Christian life -- Fiction; Conduct of life -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
"White maple bark; well," said he in his slow way, "I'll bring it. I
wonder what's in the wind now."
So Ellen wondered, as she slowly went back to the house; and yet more,
when her aunt set her to tacking her stockings together by two and two.
"What are you going to do with them, Aunt Fortune?" she at last ventured
to say.
"You'll see when the time comes."
"Mayn't I keep out one pair?" said Ellen, who had a vague notion that by
some mysterious means her stockings were to be prevented from ever
looking white any more.
"No; just do as I tell you."
Mr. Van Brunt came at dinner-time with the white maple bark. It was
thrown forthwith into a brass kettle of water, which Miss Fortune had
already hung over the fire. Ellen felt sure this had something to do
with her stockings, but she could ask no questions; and as soon as
dinner was over she went up to her room. It didn't look pleasant now.
The brown wood-work and rough dingy walls had lost their gilding. The
sunshine was out of it; and what was more, the sunshine was out of
Ellen's heart too. She went to the window and opened it, but there was
nothing to keep it open; it slid down again as soon as she let it go.
Baffled and sad, she stood leaning her elbows on the window-sill,
looking out on the grass-plat that lay before the door, and the little
gate that opened on the lake, and the smooth meadow and rich broken
country beyond. It was a very fair and pleasant scene in the soft
sunlight of the last of October; but the charm of it was gone for Ellen;
it was dreary. She looked without caring to look, or knowing what she
was looking at; she felt the tears rising to her eyes, and, sick of the
window, turned away. Her eye fell on her trunk; her next thought was of
her desk inside of it, and suddenly her heart sprang. "I will write to
mamma!" No sooner said than done. The trunk was quickly open, and hasty
hands pulled out one thing after another till the desk was reached.
"But what shall I do?" thought she; "there isn't a sign of a table. Oh,
what a place! I'll shut my trunk and put it on that. But here are all
these things to put back first."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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