Sundry things round a pot of chocolate.
It was Tuesday, the 22nd of December, and late in the day. Not a pleasant afternoon. The grey snow-clouds hung low; the air was keen and raw. It was already growing dark, and Alice was sitting alone in the firelight, when two little feet came running round the corner of the house; the glass door opened, and Ellen rushed in.
"I have come! I have come!" she exclaimed. "Oh, dear Alice,
I'm so glad!"
So was Alice, if her kiss meant anything.
"But how late, my child! how late you are!"
"Oh, I thought I never was going to get done!" said Ellen, pulling off her things in a great hurry, and throwing them on the sofa "but I am here at last. Oh, I'm so glad!"
"Why, what has been the matter?" said Alice, folding up what
Ellen laid down.
"Oh, a great deal of matter! I couldn't think what Nancy meant last night I know very well now. I shan't want to see any more apples all winter. What do you think I have been about all to-day, dear Miss Alice?"
"Nothing that has done you much harm," said Alice, smiling "if I am to guess from your looks. You are as rosy as a good Spitzenberg yourself."
"That's very funny," said Ellen, laughing, "for Aunt Fortune said a while ago that my cheeks were just the colour of two mealy potatoes."