The Wide, Wide World. Warner Susan
bit," said the other; "all the carpets I ever saw were as hard as a board, and harder: as soft as that, indeed!"
"Well," said Ellen, still jumping up and down, with bonnet off, and glowing cheek, and hair dancing about her face, "you may believe what you like; but I've seen a carpet as soft as this, and softer, too; only one, though."
"What was it made of?"
"What other carpets are made of, I suppose. Come, I'll go with you now. I do think this is the loveliest place I ever did see. Are there any flowers here in the spring?"
"I don't know—yes, lots of 'em."
"Pretty ones?" said Ellen.
"You'd think so, I suppose; I never look at 'em."
"Oh, how lovely that will be," said Ellen, clasping her hands; "how pleasant it must be to live in the country!"
"Pleasant, indeed!" said the other; "I think it's hateful. You'd think so too if you lived where I do. It makes me mad at granny every day because she won't go to Thirlwall. Wait till we get out of the wood, and I'll show you where I live. You can't see it from here."
Shocked a little at her companion's language, Ellen again walked on in sober silence. Gradually the ground became more broken, sinking rapidly from the side of the path, and rising again in a steep bank on the other side of a narrow dell; both sides were thickly wooded, but stripped of green, now, except where here and there a hemlock flung its graceful branches abroad and stood in lonely beauty among its leafless companions. Now, the gurgling of waters was heard.
"Where is that?" said Ellen, stopping short.
"'Way down, down, at the bottom, there. It's the brook."
"What brook? Not the same that goes by Aunt Fortune's?"
"Yes, it's the very same. It's the crookedest thing you ever saw. It runs over there," said the speaker, pointing with her arm, "and then it takes a turn and goes that way, and then it comes round so, and then it shoots off in that way again and passes by your house; and after that the dear knows where it goes, for I don't. But I don't suppose it could run straight if it was to try to."
"Can't we get down to it?" asked Ellen.
"To be sure we can, unless you're as afraid of steep banks as you are of fences."
Very steep indeed it was, and strewn with loose stones, but Ellen did not falter here, and though once or twice in imminent danger of exchanging her cautious stepping for one long roll to the bottom, she got there safely on her two feet. When there, everything was forgotten in delight. It was a wild little place. The high, close sides of the dell left only a little strip of sky overhead; and at their feet ran the brook, much more noisy and lively here than where Ellen had before made its acquaintance; leaping from rock to rock, eddying round large stones, and boiling over the small ones, and now and then pouring quietly over some great trunk of a tree that had fallen across its bed, and dammed up the whole stream. Ellen could scarcely contain herself at the magnificence of many of the waterfalls, the beauty of the little quiet pools where the water lay still behind some large stone, and the variety of graceful, tiny cascades.
"Look here, Nancy!" cried Ellen, "that's the Falls of Niagara—do you see?—that large one; oh, that is splendid! and this will do for Trenton Falls—what a fine foam it makes—isn't it a beauty?—and what shall we call this? I don't know what to call it; I wish we could name them all, but there's no end to them. Oh, just look at that one! that's too pretty not to have a name. What shall it be?"
"Black Falls," suggested the other.
"Black," said Ellen dubiously, "why—I don't like that."
"Why, the water's all dark and black, don't you see?"
"Well," said Ellen, "let it be Black, then; but I don't like it. Now remember—this is Niagara—that is Black—and this is Trenton. And what is this?"
"If you are a-going to name them all," said Nancy, "we sha'n't get home to-night; you might as well name all the trees; there's a hundred of 'em and more. I say, Ellen! suppos'n we follow the brook instead of climbing up yonder again; it will take us out to the open fields by-and-by."
"Oh, do let's!" said Ellen; "that will be lovely."
It proved a rough way; but Ellen still thought and called it "lovely." Often by the side of the stream there was no footing at all, and the girls picked their way over the stones, large and small, wet and dry, which strewed its bed, against which the water foamed and fumed and fretted, as if in great impatience. It was ticklish work getting along over these stones; now tottering on an unsteady one, now slipping on a wet one, and every now and then making huge leaps from rock to rock, which there was no other method of reaching, at the imminent hazard of falling in. But they laughed at the danger; sprang on in great glee, delighted with the exercise and the fun; didn't stay long enough anywhere to lose their balance, and enjoyed themselves amazingly. There was many a hairbreadth escape, many an almost sousing; but that made it all the more lively. The brook formed, as Nancy had said, a constant succession of little waterfalls, its course being quite steep and very rocky; and in some places there were pools quite deep enough to have given them a thorough wetting, to say no more, if they had missed their footing and tumbled in. But this did not happen. In due time, though with no little difficulty, they reached the spot where the brook came forth from the wood into the open day, and thence making a sharp turn to the right, skirted along by the edge of the trees, as if unwilling to part company with them.
"I guess we'd better get back into the lane now," said Miss Nancy, "we're a pretty good long way from home."
CHAPTER XII
Behind the door stand bags o' meal,
And in the ark is plenty.
And good hard cakes his mither makes,
And mony a sweeter dainty.
A good fat sow, a sleeky cow,
Are standing in the byre;
While winking puss, wi' mealy mou',
Is playing round the fire.
—Scotch Song.
They left the wood and the brook behind them, and crossed a large stubble field; then got over a fence into another. They were in the midst of this when Nancy stopped Ellen, and bade her look up towards the west, where towered a high mountain, no longer hid from their view by the trees.
"I told you I'd show you where I live," said she. "Look up now, clear to the top of the mountain, almost, and a little to the right; do you see that little mite of a house there? Look sharp—it's a'most as brown as the rock—do you see it?—it's close by that big pine-tree, but it don't look big from here—it's just by that little dark spot near the top."
"I see it," said Ellen, "I see it now; do you live 'way up there?"
"That's just what I do; and that's just what I wish I didn't. But granny likes it; she will live there. I'm blessed if I know what for, if it ain't to plague me. Do you think you'd like to live up on the top of a mountain like that?"
"No, I don't think I should," said Ellen. "Isn't it very cold up there?"
"Cold! you don't know anything about it. The wind comes there, I tell you—enough to cut you in two; I have to take and hold on to the trees sometimes to keep from being blowed away. And then granny sends me out every morning before it's light, no matter how deep the snow is, to look for the cow; and it's so bitter cold I expect nothing else but I'll be froze to death some time."
"Oh," said Ellen, with a look of horror, "how can she do so?"
"Oh, she don't care," said the other; "she sees my nose freeze off every winter, and it don't make no difference."
"Freeze your nose off!" said Ellen.
"To be sure," said the other,