!" she exclaimed. "Oh, dear Alice, I'm so glad!" So was Alice, if her kiss meant anything. "But how late, my child! how late you are!" "Oh, I thought I never was going to get done!" said Ellen, pulling off her things in a great hurry, and throwing them on the sofa — "but I am here at last. Oh, I'm so glad!" "Why, what has been the matter?" said Alice, folding up what Ellen laid down. "Oh, a great deal of matter! — I couldn't think what Nancy meant last night — I know very well now. I shan't want to see any more apples all winter. What do you think I have been about all to-day, dear Miss Alice?"