318 



NE\r ENGLAND FARxMER. 



July 



"Yes, I shall go day after to-morrow ; shall we 

 lot Ellen go over and spend the day?"' 



"That Ls what I was thinking of," replied Mrs. 

 Jones. "We must be gentle as well as firm, and 

 her good sense -will show her better, bye-and-by, 

 I hope." 



Pleasantly felt Ellen, if we judge from her 

 beaming countenance, as seated in the sleigh by 

 her father's side, on a fine morning, she bade her 

 mother and sister "good-bye ;" pleasant visions of 

 village girls, rich furniture and charming music 

 were flitting through her mind, and a feeling like 

 contempt for her own home, and something like 

 pity for its inmates mingled with these pleasura- 

 ble feelings. "But they don't know any better," 

 she inwardly felt. "Yes, and didn't you," said a 

 little timid voice speaking from the chamber of 

 her secret thoughts, "didu't you enjoy your child- 

 ish sports at home, when you didn't know any 

 better? Didn't you have a better time when you 

 played in the oak pasture ; yes, and didn't you 

 have a better time in the garret, even, playing 

 blindman's buff,than in uncle J.'s parloi-s ?" Then 

 Ellen was almost obliged to own to herself that 

 'twas so. Then she thought how full of enjoy- 

 ment the children were the day ])efore, when it 

 stormed, sitting on grandmamma's settle, and call- 

 ing it uncle's velvet lounge. 



""W ell, it's because they don't Icnow any bet- 

 ter, and i do hiow better. I wont stoop or bend 

 to their homely notions again ;" and Ellen tossed 

 her head with quite an air for a young Miss_, in 

 confirmation of this thought, as her father reined 

 his horse to the door of a shabby looking cottage, 

 in one of the back streets of the village they had 

 just entered. 



"NoAV, Ellen," said her father, "I want you to 

 get out here, and stop a spell ; I am going to thr 

 mill to get this bag of corn gi-ound , and may be 

 you would rather not have an}- of your young 

 friends know that you rode with a l)ag of com." 



Ellen blushed, for she didu't sujipose till that 

 moment, that her father understood licr motive, 

 when she expressed a wish to walk part of tlio dis- 

 tance. "If I shouldn't call for you very soon, El- 

 len, don't be worried, for you will find an old 

 friend here ; try and enjoy yourself, and be sure 

 and stay till I call for you ; there, give these 

 things to Mary," said he, handing her some bun- 

 dles; "don't knock, walk right in." 



"Mary, Mary," thought^shc, hesitating a mo- 

 ment on the door-step, "it must be Mary Teel, 

 who lived with us when mother was sick ;" and 

 then she heard a lullaby noise, and the faint wail 

 of an infant, and softly she opened the door of a 

 dark entry. Closing this, she felt her way to 

 the opposite door, and entered alittle room. She 

 was for a moment, unable to distinguish objects, 

 but a kind, though unfamiliar voice greeted her, 

 and placing a broken chair by the stove, invited 

 her to be seated. Ellen now looked around the 

 dark room ; dirk, not l>ccause there Avas no pleas- 

 ant sunlight without, but because there was but 

 one little window of four squares for it to gain 

 admittance to this attic room. 



In one corner was a low cot bed, upon which lay 

 Mary Teel. Little had Ellen seen of sickness, — 

 yet one glance told her that Mary was very ill. 

 Then as her eye wandered from the bed to the 

 mean and wretched appearance of everything in 

 the room, she for a moment had a feeling of dis- 



gust, and felt unkindly towards her father for 

 leaving her there. It was but for a moment, 

 however, for Ellen, as we said before, had a kind 

 heart, and when she saw Mary's baby lifted from 

 its little broken cradle, and placed in the ])ed by 

 its mother, and heard the woman who attended 

 her describe her intense sufferings, with that dis- 

 tressing sickness, the rheumatic fever, her heart 

 melted. 



No visions of her uncle's splendid parlors now 

 rose before her, but she was thinking how Mary, 

 pretty Mary Teel, two years ago, watched by the 

 sick bed of her mother, with a heart as free fi-om 

 sorrow and care as was then her own. Then as 

 Mary, awaking frum the fitful slumljer into which 

 she had fallen, placed her bright eyes on Ellon, 

 the color on lier cheek heightened, and slie 

 reached outlier thin hand to grasp Ellen's, which 

 was quickly placed in her's — feeble was the grasp, 

 yet it thrilled tlirough her inmost soul. 



" 'Tis kind in you, so kind, to come to see me, 

 'a friend in need is a friend indeed !' Such a sweet 

 thouglit I had while I was sleeping ; I thought 

 your dear mother stood by my bed side, and with 

 her sweet voice she sung 



'P:viu and death and night and.anguish, 

 IJutcr not the realms abore.' 



and now you will sing it to me — 0, I wish you 

 knew some more, my head is so weak, I can't 

 think much." 



Ellen placed her hand over her eyes, now swim- 

 ming in tears, and thought for a moment ; "I be- 

 lieve I know some of it," said she ; then bending 

 low she repeated, 



'■Endless pleasure, pain excluding, 

 Sickness there no more can como, 



There no fear of woe intruding, 



Sheds o'er iteaven a moment's gloom." 



Mary listened with clasped hands and closed 

 eyes, and then'softly added 



"Lay thy supporting, gentle hand, 

 Beuoafh my sinking head." 



Tlion in a g.nitl ) wiiisper she asked Ellen if she 

 could sing it like her mother. She did so with a 

 low, sweet voice, and Mary remained silent for a 

 few minutes after looking earnestly at her ; then 

 motioning for her to lean over the bedside, she 

 whispered in her ear, "Are you happy, dear' 

 yes, you must be ; I am, I have everything to 

 make ??!£ happy." Ah! those words sunk deep 

 in a kind l>ut sensitive nature. 



Where were Ellen's fancied sorrows? Scattered 

 to the winds. 



Mary now slept, and Ellen for the first time 

 thought of the articles her father gave her for 

 Mary. She untied the bundles, and first were a 

 dozen candles — "tallow candles." "0, kind in ye 

 dear, to bring them," said the woman, "we've 

 got along nicely though ; we've burnt rags in a 

 little dipper of grease, but it's not so neat, you 

 know, i'ou must be used to sickness, dear," she 

 said as Ellen handed up the other articles, "to 

 know how we needed just these things." 



"iMy mother is," was the reply. "Well, dear, 

 surely you was kind as could be, to come here — 

 young folks like you aint always so thoughtful 

 like, but you'll have your reward. S/je," point- 

 ing to tne bed. '■'■she is a saint, and oceans of sor- 

 row she's waded through. When her husband 

 died and left her in sore want she never mur- 



