Nancy agreed to the conditions with great glee; and the little housekeeper felt her mind a good deal easier; for though Nancy herself was somewhat of a charge, she was strong, and willing, and ready, and, if she liked anybody, liked Ellen. Mr. Van Brunt privately asked Ellen if she chose to have Nancy stay; and told her, if she gave her any trouble, to let him know, and he would make short work with her. The young lady herself also had a hint on the subject.
"I'll tell you what," said Nancy, when this business was settled, "we'll let the men go off to Mrs. Van Brunt's to meals; we'll have enough to do without 'em. That's how Miss Fortune has fixed herself she would have Sam and Johnny in to board; they never used to, you know, afore this winter."
"The men may go," said Ellen, "but I had a great deal rather Mr. Van Brunt would stay than not if we can only manage to cook things for him; we should have to do it, at any rate, for ourselves, and for grandma."
"Well I ain't as fond of him as all that," said Nancy, "but it'll have to be as you like, I suppose. We'll feed him somehow."
Mr. Van Brunt came in to ask if they had anything in the house for supper. Ellen told him "plenty," and would have him come in just as usual. There was nothing to do but to make tea; cold meat and bread and butter and cheese were all in the buttery; so that evening went off very quietly.
When she came down the next morning, the fire was burning nicely, and the kettle on and singing. Not Nancy's work; Mr. Van Brunt had slept in the kitchen; whether on the table, the floor, or the chairs, was best known to himself; and before going to his work, had left everything he could think of ready done to her hand; wood for the fire, pails of water brought from the spout, and some matters in the lower kitchen got out of the way. Ellen stood warming herself at the blaze, when it suddenly darted into her head that it was milking time. In another minute she had thrown open the door and was running across the chip-yard to the barn. There, in the old place, were all her old friends, both four-legged and two-legged; and with great delight she found Dolly had a fine calf, and Streaky another superb one, brindled just like herself. Ellen longed to get near enough to touch their little innocent heads, but it was impossible; and recollecting the business on her hands, she too danced away.
"Whew!" said Nancy, when Ellen told her of the new inmates of the barn-yard; "there'll be work to do! Get your milk-pans ready, Ellen; in a couple of weeks we'll be making butter."
"Aunt Fortune will be well by that time, I hope," said Ellen.
"She won't, then, so you may just make up your mind to it. Dr. Gibson was to see her yesterday forenoon, and he stopped at Miss Lowndes' on his way back; and he said it was a chance if she got up again in a month and more. So, that's what it is, you see."
"A month, and more." It was all that. Miss Fortune was not dangerously ill; but part of the time in a low nervous fever, part of the time encumbered with other ailments, she lay from week to week, bearing her confinement very ill, and making it as disagreeable and burdensome as possible for Ellen to attend upon her. Those were weeks of trial. Ellen's patience and principle and temper were all put to the proof. She had no love, in the first place, for household work, and now her whole time was filled up with it. Studies could not be thought of. Reading was only to be had by mere snatches. Walks and rides were at an end. Often, when already very tired, she had to run up and down stairs for her aunt, or stand and bathe her face and hands with vinegar, or read the paper to her, when Miss Fortune declared she was so nervous she should fly out of her skin if she didn't hear something besides the wind. And very often, when she was not wanted upstairs, her old grandmother would beg her to come and read to her perhaps at the very moment when Ellen was busiest. Ellen did her best. Miss Fortune never could be put off; her old mother sometimes could, with a kiss and a promise but not always; and then, rather than she should fret, Ellen would leave everything, and give half an hour to soothing and satisfying her. She loved to do this at other times; now it was sometimes burdensome. Nancy could not help her at all in these matters, for neither Miss Fortune nor the old lady would let her come near them. Besides all this, there was a measure of care constantly upon Ellen's mind; she felt charged with the welfare of all about the house; and under the effort to meet the charge, joined to the unceasing bodily exertion, she grew thin and pale. She was tired with Nancy's talk; she longed to be reading and studying again; she longed oh! how she longed! for Alice's and John's company again; and it was no wonder if she sometimes cast very sad, longing looks further back still. Now and then an old fit of weeping would come. But Ellen remembered John's words; and often in the midst of her work, stopping short with a sort of pang of sorrow and weariness, and the difficulty of doing right, she would press her hands together and say to herself, "I will try to be a good pilgrim!" Her morning hour of prayer was very precious now; and her Bible grew more and more dear. Little Ellen found its words a mighty refreshment; and often when reading it she loved to recall what Alice had said at this and the other place, and John, and Mr. Marshman, and before them her mother. The passages about heaven, which she well remembered reading to her one particular morning, became great favourites; they were joined with her mother in Ellen's thoughts; and she used to go over and over them till she nearly knew them by heart.