The Wide, Wide World. Warner Susan
certainly would have been rather shy of if she had seen him under other circumstances. But though his face was odd, it looked kindly upon her, and it was a kind tone of voice in which this question had been put; so he seemed to her like a friend. "What is all this?" repeated the old gentleman. Ellen began to tell what it was, but the pride which had forbidden her to weep before strangers gave way at one touch of sympathy, and she poured out tears much faster than words as she related her story, so that it was some little time before the old gentleman could get a clear notion of her case. He waited very patiently till she had finished; but then he set himself in good earnest about righting the wrong. "Hallo! you, sir!" he shouted, in a voice that made everybody look round; "you merino man! come and show your goods: why aren't you at your post, sir?"—as Mr. Saunders came up with an altered countenance—"here's a young lady you've left standing unattended to I don't know how long; are these your manners?"
"The young lady did not wish anything, I believe, sir," returned Mr. Saunders softly.
"You know better, you scoundrel," retorted the old gentleman, who was in a great passion; "I saw the whole matter with my own eyes. You are a disgrace to the store, sir, and deserve to be sent out of it, which you are like enough to be."
"I really thought, sir," said Mr. Saunders smoothly—for he knew the old gentleman, and knew very well he was a person that must not be offended—"I really thought—I was not aware, sir, that the young lady had any occasion for my services."
"Well, show your wares, sir, and hold your tongue. Now, my dear, what did you want?"
"I wanted a little bit of this grey merino, sir, to show to mamma. I couldn't buy it, you know, sir, until I found out whether she would like it."
"Cut a piece, sir, without any words," said the old gentleman. Mr. Saunders obeyed.
"Did you like this best?" pursued the old gentleman.
"I like this dark blue very much, sir, and I thought mamma would; but it's too high."
"How much is it?" inquired he.
"Fourteen shillings," replied Mr. Saunders.
"He said it was two dollars!" exclaimed Ellen.
"I beg pardon," said the crestfallen Mr. Saunders, "the young lady mistook me; I was speaking of another piece when I said two dollars."
"He said this was two dollars and the grey fourteen shillings," said Ellen.
"Is the grey fourteen shillings?" inquired the old gentleman.
"I think not, sir," answered Mr. Saunders; "I believe not, sir—I think it's only twelve—I'll inquire, if you please, sir."
"No, no," said the old gentleman, "I know it was only twelve—I know your tricks, sir. Cut a piece off the blue. Now, my dear, are there any more pieces of which you would like to take patterns to show your mother?"
"No, sir," said the overjoyed Ellen; "I am sure she will like one of these."
"Now shall we go, then?"
"If you please, sir," said Ellen, "I should like to have my bit of merino that I brought from home; mamma wanted me to bring it back again."
"Where is it?"
"That gentleman threw it on the floor."
"Do you hear, sir?" said the old gentleman; "find it directly."
Mr. Saunders found and delivered it, after stooping in search of it till he was very red in the face; and he was left, wishing heartily that he had some safe means of revenge, and obliged to come to the conclusion that none was within his reach, and that he must stomach his dignity in the best manner he could. But Ellen and her protector went forth most joyously together from the store.
"Do you live far from here?" asked the old gentleman.
"Oh no, sir," said Ellen, "not very; it's only at Green's Hotel in Southing Street."
"I'll go with you," said he, "and when your mother has decided which merino she will have, we'll come right back and get it. I do not want to trust you again to the mercy of that saucy clerk."
"Oh, thank you, sir!" said Ellen, "that is just what I was afraid of. But I shall be giving you a great deal of trouble, sir," she added in another tone.
"No, you won't," said the old gentleman; "I can't be troubled, so you needn't say anything about that."
They went gaily along—Ellen's heart about five times as light as the one with which she had travelled that very road a little while before. Her old friend was in a very cheerful mood too, for he assured Ellen, laughingly, that it was of no manner of use for her to be in a hurry, for he could not possibly set off and skip to Green's Hotel, as she seemed inclined to do. They got there at last. Ellen showed the old gentleman into the parlour, and ran upstairs in great haste to her mother. But in a few minutes she came down again, with a very April face, for smiles were playing in every feature, while the tears were yet wet upon her cheeks.
"Mamma hopes you'll take the trouble, sir, to come upstairs," she said, seizing his hand; "she wants to thank you yourself, sir."
"It is not necessary," said the old gentleman, "it is not necessary at all;" but he followed his little conductor, nevertheless, to the door of her mother's room, into which she ushered him with great satisfaction.
Mrs. Montgomery was looking very ill—he saw that at a glance. She rose from her sofa, and extending her hand, thanked him with glistening eyes for his kindness to her child.
"I don't deserve any thanks, ma'am," said the old gentleman; "I suppose my little friend has told you what made us acquainted?"
"She gave me a very short account of it," said Mrs. Montgomery.
"She was very disagreeably tried," said the old gentleman. "I presume you do not need to be told, ma'am, that her behaviour was such as would have become any years. I assure you, ma'am, if I had no kindness in my composition to feel for the child, my honour as a gentleman would have made me interfere for the lady."
Mrs. Montgomery smiled, but looked through glistening eyes again on Ellen. "I am very glad to hear it," she replied. "I was very far from thinking, when I permitted her to go on this errand, that I was exposing her to anything more serious than the annoyance a timid child would feel at having to transact business with strangers."
"I suppose not," said the old gentleman; "but it isn't a sort of thing that should be often done. There are all sorts of people in this world, and a little one alone in a crowd is in danger of being trampled upon."
Mrs. Montgomery's heart answered this with an involuntary pang. He saw the shade that passed over her face as she said sadly—
"I know it, sir; and it was with strong unwillingness that I allowed Ellen this morning to do as she had proposed; but in truth I was making a choice between difficulties. I am very sorry I chose as I did. If you are a father, sir, you know better than I can tell you how grateful I am for your kind interference."
"Say nothing about that, ma'am; the less the better. I am an old man, and not good for much now, except to please young people. I think myself best off when I have the best chance to do that, so if you will be so good as to choose that merino, and let Miss Ellen and me go and despatch our business, you will be conferring and not receiving a favour. And any other errand that you please to entrust her with I'll undertake to see her safe through."
His look and manner obliged Mrs. Montgomery to take him at his word. A very short examination of Ellen's patterns ended in favour of the grey merino; and Ellen was commissioned not only to get and pay for this, but also to choose a dark dress of the same stuff, and enough of a certain article for a nankeen coat; Mrs. Montgomery truly opining that the old gentleman's care would do more than see her scathless—that it would have some regard to the justness and prudence of her purchases.
In great glee Ellen set forth again with her new old friend. Her hand was fast in his, and her tongue ran very freely, for her heart was completely opened to him. He seemed as pleased to listen as she was to talk; and by little and little Ellen