"What's all this? what's all this? what's all this laughing about?" said old Mr. Marshman, coming up.
"This young gentleman, Sir," said John, "has been endeavouring with a mouthful of arguments to prove to us the inferiority of city manners to those learned in the country."
"Will," said the old gentleman, glancing doubtfully at William's discomfited face; then added, sternly, "I don't care where your manners were learned, Sir, but I advise you to be very particular as to the sort you bring with you here. Now, Sophia, let us have some music."
He set the children a-dancing, and as Ellen did not know how, he kept her by him, and kept her very much amused, too, in his own way; then he would have her join in the dancing, and bade Ellen Chauncey give her lessons. There was a little backwardness at first, and then Ellen was jumping away with the rest, and thinking it perfectly delightful, as Miss Sophia's piano rattled out merry jigs and tunes, and little feet flew over the floor as light as the hearts they belonged to. At eight o'clock the young ones were dismissed, and bade good-night to their elders; and, pleased with the kind kiss Mrs. Marshman had given her, as well as her little granddaughter, Ellen went off to bed very happy.
The room to which her companion led her was the very picture of comfort. It was not too large, furnished with plain, old- fashioned furniture, and lighted and warmed by a cheerful wood-fire. The very old brass-headed hand-irons that stretched themselves out upon the hearth with such a look of being at home, seemed to say, "You have come to the right place for comfort." A little, dark, mahogany book-case in one place an odd toilet-table of the same stuff in another; and opposite the fire an old-fashioned high-post bedstead, with its handsome Marseilles quilt and ample pillows, looked very tempting. Between this and the far side of the room, in the corner, another bed was spread on the floor.
"This is aunt Sophia's room," said little Ellen Chauncey; "this is where you are to sleep."
"And where will Alice be?" said the other Ellen.
"Oh, she'll sleep here, in this bed, with aunt Sophia; that is because the house is so full, you know; and here is your bed, here on the floor. Oh, delicious! I wish I was going to sleep here! Don't you love to sleep on the floor? I do. I think it's fun."
Anybody might have thought it fun to sleep on that bed, for, instead of a bedstead, it was luxuriously piled on mattresses. The two children sat down together on the foot of it.
"This is aunt Sophia's room," continued little Ellen, "and next to it, out of that door, is our dressing-room, and next to that is where Mamma and I sleep. Do you undress and dress yourself?"