Her aunt and Mr. Van Brunt were already at the table. Ellen took her place in silence, for one look at her aunt's face told her that no "good-morning" would be accepted. Miss Fortune was in a particularly bad humour, owing among other things to Mr. Van Brunt's having refused to eat his breakfast unless Ellen were called. An unlucky piece of kindness. She neither spoke to Ellen nor looked at her; Mr. Van Brunt did what in him lay to make amends. He helped her very carefully to the cold pork and potatoes, and handed her the well-piled platter of griddle-cakes. "Here's the first buckwheats of the season," said he, "and I told Miss Fortune I warn't agoing to eat one on 'em if you didn't come down to enjoy 'em along with us. Take two--take two!--you want 'em to keep each other hot." Ellen's look and smile thanked him, as following his advice she covered one generous "buckwheat" with another as ample. "That's the thing! Now here's some prime maple. You like 'em, I guess, don't you?" "I don't know yet--I have never seen any," said Ellen. "Never seen buckwheats! why, they're 'most as good as my mother's splitters. Buckwheat cakes and maple molasses,--that's food fit for a king, _I_ think--- when they're good; and Miss Fortune's always first-rate." Miss Fortune did not relent at all at this compliment. "What makes you so white this morning?" Mr. Van Brunt presently went on; "you ain't well; be you?" "Yes," said Ellen doubtfully. "I'm well----" "She's as well as I am, Mr. Van Brunt, if you don't go and put her up to any notions!" Miss Fortune said in a kind of choked voice. Mr. Van Brunt hemmed, and said no more to the end of breakfast-time. Ellen rather dreaded what was to come next, for her aunt's look was ominous. In dead silence the things were put away, and put up, and in course of washing and drying, when Miss Fortune suddenly broke forth. "What did you do with yourself yesterday afternoon?" "I was up on the mountain," said Ellen. "What mountain?" "I believe they call it 'the Nose.'" "What business had you up there?" "I hadn't any business there." "What did you go there for?" "Nothing." "Nothing! you expect me to believe that? you call yourself a truth-teller, I suppose?" "Mamma used to say I was," said poor Ellen, striving to swallow her feelings. "Your mother! I dare say--mothers always are blind. I dare say she took every thing you said for gospel." Ellen was silent, from sheer want of words that were pointed enough to suit her. "I wish Morgan could have had the gumption to marry in his own country; but he must go running after a Scotch woman! A Yankee would have brought up his child to be worth something. Give me Yankees!" Ellen set down the cup she was wiping. "You don't know anything about my mother," she said. "You oughtn't to speak so--it's not right." "Why ain't it right, I should like to know?" said Miss Fortune; "this is a free country, I guess. Our tongues ain't tied--we're all free here."