"Oh, all sorts," said Ellen, "and what beauties! and I love apples very much--red and yellow, and speckled and green. What a great monster!" "That's a Swar; they ain't as good as most of the others; these are Seek-no-furthers." "Seek-no-further!" said Ellen; "what a funny name. It ought to be a mighty good apple. _I_ shall seek further, at any rate. What is this?" "That's as good an apple as you've got in the basket; that's a real Orson pippin, a very fine kind. I'll fetch you some up from home some day though, that are better than the best of those." The pork was all packed; the kettle was lifted off the fire; Mr. Van Brunt was wiping his hands from the salt. "And now I suppose I must go," said Ellen, with a little sigh. "Why, _I_ must go," said he, "so I suppose I may as well let you out of your tent first." "I have had such a nice time," said Ellen; "I had got _so_ tired of doing nothing upstairs. I am _very_ much obliged to you, Mr. Van Brunt. But," said she, stopping as she had taken up her basket to go--"aren't you going to put the hams in the pickle?" "No," said he, laughing, "it must wait to get cold first. But you'll make a capital farmer's wife, there's no mistake." Ellen blushed and ran upstairs with her apples. To bestow them safely in her closet was her first care; the rest of the morning was spent in increasing weariness and listlessness. She had brought down her little hymn-book, thinking to amuse herself with learning a hymn, but it would not do; eyes and head both refused their part of the work; and when at last Mr. Van Brunt came in to a late dinner, he found Ellen seated flat on the hearth before the fire, her right arm curled round upon the hard wooden bottom of one of the chairs, and her head pillowed upon that, fast asleep. "Bless my soul!" said Mr. Van Brunt, "what's become of that 'ere rocking-cheer?" "It's upstairs, I suppose. You can go fetch it if you've a mind to," answered Miss Fortune, dryly enough. He did so immediately; and Ellen barely waked up to feel herself lifted from the floor, and placed in the friendly rocking-chair; Mr. Van Brunt remarking at the same time that "it might be well enough to let well folks lie on the floor, and sleep on cheers, but cushions warn't a bit too soft for sick ones." Among the cushions Ellen went to sleep again with a much better prospect of rest; and either sleeping or dozing passed away the time for a good while. CHAPTER XXIII O that I were an Orange tree, That busy plant! Then should I always laden be, And never want Some fruit for him that dresseth me. --G. HERBERT. She was thoroughly roused at last by the slamming of the house-door after her aunt. She and Mr. Van Brunt had gone forth on their sleighing expedition, and Ellen waked to find herself quite alone.