"Yes, and glad enough we were to see it, too."
"I suppose so. It happened so to-night now that is a queer thing I minded that I hadn't untied my horse; he's a trick of being untied at night, and won't sleep well if he ain't; and mother wanted me to let him alone 'cause of the awful storm, but I couldn't go to my bed in peace till I had seen him to his'n. So that's how my lantern came to be going to the barn in such an awk'ard night as this."
They had reached the little gate, and Mr. Van Brunt with some difficulty pulled it open. The snow lay thick upon the neat brick walk which Ellen had trod the first time with wet feet and dripping garments. A few steps further, and they came to the same door that had opened then so hospitably to receive her. As the faint light of the lantern was thrown upon the old latch and door-posts, Ellen felt at home; and a sense of comfort sank down into her heart which she had not known for some time.
CHAPTER XX.
Head-sick and heart-sick.
Mr. van Brunt flung open the door, and the two wet and weary travellers stepped after him into the same cheerful, comfortable-looking kitchen that had received Ellen once before. Just the same tidy, clean swept up, a good fire, and the same old red-backed chairs standing round on the hearth in most cozy fashion. It seemed to Ellen a perfect storehouse of comfort; the very walls had a kind face for her. There were no other faces, however; the chairs were all empty. Mr. Van Brunt put Alice in one and Ellen in another, and shouted, "Mother! here!" muttering that she had taken herself off with the light somewhere. Not very far: for in half a minute, answering the call, Mrs. Van Brunt and the light came hurriedly in.
"What's the matter, 'Brahm? who's this? why 'tain't Miss Alice! My gracious me! and all wet! oh, dear, dear! poor lamb! Why, Miss Alice, dear, where have you been? and if that ain't my little Ellen! oh dear! what a fix you are in! Well, darling, I'm glad to see you again a'most anyway."
She crossed over to kiss Ellen as she said this; but surprise was not more quickly alive than kindness and hospitality. She fell to work immediately to remove Alice's wet things, and to do whatever their joint prudence and experience might suggest to ward off any ill effects from the fatigue and exposure the wanderers had suffered; and while she was thus employed, Mr. Van Brunt busied himself with Ellen, who was really in no condition to help herself. It was curious to see him carefully taking off Ellen's wet hood (not the blue one) and knocking it gently to get ride of the snow; evidently thinking that ladies' things must have delicate handling. He tried the cloak next, but boggled sadly at the fastening of that, and at last was fain to call in help.
"Here, Nancy! where are you? step here and see if you can undo this here thing, whatever you call it; I believe my fingers are too big for it."
It was Ellen's former acquaintance who came forward in obedience to this call. Ellen had not seen before that she was in the room. Nancy grinned a mischievous smile of recognition as she stooped to Ellen's throat and undid the fastening of the cloak, and then shortly enough bade her "get up, that she might take it off!" Ellen obeyed, but was very glad to sit down again. While Nancy went to the door to shake the cloak, Mr. Van Brunt was gently pulling off Ellen's wet gloves, and on Nancy's return he directed her to take off the shoes, which were filled with snow. Nancy sat down on the floor before Ellen to obey this order; and, tired and exhausted as she was, Ellen felt the different manner in which her hands and feet were waited upon.