Great preparations were making all Saturday and Monday for the expected gathering. From morning till night Miss Fortune was in a perpetual bustle. The great oven was heated no less than three several times on Saturday alone. Ellen could hear the breaking of eggs in the buttery, and the sound of beating or whisking for a long time together; and then Miss Fortune would come out with floury hands, and plates of empty egg shells made their appearance. But Ellen saw no more. Whenever the coals were swept out of the oven, and Miss Fortune had made sure that the heat was just right for her purposes, Ellen was sent out of the way, and when she got back there was nothing to be seen but the fast shut oven door. It was just the same when the dishes, in all their perfection, were to come out of the oven again. The utmost Ellen was permitted to see was the napkin covering some stray cake or pie that by chance had to pass through the kitchen where she was.

As she could neither help nor look on, the day passed rather wearily. She tried studying; a very little she found was enough to satisfy both mind and body in their present state. She longed to go out again and see how the snow looked, but a fierce wind all the fore part of the day made it unfit for her. Towards the middle of the afternoon she saw with joy that it had lulled, and though very cold, was so bright and calm that she might venture. She had eagerly opened the kitchen door to go up and get ready, when a long weary yawn from her old grandmother made her look back. The old lady had laid her knitting in her lap and bent her face down to her hand, which she was rubbing across her brow, as if to clear away the tired feeling that had settled there. Ellen's conscience instantly brought up Alice's words, "Can't you do something to pass away a tedious hour now and then?" The first feeling was of vexed regret that they should have come into her head at that moment; then conscience said that was very selfish. There was a struggle. Ellen stood with the door in her hand, unable to go out or come in. But not long. As the words came back upon her memory, "A charge to keep I have," her mind was made up; after one moment's prayer for help and forgiveness she shut the door, came back to the fireplace, and spoke in a cheerful tone.

"Grandma, wouldn't you like to have me read something to you?"

"Read!" answered the old lady. "Laws a me! I don't read nothing, deary."

"But wouldn't you like to have me read to you, grandma?"

The old lady in answer to this laid down her knitting, folded both arms round Ellen, and kissing her a great many times, declared she should like anything that came out of that sweet little mouth. As soon as she was set free Ellen brought her Bible, sat down close beside her, and read chapter after chapter; rewarded even then by seeing that, though her grandmother said nothing, she was listening with fixed attention, bending down over her knitting as if in earnest care to catch every word. And when at last she stopped, warned by certain noises downstairs that her aunt would presently be bustling in, the old lady again hugged her close to her bosom, kissing her forehead and cheeks and lips, and declaring that she was "a great deal sweeter than any sugar-plums;" and Ellen was very much surprised to feel her face wet with a tear from her grandmother's cheek. Hastily kissing her again (for the first time in her life), she ran out of the room, her own tears starting and her heart swelling big. "Oh! how much pleasure," she thought, "I might have given my poor grandma, and how I have let her alone all this while! How wrong I have been! But it shan't be so in future."

It was not quite sundown, and Ellen thought she might yet have two or three minutes in the open air; so she wrapped up very warm and went out to the chip-yard.

Ellen's heart was very light; she had just been fulfilling a duty that cost her a little self-denial, and the reward had already come. And now it seemed to her that she had never seen anything so perfectly beautiful as the scene before her—the brilliant snow that lay in a thick carpet over all the fields and hills, and the pale streaks of sunlight stretching across it between the long shadows that reached now from the barn to the house. One moment the light tinted the snow-capped fences and whitened barn-roofs: then the lights and the shadows vanished together, and it was all one cold, dazzling white. Oh, how glorious! Ellen almost shouted to herself. It was too cold to stand still; she ran to the barn-yard to see the cows milked. There they were, all her old friends—Streaky and Dolly and Jane and Sukey and Betty Flynn—sleek and contented; winter and summer were all the same to them. And Mr. Van Brunt was very glad to see her there again, and Sam Larkens and Johnny Low looked as if they were too, and Ellen told them with great truth she was very glad indeed to be there; and then she went in to supper with Mr. Van Brunt and an amazing appetite.

That was Saturday. Sunday passed quietly, though Ellen could not help suspecting it was not entirely a day of rest to her aunt; there was a savoury smell of cooking in the morning which nothing that came on the table by any means accounted for, and Miss Fortune was scarcely to be seen the whole day.

With Monday morning began a grand bustle, and Ellen was well enough now to come in for her share. The kitchen, parlour, hall, shed, and lower kitchen must all be thoroughly swept and dusted; this was given to her, and a morning's work pretty near she found it. Then she had to rub bright all the brass handles of the doors, and the big brass andirons in the parlour, and the brass candlesticks on the parlour mantelpiece. When at last she got through and came to the fire to warm herself, she found her grandmother lamenting that her snuff-box was empty, and asking her daughter to fill it for her.

"Oh! I can't be bothered to be running upstairs to fill snuffboxes," answered that lady; "you'll have to wait."

"I'll get it, grandma," said Ellen, "if you'll tell me where."

"Sit down and be quiet!" said Miss Fortune. "You go into my room just when I bid you, and not till then."

Ellen sat down; but no sooner was Miss Fortune hid in the buttery than the old lady beckoned her to her side, and nodding her head a great many times, gave her the box, saying softly—

"You can run up now; she won't see you, deary. It's in a jar in the closet. Now's the time."

Ellen could not bear to say no. She hesitated a minute, and then boldly opened the buttery door.

"Keep out! What do you want?"

"She wanted me to go for the snuff," said Ellen, in a whisper; "please do let me. I won't look at anything nor touch anything, but just get the snuff."

With an impatient gesture her aunt snatched the box from her hand, pushed Ellen out of the buttery, and shut the door. The old lady kissed and fondled her as if she had done what she had only tried to do; smoothed down her hair, praising its beauty, and whispered—

"Never mind, deary; you'll read to grandma, won't you?"

It cost Ellen no effort now. With the beginning of kind offices to her poor old parent, kind feeling had sprung up fast; instead of disliking and shunning she had begun to love her.

There was no dinner for any one this day. Mr. and Mrs. Van Brunt came to an early tea; after which Ellen was sent to dress herself, and Mr. Van Brunt to get some pieces of wood for the meat-choppers. He came back presently with an armful of square bits of wood, and sitting down before the fire, began to whittle the rough-sawn ends over the hearth. His mother grew nervous. Miss Fortune bore it as she would have borne it from no one else, but vexation was gathering in her breast for the first occasion. Presently Ellen's voice was heard singing down the stairs.

"I'd give something to stop that child's pipe!" said Miss Fortune. "She's eternally singing the same thing over and over—something about 'a charge to keep.' I'd a good notion to give her a charge to keep this morning; it would have been to hold her tongue."

"That would have been a public loss, I think," said Mr. Van Brunt gravely.

"Well, you are making a precious litter!" said the lady, turning short upon him.

"Never mind," said he, in the same tone. "It's nothing but what the fire'll burn up, anyhow. Don't worry yourself about it."

Just as Ellen came in, so did Nancy by the other door.

"What are you here for?" said Miss Fortune, with an ireful face.

"Oh, come to see the folks and get some peaches," said Nancy. "Come to help along, to be sure."

"Ain't your grandma coming?"

"No, ma'am, she ain't. I knew she wouldn't be of much use, so I thought I wouldn't ask her."

Miss Fortune immediately ordered her out. Half laughing, half serious, Nancy tried to keep her ground. But Miss Fortune was in no mood to hear parleying. She laid violent hands on the passive Nancy, and between pulling and pushing at last got her out and shut the door. Her next sudden move was to haul off her mother to bed. Ellen looked her sorrow at this, and Mr. Van Brunt whistled his thoughts; but that either made nothing, or made Miss Fortune more determined. Off she went with her old mother under her arm. While she was gone Ellen brought the broom to sweep up the hearth, but Mr. Van Brunt would not let her.

"No," said he, "it's more than you nor I can do. You know," said he, with a sly look, "we might sweep up the shavings into the wrong corner."

This entirely overset Ellen's gravity, and unluckily she could not get it back again, even though warned by Mrs. Van Brunt that her aunt was coming. Trying only made it worse, and Miss Fortune's entrance was but the signal for a fresh burst of hearty merriment. What she was laughing at was of course instantly asked, in no pleased tone of voice. Ellen could not tell, and her silence and blushing only made her aunt more curious.

"Come, leave bothering her," said Mr. Van Brunt at last. "She was only laughing at some of my nonsense, and she won't tell on me."

"Will you swear to that?" said the lady sharply.

"Humph! No, I won't swear, unless you will go before a magistrate with me; but it is true."

"I wonder if you think I am as easy blinded as all that comes to?" said Miss Fortune scornfully.

And Ellen saw that her aunt's displeasure was all gathered upon her for the evening. She was thinking of Alice's words, and trying to arm herself with patience and gentleness, when the door opened, and in walked Nancy as demurely as if nobody had ever seen her before.

"Miss Fortune, granny sent me to tell you she is sorry she can't come to-night. She don't think it would do for her to be out so late. She's a little touch of the rheumatics, she says."

"Very well," said Miss Fortune. "Now, clear out."

"You had better not say so, Miss Fortune. I'll do as much for you as any two of the rest; see if I don't!"

"I don't care if you did as much as fifty!" said Miss Fortune impatiently. "I won't have you here; so go, or I'll give you something to help you along."

Nancy saw she had no chance with Miss Fortune in her present humour, and went quickly out. A little while after Ellen was standing at the window, from which, through the shed window, she had a view of the chip-yard, and there she saw Nancy lingering still, walking round and round in a circle, and kicking the snow with her feet in a discontented fashion.

"I am very glad she isn't going to be here," thought Ellen. "But, poor thing! I dare say she is very much disappointed. And how sorry she will feel going back all that long, long way home! What if I should get her leave to stay? Wouldn't it be a fine way of returning good for evil? But, oh dear! I don't want her here! But that's no matter."

The next minute Mr. Van Brunt was half startled by Ellen's hand on his shoulder, and the softest of whispers in his ear. He looked up, very much surprised.

"Why, do you want her?" said he, likewise in a low tone.

"No," said Ellen, "but I know I should feel very sorry if I was in her place."

Mr. Van Brunt whistled quietly to himself. "Well!" said he, "you are a good-natured piece."

"Miss Fortune," said he presently, "if that mischievous girl comes in again, I recommend you to let her stay."

"Why?"

"'Cause it's true what she said—she'll do you as much good as half-a-dozen. She'll behave herself this evening, I'll engage, or if she don't I'll make her."

"She's too impudent to live! But I don't care; her grandmother is another sort. But I guess she is gone by this time."

Ellen waited only till her aunt's back was turned. She slipped downstairs and out at the kitchen door, and ran up the slope to the fence of the chip-yard.

"Nancy—Nancy!"

"What?" said Nancy, wheeling about.

"If you go in now, I guess Aunt Fortune will let you stay."

"What makes you think so?" said the other surlily.

"'Cause Mr. Van Brunt was speaking to her about it. Go in, and you'll see."

Nancy looked doubtfully at Ellen's face, and then ran hastily in. More slowly Ellen went back by the way she came. When she reached the upper kitchen she found Nancy as busy as possible—as much at home already as if she had been there all day, helping to set the table in the hall, and going to and fro between that and the buttery with an important face. Ellen was not suffered to help, nor even to stand and see what was doing, so she sat down in the corner by her old friend Mrs. Van Brunt, and with her head in her lap watched by the firelight the busy figures that went back and forward, and Mr. Van Brunt, who still sat working at his bits of board. There were pleasant thoughts in Ellen's head that kept the dancing blaze company. Mr. Van Brunt once looked up and asked her what she was smiling at. The smile brightened at his question, but he got no more answer.

At last the supper was all set out in the hall so that it could very easily be brought into the parlour when the time came; the waiter with the best cups and saucers, which always stood covered with a napkin on the table in the front room, was carried away; the great pile of wood in the parlour fireplace, built ever since morning, was kindled; all was in apple-pie order, and nothing was left but to sweep up the shavings that Mr. Van Brunt had made. This was done; and then Nancy seized hold of Ellen.

"Come along," said she, pulling her to the window—"come along, and let us watch the folks come in."

"But it isn't time for them to be here yet," said Ellen; "the fire is only just burning."

"Fiddle-de-dee! they won't wait for the fire to burn, I can tell you. They'll be along directly, some of them. I wonder what Miss Fortune is thinking of—that fire had ought to have been burning this long time ago, but they won't set to work till they all get here, that's one thing. Do you know what's going to be for supper?"

"No."

"Not a bit?"

"No."

"Ain't that funny! Then I'm better off than you. I say, Ellen, any one would think I was Miss Fortune's niece and you was somebody else, wouldn't they? Goodness! I'm glad I ain't. I am going to make part of the supper myself—what do you think of that? Miss Fortune always has grand suppers—when she has 'em at all; 'tain't very often, that's one thing. I wish she'd have a bee every week, I know, and let me come and help. Hark!—didn't I tell you? there's somebody coming this minute; don't you hear the sleigh-bells? I'll tell you who it is now; it's the Lawsons; you see if it ain't. It's good it's such a bright night—we can see 'em first-rate. There—here they come—just as I told you—here's Mimy Lawson, the first one—if there's anybody I do despise it's Mimy Lawson."

"Hush!" said Ellen. The door opened and the lady herself walked in, followed by three others—large, tall women, muffled from head to foot against the cold. The quiet kitchen was speedily changed into a scene of bustle. Loud talking and laughing—a vast deal of unrobing—pushing back and pulling up chairs on the hearth—and Nancy and Ellen running in and out of the room with countless wrappers, cloaks, shawls, comforters, hoods, mittens, and moccasins.

"What a precious muss it will be to get 'em all their own things when they come to go away again," said Nancy. "Throw 'em all down there, Ellen, in that heap. Now, come quick—somebody else'll be here directly."

"Which is Miss Mimy?" said Ellen.

"That big ugly woman in a purple frock. The one next her is Kitty—the black-haired one is Mary, and t'other is Fanny. Ugh! don't look at 'em; I can't bear 'em."

"Why?"

"'Cause I don't, I can tell you; reason good. They are as stingy as they can live. Their way is to get as much as they can out of other folks, and let other folks get as little as they can out of them. I know 'em. Just watch that purple frock when it comes to the eating. There's Mr. Bob."

"Mr. who?"

"Bob—Bob Lawson. He's a precious small young man for such a big one. There—go take his hat. Miss Fortune," said Nancy, coming forward, "mayn't the gentlemen take care of their own things in the stoop, or must the young ladies wait upon them too? t'other room won't hold everything neither."

This speech raised a general laugh, in the midst of which Mr. Bob carried his own hat and cloak into the shed as desired. Before Nancy had done chuckling came another arrival; a tall, lank gentleman, with one of those unhappy-shaped faces that are very broad at the eyes and very narrow across the chops, and having a particularly grave and dull expression. He was welcomed with such a shout of mingled laughter, greeting, and jesting, that the room was in a complete hurly-burly; and a plain-looking stout elderly lady, who had come in just behind him, was suffered to stand unnoticed.

"It's Miss Janet," whispered Nancy—"Mr. Marshchalk's aunt. Nobody wants to see her here; she's one of your pious kind, and that's a kind your aunt don't take to."

Instantly Ellen was at her side, offering gently to relieve her of hood and cloak, and with a tap on his arm drawing Mr. Van Brunt's attention to the neglected person.

Quite touched by the respectful politeness of her manner, the old lady inquired of Miss Fortune as Ellen went off with a load of mufflers, "Who was that sweet little thing?"

"It's a kind of sweetmeats that is kept for company, Miss Janet," replied Miss Fortune, with a darkened brow.

"She's too good for everyday use, that's a fact," remarked Mr. Van Brunt.

Miss Fortune coloured and tossed her head, and the company were for a moment still with surprise. Another arrival set them agoing again.

"Here come the Hitchcocks, Ellen," said Nancy. "Walk in, Miss Mary—walk in, Miss Jenny—Mr. Marshchalk has been here this great while."

Miss Mary Hitchcock was in nothing remarkable. Miss Jenny when her wrappers were taken off showed a neat little round figure, and a round face of very bright and good-humoured expression. It fastened Ellen's eye, till Nancy whispered her to look at Mr. Juniper Hitchcock, and that young gentleman entered dressed in the last style of elegance. His hair was arranged in a faultless manner—unless perhaps it had a little too much of the tallow-candle; for when he had sat for a while before the fire it had somewhat the look of being excessively wet with perspiration. His boots were as shiny as his hair; his waistcoat was of a startling pattern; his pantaloons were very tightly strapped down; and at the end of a showy watch-ribbon hung some showy seals.

The kitchen was now one buzz of talk and good-humour. Ellen stood half smiling to herself to see the universal smile, when Nancy twitched her.

"Here's more coming—Cilly Dennison, I guess—no, it's too tall; who is it?"

But Ellen flung open the door with a half-uttered scream and threw herself into the arms of Alice, and then led her in; her face full of such extreme joy that it was perhaps one reason why her aunt's wore a very doubtful air as she came forward. That could not stand however against the graceful politeness and pleasantness of Alice's greeting. Miss Fortune's brow smoothed, her voice cleared, she told Miss Humphreys she was very welcome, and she meant it. Clinging close to her friend as she went from one to another, Ellen was delighted to see that every one echoed the welcome. Every face brightened at meeting hers, every eye softened, and Jenny Hitchcock even threw her arms round Alice and kissed her.

Ellen left now the window to Nancy and stood fast by her adopted sister, with a face of satisfaction it was pleasant to see, watching her very lips as they moved. Soon the door opened again, and various voices hailed the new-comer as "Jane," "Jany," and "Jane Huff." She was a decidedly plain-looking country girl, but when she came near, Ellen saw a sober, sensible face and a look of thorough good-nature which immediately ranked her next to Jenny Hitchcock in her fancy. Mr. Bill Huff followed, a sturdy young man; quite as plain and hardly so sensible-looking, he was still more shining with good-nature. He made no pretension to the elegance of Mr. Juniper Hitchcock; but before the evening was over, Ellen had a vastly greater respect for him.

Last, not least, came the Dennisons; it took Ellen some time to make up her mind about them. Miss Cilly, or Cecilia, was certainly very elegant indeed. Her hair was in the extremest state of nicety, with a little round curl plastered in front of each ear; how she coaxed them to stay there Ellen could not conceive. She wore a real watch, there was no doubt of that, and there was even a ring on one of her fingers with two or three blue or red stones in it. Her dress was smart, and so was her figure, and her face was pretty; and Ellen overheard one of the Lawsons whisper to Jenny Hitchcock that "there wasn't a greater lady in the land than Cilly Dennison." Her brother was very different; tall and athletic, and rather handsome, he made no pretension to be a gentleman. He valued his fine farming and fine cattle a great deal higher than Juniper Hitchcock's gentility.