Ellen strained her eyes, but could make out nothing — not even a glimpse of white. She sat back in her chair, her heart beating violently. Presently Mr. Van Brunt jumped down and opened a gate at the side of the road; and with a great deal of "gee"-ing the oxen turned to the right, and drew the cart a little way up hill — then stopped on what seemed level ground. "Here we are!" cried Mr. Van Brunt, as he threw his whip on the ground — "and late enough! You must be tired of that little arm-cheer by this time. Come to the side of the cart, and I'll lift you down." Poor Ellen! There was no help for it. She came to the side of the cart, and, taking her in his arms, her rough charioteer set her very gently and carefully on the ground. "There!" said he, "now you can run right in; do you see that little gate?" "No," said Ellen, "I can't see anything." "Well, come here," said he, "and I'll show you. Here — you're running agin the fence — this way!" And he opened a little wicket, which Ellen managed to stumble through. "Now," said he, "go straight up to that door yonder, and open it, and you'll see where to go. Don't knock, but just pull the latch and go in." And he went off to his oxen. Ellen at first saw no door, and did not even know where to look for it; by degrees, as her head became clearer, the large dark shadow of the house stood before her, and a little glimmering line of a path seemed to lead onward from where she stood. With unsteady steps, Ellen pursued it till her foot struck against the stone before the door. Her trembling fingers found the latch — lifted it — and she entered. All was dark there; but at the right a window showed light glimmering within. Ellen made towards it, and, groping, came to another door-latch. This was big and clumsy; however, she managed it, and, pushing open the heavy door, went in. It was a good-sized, cheerful-looking kitchen. A fine fire was burning in the enormous fire-place; the white walls and ceiling were yellow in the light of the flame. No candles were needed, and none were there. The supper-table was set, and, with its snow-white tablecloth and shining furniture, looked very comfortable indeed. But the only person there was an old woman, sitting by the side of the fire, with her back towards Ellen. She seemed to be knitting, but did not move nor look round. Ellen had come a step or two into the room, and there she stood, unable to speak or to go any further. "Can that be Aunt Fortune?" she thought; "she can't be as old as that!" In another minute a door opened at her right, just behind the old woman's back, and a second figure appeared at the top of a flight of stairs which led down from the kitchen. She came in, shutting the door behind her with her foot; and indeed both hands were full, one holding a lamp and a knife, and the other a plate of butter. The sight of Ellen stopped her short. "What is this? and what do you leave the door open for, child?" she said.