Read Ebook: The Wide Wide World by Warner Susan

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Ebook has 6164 lines and 258293 words, and 124 pages

"'Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.

"'Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

"'Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.'"

Long before she had finished Ellen's eyes were full, and her heart too. "If I only could feel these words as mamma does!" she said to herself. She did not dare look up till the traces of tears had passed away; then she saw that her mother was asleep. Those first sweet words had fallen like balm upon the sore heart; and mind and body had instantly found rest together.

Ellen breathed the lightest possible kiss upon her forehead, and stole quietly out of the room to her own little bed.

Not all the whispers that the soft winds utter Speak earthly things-- There mingleth there, sometimes, a gentle flutter Of angels' wings.

--AMY LATHROP.

Sorrow and excitement made Ellen's eyelids heavy, and she slept late on the following morning. The great dressing-bell waked her. She started up with a confused notion that something was the matter; there was a weight on her heart that was very strange to it. A moment was enough to bring it all back; and she threw herself again on her pillow, yielding helplessly to the grief she had twice been obliged to control the evening before. Yet love was stronger than grief still, and she was careful to allow no sound to escape her that could reach the ears of her mother, who slept in the next room. Her resolve was firm to grieve her no more with useless expressions of sorrow; to keep it to herself as much as possible. But this very thought that she must keep it to herself gave an edge to poor Ellen's grief, and the convulsive clasp of her little arms round the pillow plainly showed that it needed none.

The breakfast-table was still standing, and her father gone, when Ellen went downstairs. Mrs. Montgomery welcomed her with her usual quiet smile, and held out her hand. Ellen tried to smile in answer, but she was glad to hide her face in her mother's bosom; and the long close embrace was too close and too long,--it told of sorrow as well as love; and tears fell from the eyes of each that the other did not see.

"Need I go to school to-day, mamma?" whispered Ellen.

"No; I spoke to your father about that. You shall not go any more. We will be together now while we can."

Ellen wanted to ask how long that would be, but could not make up her mind to it.

"Sit down, daughter, and take some breakfast."

"Have you done, mamma?"

"No; I waited for you."

"Thank you, dear mamma," with another embrace; "how good you are! but I don't think I want any."

They drew their chairs to the table, but it was plain neither had much heart to eat; although Mrs. Montgomery with her own hand laid on Ellen's plate half of the little bird that had been boiled for her own breakfast. The half was too much for each of them.

"What made you so late this morning, daughter?"

"I got up late in the first place, mamma; and then I was a long time at the window."

"At the window! Were you examining into your neighbours' affairs as usual?" said Mrs. Montgomery, surprised that it should have been so.--"Oh no, mamma, I didn't look at them at all--except poor little Billy. I was looking at the sky."

"And what did you see there that pleased you so much?"

"I don't know, mamma; it looked so lovely and peaceful--that pure blue spread over my head, and the little white clouds flying across it. I loved to look at it; it seemed to do me good."

"Could you look at it, Ellen, without thinking of Him who made it?"

"No, mamma," said Ellen, ceasing her breakfast, and now speaking with difficulty; "I did think of Him; perhaps that was the reason."

"And what did you think of Him, daughter?"

"I hoped, mamma--I felt--I thought--He would take care of me," said Ellen, bursting into tears, and throwing her arms round her mother.

"He will, my dear daughter, He will, if you will only put your trust in Him, Ellen."

Ellen struggled hard to get back her composure, and after a few minutes succeeded.

"Mamma, will you tell me what you mean exactly by my 'putting my trust' in Him?"

"Don't you trust me, Ellen?"

"Certainly, mamma."

"How do you trust me?--in what?"

"Why, mamma;--in the first place I trust every word you say--entirely--I know nothing could be truer. If you were to tell me black is white, mamma, I should think my eyes had been mistaken. Then everything you tell or advise me to do, I know it is right, perfectly. And I always feel safe when you are near me, because I know you'll take care of me. And I am glad to think I belong to you, and you have the management of me entirely, and I needn't manage myself, because I know I can't; and if I could, I'd rather you would, mamma."

"Oh, mamma!" said Ellen, bursting into tears, and clasping her arms round her mother again--"Oh, dear mamma, don't talk about it!"

Her mother fondly returned her caress, and one or two tears fell on Ellen's head as she did so, but that was all, and she said no more. Feeling severely the effects of the excitement and anxiety of the preceding day and night, she now stretched herself on the sofa and lay quite still. Ellen placed herself on a little bench at her side, with her back to the head of the sofa, that her mother might not see her face; and possessing herself of one of her hands, sat with her little head resting upon her mother, as quiet as she. They remained thus for two or three hours, without speaking; and Mrs. Montgomery was part of the time slumbering; but now and then a tear ran down the side of the sofa and dropped on the carpet where Ellen sat; and now and then her lips were softly pressed to the hand she held, as if they would grow there. The doctor's entrance at last disturbed them. Doctor Green found his patient decidedly worse than he had reason to expect; and his sagacious eye had not passed back and forth many times between the mother and daughter before he saw how it was. He made no remark upon it, however, but continued for some moments a pleasant chatty conversation which he had begun with Mrs. Montgomery. He then called Ellen to him; he had rather taken a fancy to her.

"Well, Miss Ellen," he said, rubbing one of her hands in his, "what do you think of this fine scheme of mine?"

"What scheme, sir?"

"Why, this scheme of sending this sick lady over the water to get well. What do you think of it, eh?"

"'Will it make her well?' To be sure it will; do you think I don't know better than to send people all the way across the ocean for nothing? Who do you think would want Dr. Green if he sent people on wildgoose chases in that fashion?"

"Will she have to stay long there before she is cured, sir?" asked Ellen.

"Poor woman!" said the doctor to himself as he went down stairs . "I wonder if she'll live till she gets to the other side! That's a nice little girl, too. Poor child! poor child!"

"What are you thinking about, Ellen?" said she one morning.

Ellen was sewing, and while busy at her work her mother had two or three times observed a light smile pass over her face. Ellen looked up, still smiling, and answered, "Oh, mamma, I was thinking of different things--things that I mean to do while you are gone."

"And what are these things?" inquired her mother.

"Oh, mamma, it wouldn't do to tell you beforehand. I want to surprise you with them when you come back."

A slight shudder passed over Mrs. Montgomery's frame, but Ellen did not see it. Mrs. Montgomery was silent. Ellen presently introduced another subject.

"Mamma, what kind of a person is my aunt?"

"I do not know. I have never seen her."

"How has that happened, mamma?"

"Your aunt has always lived in a remote country town, and I have been very much confined to two or three cities, and your father's long and repeated absences made travelling impossible to me."

"What is my aunt's name, mamma?"

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