Ellen promised, a good deal gratified at her aunt's last words; and once more asked if she could do anything for her.
"Oh, I don't know!" said Miss Fortune, flinging herself back on her pillow; "I don't care what you do, if you only keep the house clear. There's the clothes in the basket under the table downstairs you might begin to iron 'em; they're only rough dry. But don't come asking me about anything; I can't bear it. Ellen, don't let a soul go into the buttery except yourself. And, Ellen! I don't care if you make me a little catnip-tea: the catnip's up in the store-room the furthest door in the back attic here's the keys. Don't go to fussing with anything else there."
Ellen thought the prospect before her rather doleful when she reached the kitchen. It was in order, to be sure, and clean; but it looked as if the mistress was away. The fire had gone out, the room was cold; even so little a matter as catnip-tea seemed a thing far off and hard to come by. While she stood looking at the great logs in the fireplace, which she could hardly move, and thinking it was rather a dismal state of things, in came Mr. Van Brunt with his good-natured face, and wanted to know if he could do anything for her. The very room seemed more comfortable as soon as his big figure was in it. He set about kindling the fire forthwith, while Ellen went up to the store-room. A well-filled store-room! Among other things, there hung at least a dozen bunches of dried herbs from one of the rafters. Ellen thought she knew catnip, but after smelling of two or three, she became utterly puzzled, and was fain to carry a leaf of several kinds down to Mr. Van Brunt to find out which was which. When she came down again, she found he had hung on the kettle for her, and swept up the hearth; so Ellen, wisely thinking it best to keep busy, put the ironing blanket on the table, and folded the clothes, and set the irons to the fire. By this time the kettle boiled. How to make catnip-tea Ellen did not exactly know, but supposed it must follow the same rules as black tea, in the making of which she felt herself very much at home. So she put a pinch or two of catnip leaves into the pot, poured a little water on them, and left it to draw. Meanwhile came in kind Mr. Van Brunt with an armful or two of small short sticks for the fire, which Ellen could manage.
"I wish I could stay here and take care of you all the while," said he; "but I'll be round. If you want anything, you must come to the door and holler."
Ellen began to thank him.
"Just don't say anything about that," said he, moving his hands as if he were shaking her thanks out of them; "I'd back all the wood you could burn every day for the pleasure of having you hum again, if I didn't know you was better where you was; but I can't help that. Now, who am I going to get to stay with you? Who would you like to have."
"Nobody, if you please, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen; "Aunt
Fortune don't wish it, and I had rather not, indeed."
He stood up and looked at her in amazement.
"Why, you don't mean to say," said he, "that you are thinking, or she is thinking, you can get along here without help?"
"I'll get along somehow," said Ellen. "Never mind, please let me, Mr. Van Brunt; it would worry Aunt Fortune very much to have anybody; don't say anything about it."