"There, Mamma — do you see?" said Ellen. "It shuts with a spring, and nothing can possibly come out. Do you see, Mamma. You can turn it topsy-turvy." "I see you are quite right, daughter; it seems I should get on very ill without you to advise me. Fill the inkstand, if you please." "Mamma, what shall I do when my ink is gone? that inkstand will hold but a little, you know." "Your aunt will supply you, of course, my dear, when you are out." "I'd rather take some of my own, by half," said Ellen. "You could not carry a bottle of ink in your desk without great danger to every thing else in it. It would not do to venture." "We have excellent ink-powder," said the shopman, "in small packages, which can be very conveniently carried about. You see, Ma’am, there is a compartment in the desk for such things; and the ink is very easily made at any time." "Oh, that will do nicely," said Ellen, — "that is just the thing." "Now, what is to go in this other square place, opposite the inkstand?" said Mrs. Montgomery. "That is the place for the box of lights, Mamma." "What sort of lights?" "For sealing letters, Mamma, you know. They are not like your wax taper at all; they are little wax matches, that burn just long enough to seal one or two letters; Miss Allen showed me how she used them. Hers were in a nice little box, just like the inkstand on the outside; and there was a place to light the matches, and a place to set them in while they are burning. There, Mamma, that's it," said Ellen, as the shopman brought forth the article which she was describing, — "that's it exactly; and that will just fit. Now, Mamma, for the wax." "You want to seal your letter before you have written it," said Mrs. Montgomery — "we have not got the pens yet." "That's true, Mamma — let us have the pens. And some quills too, Mamma?" "Do you know how to make a pen, Ellen?" "No, Mamma, not yet; but I want to learn very much. Miss Pichegru says that every lady ought to know how to make her own pens." "Miss Pichegru is very right; but I think you are rather too young to learn. However, we will try. Now, here are steel points enough to last you a great while — and as many quills as it is needful you should cut up for one year at least; — we haven't a pen-handle yet." "Here, Mamma," said Ellen, holding out a plain ivory one, "don't you like this? I think it is prettier than these that are all cut and fussed, or those other gay ones either." "I think so too, Ellen; the plainer the prettier. Now, what comes next?" "The knife, Mamma, to make the pens," said Ellen, smiling. "True, the knife. Let us see some of your best penknives. Now, Ellen, choose. That one won't do, my dear; it should have two blades — a large as well as a small one. You know you want to mend a pencil sometimes." "So I do, Mamma — to be sure — you're very right; here's a nice one. Now, Mamma, the wax."