Christian life -- Fiction; Conduct of life -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
"White maple bark well," said he, in his slow way, "I'll
bring it. I wonder what's in the wind now!"
So Ellen wondered, as she slowly went back to the house; and
yet more, when her aunt set her to tacking her stockings
together by two and two.
"What are you going to do with them, Aunt Fortune?" she at
last ventured to say.
"You'll see when the time comes."
"Mayn't I keep out one pair?" said Ellen, who had a vague
notion that by some mysterious means her stockings were to be
prevented from ever looking white any more.
"No just do as I tell you."
Mr. Van Brunt came at dinner-time with the white maple bark.
It was thrown forthwith into a brass kettle of water, which
Miss Fortune had already hung over the fire. Ellen felt sure
this had something to do with her stockings, but she could ask
no questions; and as soon as dinner was over she went up to
her room. It didn't look pleasant now. The brown wood-work and
rough dingy walls had lost their gilding. The sunshine was out
of it; and what was more, the sunshine was out of Ellen's
heart too. She went to the window and opened it, but there was
nothing to keep it open; it slid down again as soon as she let
it go. Baffled and sad, she stood leaning her elbows on the
window-sill, looking out on the grass-plat that lay before the
door, and the little gate that opened on the lane, and the
smooth meadow and rich broken country beyond. It was a very
fair and pleasant scene in the soft sunlight of the last of
October; but the charm of it was gone for Ellen; it was
dreary. She looked without caring to look, or knowing what she
was looking at; she felt the tears rising to her eyes, and,
sick of the window, turned away. Her eye fell on her trunk;
her next thought was of her desk inside of it; and suddenly
her heart sprang "I will write to Mamma!" No sooner said
than done. The trunk was quickly open, and hasty hands pulled
out one thing after another till the desk was reached.
"But what shall I do?" thought she "there isn't a sign of a
table. Oh, what a place! I'll shut my trunk and put it on
that. But here are all these things to put back first."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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