"I should think it would do very nicely," said Ellen, "very nicely indeed." "I wish Uncle George was at home, though, to write it for me; he writes so beautifully; I can't do it well enough." "I am afraid I can't either," said Ellen. "Perhaps somebody else can." "I don't know who. Aunt Sophia scribbles and scratches, and besides, I don't want her to know anything about it. But there's another thing I don't know how to fix, and that's the edges of the leaves--the leaves for the needles; they must be fixed somehow." "I can show you how to do that," said Ellen, brightening. "Mamma had a needle book that was given to her that had the edges beautifully fixed; and I wanted to know how it was done, and she showed me. I'll show you that. It takes a good while, but that's no matter." "Oh, thank you; how nice that is! Oh no, that's no matter. And then it will do very well, won't it? Now, if I can only catch Gilbert in a good-humour--he isn't my cousin, he's Marianne's cousin--that big boy you saw downstairs--he's so big he won't have anything to say to me sometimes--but I guess I'll get him to do this. Don't you want to make something for somebody?" Ellen _had_ had one or two feverish thoughts on this subject since the beginning of the conversation; but she only said-- "It's no matter--you know I haven't got anything here; and besides, I shall not be here till New Year." "Not here till New Year! yes, you shall," said little Ellen, throwing herself upon her neck; "indeed you aren't going away before that. I _know_ you aren't; I heard grandmamma and Aunt Sophia talking about it. Say you will stay here till New Year--do." "I should like to very much indeed," said Ellen, "if Alice does." In the midst of half-a-dozen kisses with which her little companion rewarded this speech, somebody close by said pleasantly-- "What time of night do you suppose it is?" The girls started; there was Mrs. Chauncey. "Oh, mamma!" exclaimed her little daughter, springing to her feet, "I hope you haven't heard what we have been talking about?" "Not a word," said Mrs. Chauncey, smiling; "but as to-morrow will be long enough to talk in, hadn't you better go to bed now?" Her daughter obeyed her immediately, after one more hug to Ellen, and telling her she was _so_ glad she had come. Mrs. Chauncey stayed to see Ellen in bed, and press one kind motherly kiss upon her face, so tenderly that Ellen's eyes were moistened as she withdrew. But in her dreams that night the rosy sweet face, blue eyes, and little plump figure of Ellen Chauncey played the greatest part.