Fanny was preparing supper, and the light from the dining-room shone in where Ellen sat, but the sitting-room was not lighted. Ellen began to smell the fragrance of tea and toast, and there was a reflection of the dining-room table and lamp outside pictured vividly against the white sheet of storm.
Ellen knew better, but it amused her to think that her home was out-of-doors as well as under her father's and mother's roof. Eva passed her with her hands full of kindlings. She was going to make a fire in the parlor-stove, for Jim Tenny was coming that evening. She laid a tender hand on Ellen's head as she passed, and smoothed her hair. Ellen had a sort of acquiescent wonder over her aunt Eva in those days. She heard people say Eva was getting ready to be married, and speculated. “What is getting ready to be married?” she asked Eva.
“Why, getting your clothes made, you little ninny,” Eva answered.
The next day Ellen had watched her mother at work upon a new little frock for herself for some time before she spoke.
“Mother,” she said.
“Yes, child.”
“Mother, you are making that new dress for me, ain't you?”
“Of course I am; why?”
“And you made me a new coat last week?”
“Why, you know I did, Ellen; what do you mean?”