That was Saturday. Sunday passed quietly, though Ellen could not help suspecting it was not entirely a day of rest to her aunt; there was a savoury smell of cooking in the morning, which nothing that came on the table by any means accounted for; and Miss Fortune was scarcely to be seen the whole day.
With Monday morning began a grand bustle, and Ellen was well enough now to come in for her share. The kitchen, parlour, hall, shed, and lower kitchen, must all be thoroughly swept and dusted; this was given to her, and a morning's work pretty near she found it. Then she had to rub bright all the brass handles of the doors, and the big brass andirons in the parlour, and the brass candlesticks on the parlour mantel- piece. When at last she got through, and came to the fire to warm herself, she found her grandmother lamenting that her snuff-box was empty, and asking her daughter to fill it for her.
"Oh! I can't be bothered to be running upstairs to fill snuff- boxes," answered that lady; "you'll have to wait."
"I'll get it, Grandma," said Ellen, "if you'll tell me where."
"Sit down, and be quiet!" said Miss Fortune; "you go into my room just when I bid you, and not till then."
Ellen sat down. But no sooner was Miss Fortune hid in the buttery, than the old lady beckoned her to her side, and nodding her head a great many times, gave her the box, saying, softly
"You can run up now; she won't see you, deary. It's in a jar in the closet. Now's the time."
Ellen could not bear to say no. She hesitated a minute, and then boldly opened the buttery door.
"Keep out! what do you want?"
"She wanted me to go for the snuff," said Ellen, in a whisper; "please, do let me I won't look at anything, nor touch anything, but just get the snuff."