"Aren't those the hills I was looking at yesterday?" said
Ellen.
"From up on the mountain? the very same; this is part of the very same view, and a noble view it is. Every morning, Ellen, the sun, rising behind those hills, shines in through this door and lights up my room; and in winter he looks in at that south window, so I have him all the time. To be sure, if I want to see him set, I must take a walk for it but that isn't unpleasant; and you know we cannot have everything at once."
It was a very beautiful extent of woodland, meadow, and hill, that was seen picture-fashion through the gap cut in the forest; the wall of trees on each side serving as a frame to shut it in, and the descent of the mountain, from almost the edge of the lawn, being very rapid. The opening had been skilfully cut; the effect was remarkable, and very fine; the light on the picture being often quite different from that on the frame or on the hither side of the frame.
"Now, Ellen," said Alice, turning from the window, "take a good look at my room. I want you to know it and feel at home in it; for whenever you can run away from your aunt's, this is your home do you understand?"
A smile was on each face. Ellen felt that she was understanding it very fast.
"Here, next the door, you see, is my summer settee; and in summer it very often walks out of doors to accommodate people on the grass-plat. I have a great fancy for taking tea out of doors, Ellen, in warm weather; and if you do not mind a musquito or two, I shall be always happy to have your company. That door opens into the hall; look out and see, for I want you to get the geography of the house. That odd-looking, lumbering, painted concern is my cabinet of curiosities. I tried my best to make the carpenter man at Thirlwall understand what sort of a thing I wanted, and did all but show him how to make it; but, as the southerners say, 'he hasn't made it right nohow!' There I keep my dried flowers, my minerals, and a very odd collection of curious things of all sorts that I am constantly picking up. I'll show you them some day, Ellen. Have you a fancy for curiosities?"
"Yes, Maam, I believe so."
"Believe so! not more sure than that? Are you a lover of dead moths, and empty beetle-skins, and butterflies' wings, and dry tufts of moss, and curious stones, and pieces of ribbon-grass, and strange birds' nests? These are some of the things I used to delight in when I was about as old as you."
"I don't know, Maam," said Ellen. "I never was where I could get them."
"Weren't you? Poor child! Then you have been shut up to brick walls and paving-stones all your life?"