Christian life -- Fiction; Conduct of life -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
Dinner gave place to the dessert, and that in its turn was removed with
the cloth. Ellen was engaged in munching almonds and raisins, admiring
the brightness of the mahogany, and the richly-cut and coloured glass,
and silver decanter stands, which were reflected in it, when a door at
the farther end of the room half-opened, a little figure came partly in,
and holding the door in her hand, stood looking doubtfully along the
table, as if seeking for some one.
"What is the matter, Ellen?" said Mrs. Chauncey.
"Mrs. Bland told me, mamma," she began, her eye not ceasing its uneasy
quest, but then breaking off and springing to Alice's side, she threw
her arms around her neck, and gave her certainly the warmest of all the
warm welcomes she had had that day.
"Hallo!" cried Mr. Marshman, rapping on the table, "that's too much for
any one's share. Come here, you baggage, and give me just such another."
The little girl came near accordingly, and hugged and kissed him with a
very good will, remarking, however, "Ah, but I've seen you before
to-day, grandpapa!"
"Well, here's somebody you've not seen before," said he good-humouredly,
pulling her round to Ellen. "Here's a new friend for you, a young lady
from the great city, so you must brush up your country manners--Miss
Ellen Montgomery, come from--pshaw! what is it? Come from----"
"London, grandpapa?" said the little girl, as with a mixture of
simplicity and kindness she took Ellen's hand and kissed her on the
cheek.
"From Carra-carra, sir?" said Ellen, smiling.
"Go along with you," said he, laughing, and pinching her cheek. "Take
her away, Ellen, take her away, and mind you take good care of her. Tell
Mrs. Bland she is one of grandpapa's guests."
The two children had not, however reached the door when Ellen Chauncey
exclaimed, "Wait, oh! wait a minute! I must speak to Aunt Sophia about
the bag." And flying to her side, there followed an earnest whispering,
and then a nod and a smile from Aunt Sophia; and, satisfied, Ellen
returned to her companion and led her out of the dining-room.
"We have both got the same name," said she, as they went along a wide
corridor. "How shall we know which is which?"
"Why," said Ellen, laughing, "when you say 'Ellen' I shall know you mean
me, and when I say it you will know I mean you. I shouldn't be calling
myself, you know."
"Yes, but when somebody else calls 'Ellen,' we shall both have to run.
Do you run when you are called?"
"Sometimes," said Ellen, laughing.
"Ah, but I do always; mamma always makes me. I thought perhaps you were
like Marianne Gillespie. She waits often as much as half-a-minute before
she stirs when anybody calls her. Did you come with Miss Alice?"
"Yes."
"Do you love her?"
"Very much! Oh, very much!"
Little Ellen looked at her companion's rising colour with a glance of
mixed curiosity and pleasure, in which lay a strong promise of growing
love.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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