The Wide, Wide World

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't," said Ellen, who was worried to the last degree at seeing her nicely done-up ruffles round Nancy's neck; "they're so nice, and you'll muss them all up."

"Don't cry about it," said Nancy coolly, "I ain't agoing to eat 'm. My goodness! what a fine hood! ain't that pretty?"

The nice blue hood was turned about in Nancy's fingers, and well looked at inside and out. Ellen was in distress for fear it would go on Nancy's head, as well as the ruffles round her neck; but it didn't; she flung it at length on one side, and went on pulling out one thing after another, strewing them very carelessly about the floor.

"What's here? a pair of dirty stockings, as I am alive. Ain't you ashamed to put dirty stockings in your trunk?"

"They are no such thing," said Ellen, who in her vexation was in danger of forgetting her fear – "I've worn them but once."

"They've no business in here anyhow," said Nancy, rolling them up in a hard ball and giving them a sudden fling at Ellen. They just missed her face and struck the wall beyond. Ellen seized them to throw back, but her weakness warned her she was not able, and a moment reminded her of the folly of doing anything to rouse Nancy, who for the present was pretty quiet. Ellen lay upon her pillow and looked on, ready to cry with vexation. All her nicely-stowed piles of white clothes were ruthlessly hurled out and tumbled about; her capes tried on; her summer dresses unfolded, displayed, criticised. Nancy decided one was too short; another very ugly; a third horribly ill-made; and when she had done with each it was cast out of her way on one side or the other as the case might be.

The floor was littered with clothes in various states of disarrangement and confusion. The bottom of the trunk was reached at last, and then Nancy suddenly recollected her gruel, and sprang to it. But it had grown cold again.

"This won't do," said Nancy, as she put it on the coals again, "it must be just right; it'll warm soon, and then, Miss Ellen, you're agoing to take it whether or no. I hope you won't give me the pleasure of pouring it down."

Meanwhile she opened the little door of Ellen's study closet and went in there, though Ellen begged her not. She pulled the door to, and stayed some time perfectly quiet. Not able to see or hear what she was doing, and fretted beyond measure that her workbox and writing-desk should be at Nancy's mercy, or even feel the touch of her fingers, Ellen at last could stand it no longer, but threw herself out of the bed, weak as she was, and went to see what was going on. Nancy was seated quietly on the floor, examining with much seeming interest the contents of the workbox, trying on the thimble, cutting bits of thread with the scissors, and marking the ends of the spools, with whatever like pieces of mischief her restless spirit could devise; but when Ellen opened the door she put the box from her and started up.

"My goodness me!" said she, "this'll never do. What are you out here for? You'll catch your death with those dear little bare feet, and we shall have the mischief to pay."

As she said this she caught up Ellen in her arms as if she had been a baby and carried her back to the bed, where she laid her with two or three little shakes, and then proceeded to spread up the clothes and tuck her in all round. She then ran for the gruel. Ellen was in great question whether to give way to tears or vexation; but with some difficulty determined upon vexation as the best plan. Nancy prepared the gruel to her liking, and brought it to the bedside; but to get it swallowed was another matter. Nancy was resolved Ellen should take it. Ellen had less strength but quite as much obstinacy as her enemy, and she was equally resolved not to drink a drop. Between laughing on Nancy's part and very serious anger on Ellen's a struggle ensued. Nancy tried to force it down, but Ellen's shut teeth were as firm as a vice, and the end was that two-thirds were bestowed on the sheet. Ellen burst into tears; Nancy laughed.

"Well, I do think," said she, "you are one of the hardest customers ever I came across. I shouldn't want to have the managing of you when you get a little bigger. Oh, the way Miss Fortune will look when she comes in here will be a caution! Oh, what fun!"

Nancy shouted and clapped her hands. "Come, stop crying!" said she; "what a baby you are! What are you crying for? Come, stop. I'll make you laugh if you don't."

Two or three little applications of Nancy's fingers made her words good, but laughing was mixed with crying, and Ellen writhed in hysterics. Just then came a little knock at the door. Ellen did not hear it, but it quieted Nancy. She stood still a moment, and then as the knock was repeated she called out boldly, "Come in!" Ellen raised her head "to see who there might be," and great was the surprise of both and the joy of one as the tall form and broad shoulders of Mr. Van Brunt presented themselves.

"Oh, Mr. Van Brunt," sobbed Ellen, "I am so glad to see you! Won't you please send Nancy away!"

"What are you doing here?" said the astonished Dutchman.

"Look and see, Mr. Van Brunt," said Nancy, with a smile of mischief's own curling; "you won't be long finding out, I guess."

"Take yourself off, and don't let me hear of your being caught here again."

"I'll go when I'm ready, thank you," said Nancy; "and as to the rest I haven't been caught the first time yet; I don't know what you mean."

She sprang as she finished her sentence, for Mr. Van Brunt made a sudden movement to catch her then and there. He was foiled, and then began a running chase round the room, in the course of which Nancy dodged, pushed, and sprang with the power of squeezing by impassables and overleaping impossibilities, that, to say the least of it, was remarkable. The room was too small for her, and she was caught at last.

"I vow," said Mr. Van Brunt, as he pinioned her hands, "I should like to see you play blind-man's-buff for once, if I waren't the blind man."

"How'd you see me if you was?" said Nancy scornfully.

"Now, Miss Ellen," said Mr. Van Brunt, as he brought her to Ellen's bedside, "here she is safe; what shall I do with her?"

"If you will only send her away and not let her come back, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen, "I'll be so much obliged to you."

"Let me go," said Nancy. "I declare you are a real mean Dutchman, Mr. Van Brunt."

He took both her hands in one and laid the other lightly over her ears.

"I'll let you go," said he. "Now, don't you be caught here again if you know what is good for yourself."

He saw Miss Nancy out of the door and then came back to Ellen, who was crying heartily again from nervous vexation.

"She's gone," said he. "What has that wicked thing been doing, Miss Ellen? What's the matter with you?"

"Oh, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen, "you can't think how she has worried me; she has been here this great while. Just look at all my things on the floor, and that isn't the half."

Mr. Van Brunt gave a long whistle as his eye surveyed the tokens of Miss Nancy's mischief-making, over and through which both she and himself had been chasing at full speed, making the state of matters rather worse than it was before.

"I do say," said he slowly, "that is too bad. I'd fix them up again for you, Miss Ellen, if I knew how; but my hands are almost as clumsy as my feet, and I see the marks of them there. It's too bad, I declare. I didn't know what I was going on."

"Never mind, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen; "I don't mind what you have done a bit. I'm so glad to see you!"

She put out her little hand to him as she spoke. He took it in his now silently, but though he said and showed nothing of it, Ellen's look and tone of affection thrilled his heart with pleasure.

"How do you do?" said he kindly.

"I am a great deal better," said Ellen. "Sit down, won't you, Mr. Van Brunt? I want to see you a little."

Horses wouldn't have drawn him away after that. He sat down.

"Ain't you going to be up again some of these days?" said he.

"Oh yes, I hope so," said Ellen, sighing; "I am very tired of lying here."

He looked round the room; got up and mended the fire; then came and sat down again.

"I was up yesterday for a minute," said Ellen, "but the chair tired me so, I was glad to get back to bed again."

It was no wonder! harder and straighter-backed chairs never were invented. Probably Mr. Van Brunt thought so.

"Wouldn't you like to have a rocking-cheer?" said he suddenly, as if a bright thought had struck him.

"Oh yes, how much I should!" said Ellen, with another long-drawn breath; "but there isn't such a thing in the house that ever I saw."

"Aye, but there is in other houses, though," said Mr. Van Brunt, with as near an approach to a smile as his lips commonly made; "we'll see!"

Ellen smiled more broadly. "But don't you give yourself any trouble for me," said she.

"Trouble, indeed!" said Mr. Van Brunt; "I don't know anything about that. How came that wicked thing up here to plague you?"

"She said Aunt Fortune left her to take care of me."

"That's one of her lies. Your aunt's gone out, I know; but she's a trifle wiser than to do such a thing as that. She has plagued you badly, ha'n't she?"

He might have thought so. The colour which excitement brought into Ellen's face had faded away, and she had settled herself back against her pillow with an expression of weakness and weariness that the strong man saw and felt.