She wrote him, however, when he had been gone a few weeks, that his will seemed to carry all before it, present or absent. Ellen went on steadily mending; at least she did not go back any. They were keeping up their rides, also their studies, most diligently. Ellen was untiring in her efforts to do whatever he had wished her, and was springing forward, Alice said, in her improvement. CHAPTER XXXV I keep his house, and I wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat, and make the beds, and do all myself.--SHAKESPEARE. The spring had come, and Alice and Ellen were looking forward to pleasanter rides and walks after the sun should have got a little warmth and the snow should be gone, when one morning, in the early part of March, Mr. Van Brunt made his appearance. Miss Fortune was not well, and had sent him to beg that Ellen would come back to her. He was sorry, he said; he knew Ellen was in the best place: but her aunt wanted her, and "he s'posed she'd have to go." He did not know what was the matter with Miss Fortune; it was a little of one thing and a little of another; "he s'posed she'd overdid, and it was a wonder, for he didn't know she _could_ do it. _She_ thought she was as tough as a piece of shoe-leather, but even that could be wore out." Ellen looked blank. However, she hurriedly set herself to get her things together, and with Alice's help, in half-an-hour she was ready to go. The parting was hard. They held each other fast a good while, and kissed each other many times without speaking. "Good-bye, dear Ellie," whispered Alice at last; "I'll come and see you soon. Remember what John said when he went away." Ellen did not trust herself to speak. She pulled herself away from Alice, and turned to Mr. Van Brunt, saying by her manner that she was ready. He took her bundle, and they went out of the house together. Ellen made a manful effort all the way down the hill to stifle the tears that were choking her. She knew they would greatly disturb her companion, and she did succeed, though with great difficulty, in keeping them back. Luckily for her, he said hardly anything during the whole walk; she could not have borne to answer a question. It was no fault of Mr. Van Brunt's that he was so silent. He was beating his brains the whole way to think of something it would do to say, and could not suit himself. His single remark was, "that it was like to be a fine spring for the maple, and he guessed they'd make a heap of sugar."