"Mary, I wish you would let me and my bonnet alone. I did not ask you to take it up."
"Well—but, Ellen, poor Uncle Villars looks so sad already. Do not be obstinate, dear Ellen."
"I am not going to say or do any thing to Uncle Villars, Mary, and I think it's very hard if I am to be blamed for every thing—even for his looking sad; but nobody ever finds fault with me that you do not take their part."
"Oh, Ellen"—but Ellen turned away, and Mary with a heavy heart walked off with her own bonnet as she saw her Uncle Villars entering. Now, any one who has read this scene will perceive that Mrs. Merrill, although she was right in the thing itself which she would have had Ellen do, was very wrong in her manner of enforcing it. The only right way to govern any one is by giving them confidence in your kindly feelings towards them—by love. Now, Ellen was a spoiled child, and could not have confidence in the kindly feelings of any one who thwarted her. Mr. Villars saw all this, and therefore he had great patience with Ellen, and generally soothed her into some concession to Mrs. Merrill; very little would satisfy her kind spirit; and so the storm would for the time pass over. But these storms so frequently returned, that Mr. Villars felt, unless something could be done to arouse Ellen's own mind to a conviction of the evil of her temper and a determined effort to subdue it, she must always be unhappy herself, and the cause of unhappiness to others. As Mr. Villars became more interested in Ellen, as it was natural he should do from feeling that she was now wholly dependent on him, his anxiety on this subject increased, and he often found himself imagining different methods for correcting her faults.
One of Ellen's bad habits, and that which perhaps most materially interfered with Mrs. Merrill's comfort, was late sleeping, or rather lying in bed, for Ellen was in reality not asleep for an hour before Mary could induce her to rise,—but Ellen said if she was not asleep, neither was she wide awake. You may wonder that this practice should have interfered with Mrs. Merrill's comfort, as by keeping Ellen out of the way it would seem rather to promote her quiet; but Mrs. Merrill prided herself on her orderly housekeeping, and while she was too kind to let Ellen go without her breakfast, she was greatly annoyed at having to keep the table waiting for her. Mary would have taken some breakfast to her sister in their room, and so have obviated the difficulty; but this Mrs. Merrill would on no account permit, lest the carpet or the bedclothes should be slopped with tea or greased with butter. A few mornings after the scene with the bonnet, Mary having risen as usual and dressed herself, began her efforts to arouse Ellen.
"Ellen—wake, Ellen—I hear Uncle Villars moving about in his room."
Ellen, without speaking or opening her eyes, turned over and covered herself up more closely.
Mary spoke again, "Ellen—Uncle Villars has gone down stairs—he will ring the bell for breakfast presently."
Ellen did not stir.
Mary touched her,—put her arm around her and tried to raise her; Ellen flounced off to the other side of the bed, exclaiming, "Mary, let me alone."