Captain Montgomery did not come the next week, nor the week after; and what is more, the Duck Dorleens, as his sister called the ship in which he had taken passage, was never heard of from that time. She sailed duly on the 5th of April, as they learned from the papers; but whatever became of her she never reached port. It remained a doubt whether Captain Montgomery had actually gone in her; and Ellen had many weeks of anxious watching, first for himself, and then for news of him in case he were still in France. None ever came. Anxiety gradually faded into uncertainty; and by midsummer no doubt of the truth remained in any mind. If Captain Montgomery had been alive, he would certainly have written, if not before, on learning the fate of the vessel in which he had told his friends to expect him home.

Ellen rather felt that she was an orphan than that she had lost her father. She had never learned to love him, he had never given her much cause. Comparatively a small portion of her life had been passed in his society, and she looked back to it as the least agreeable of all; and it had not been possible for her to expect with pleasure his return to America and visit to Thirlwall; she dreaded it. Life had nothing now worse for her than a separation from Alice and John Humphreys; she feared her father might take her away and put her in some dreadful boarding-school, or carry her about the world wherever he went, a wretched wanderer from everything good and pleasant. The knowledge of his death had less pain for her than the removal of this fear brought relief.

Ellen felt sometimes, soberly and sadly, that she was thrown upon the wide world now. To all intents and purposes so she had been a year and three-quarters before; but it was something to have a father and mother living even on the other side of the world. Now, Miss Fortune was her sole guardian and owner. However, she could hardly realise that, with Alice and John so near at hand. Without reasoning much about it, she felt tolerably secure that they would take care of her interests, and make good their claim to interfere if ever need were.

Ellen and her little horse grew more and more fond of each other. This friendship, no doubt, was a comfort to the Brownie; but to his mistress it made a large part of the pleasure of her everyday life. To visit him was her delight at all hours, early and late; and it is to the Brownie's credit that he always seemed as glad to see her as she was to see him. At any time Ellen's voice would bring him from the far end of the meadow where he was allowed to run. He would come trotting up at her call, and stand to have her scratch his forehead or, pat him and talk to him; and though the Brownie could not answer her speeches, he certainly seemed to hear them with pleasure. Then, throwing up his head, he would bound off, take a turn in the field, and come back again to stand as still as a lamb as long as she stayed there herself. Now and then, when she had a little more time, she would cross the fence and take a walk with him; and there, with his nose just at her elbow, wherever she went the Brownie went after her. After a while there was no need that she should call him; if he saw or heard her at a distance it was enough; he would come running up directly. Ellen loved him dearly.

She gave him more proof of it than words and caresses. Many were the apples and scraps of bread hoarded up for him; and if these failed, Ellen sometimes took him a little salt to show that he was not forgotten. There were not, certainly, many scraps left at Miss Fortune's table; nor apples to be had at home for such a purpose, except what she gathered up from the poor ones that were left under the trees for the hogs; but Ellen had other sources of supply. Once she had begged from Jenny Hitchcock a waste bit that she was going to throw away; Jenny found what she wanted to do with it, and after that many a basket of apples and many a piece of cold short-cake was set by for her. Margery, too, remembered the Brownie when disposing of her odds and ends; likewise did Mrs. Van Brunt; so that among them all Ellen seldom wanted something to give him. Mr. Marshman did not know what happiness he was bestowing when he sent her that little horse. Many, many were the hours of enjoyment she had upon his back. Ellen went nowhere but upon the Brownie. Alice made her a riding-dress of dark gingham; and it was the admiration of the country to see her trotting or cantering by, all alone, and always looking happy. Ellen soon found that if the Brownie was to do her much good she must learn to saddle and bridle him herself. This was very awkward at first, but there was no help for it. Mr. Van Brunt showed her how to manage, and after a while it became quite easy. She used to call the Brownie to the bar-place, put the bridle on, and let him out; and then he would stand motionless before her while she fastened the saddle on; looking round sometimes as if to make sure that it was she herself, and giving a little kind of satisfied neigh when he saw that it was. Ellen's heart began to dance as soon as she felt him moving under her; and once off and away on the docile and spirited little animal, over the roads, through the lanes, up and down the hills, her horse her only companion, but having the most perfect understanding with him, both Ellen and the Brownie cast care to the winds. "I do believe," said Mr. Van Brunt, "that critter would a leetle rather have Ellen on his back than not." He was the Brownie's next best friend. Miss Fortune never said anything to him or of him.

Ellen, however, reaped a reward for her faithful steadiness to duty while her aunt was ill. Things were never after that as they had been before. She was looked on with a different eye. To be sure, Miss Fortune tasked her as much as ever, spoke as sharply, was as ready to scold if anything went wrong; all that was just as it used to be, but beneath all that Ellen felt with great satisfaction that she was trusted and believed. She was no longer an interloper, in everybody's way; she was not watched and suspected; her aunt treated her as one of the family and a person to be depended on. It was a very great comfort to little Ellen's life. Miss Fortune even owned that "she believed she was an honest child and meant to do right," a great deal from her; Miss Fortune was never over forward to give any one the praise of honesty. Ellen now went out and came in without feeling she was an alien. And though her aunt was always bent on keeping herself and everybody else at work, she did not now show any particular desire for breaking off Ellen from her studies; and was generally willing, when the work was pretty well done up, that she should saddle the Brownie and be off to Alice or Mrs. Vawse.

Though Ellen was happy, it was a sober kind of happiness; the sun shining behind a cloud. And if others thought her so, it was not because she laughed loudly or wore a merry face.

"I can't help but think," said Mrs. Van Brunt, "that that child has something more to make her happy than what she gets in this world."

There was a quilting party gathered that afternoon at Mrs. Van Brunt's house.

"There is no doubt of that, neighbour," said Mrs. Vawse; "nobody ever found enough here to make him happy yet."

"Well, I don't want to see a prettier girl than that," said Mrs. Lowndes; "you'll never catch her, working at home or riding along on that handsome little critter of her'n, that she ha'n't a pleasant look and a smile for you, and as pretty behaved as can be. I never see her look sorrowful but once."

"Ain't that a pretty horse?" said Mimy Lawson.

"I've seen her look sorrowful though," said Sarah Lowndes; "I've been up at the house when Miss Fortune was hustling everybody round, and as sharp as vinegar, and you'd think it would take Job's patience to stand it; and for all there wouldn't be a bit of crossness in that child's face, she'd go round, and not say a word that wasn't just so; you'd ha' thought her bread was all spread with honey; and everybody knows it ain't. I don't see how she could do it, for my part. I know I couldn't."

"Ah, neighbour," said Mrs. Vawse, "Ellen looks higher than to please her aunt; she tries to please her God; and one can bear people's words or looks when one is pleasing Him. She is a dear child!"

"And there's 'Brahm," said Mrs. Van Brunt, "he thinks the hull world of her. I never see him take so to any one. There ain't an airthly thing he wouldn't do to please her. If she was his own child I've no idee he could set her up more than he does."

"Very well!" said Nancy, coming up, "good reason! Ellen don't set him up any, does she? I wish you'd just seen her once, the time when Miss Fortune was abed, the way she'd look out for him! Mr. Van Brunt's as good as at home in that house, sure enough; whoever's downstairs."

"Bless her dear little heart!" said his mother.

"A good name is better than precious ointment."

August had come, and John was daily expected home. One morning Miss Fortune was in the lower kitchen, up to the elbows in making a rich fall cheese; Ellen was busy upstairs, when her aunt shouted to her to "come and see what was all that splashing and crashing in the garden." Ellen ran out.

"Oh, Aunt Fortune," said she, "Timothy has broken down the fence and got in."

"Timothy!" said Miss Fortune, "what Timothy?"

"Why, Timothy, the near ox," said Ellen laughing; "he has knocked down the fence over there where it was low, you know."

"The near ox!" said Miss Fortune, "I wish he warn't quite so near this time. Mercy! he'll be at the corn and over everything. Run and drive him into the barn-yard, can't you?"

But Ellen stood still and shook her head. "He wouldn't stir for me," she said; "and besides I am as afraid of that ox as can be. If it was Clover I wouldn't mind!"

"But he'll have every bit of the corn eaten up in five minutes! Where's Mr. Van Brunt?"

"I heard him say he was going home till noon," said Ellen.

"And Sam Larkens is gone to mill—and Johnny Low is laid up with the shakes. Very careless of Mr. Van Brunt!" said Miss Fortune, drawing her arms out of the cheese-tub, wringing off the whey, "I wish he'd mind his own oxen. There was no business to be a low place in the fence! Well, come along! you ain't afraid with me, I suppose?"

Ellen followed, at a respectful distance. Miss Fortune, however, feared the face of neither man nor beast; she pulled up a bean poll, and made such a show of fight that Timothy, after looking at her a little, fairly turned tail, and marched out of the breach he had made. Miss Fortune went after, and rested not till she had driven him quite into the meadow; get him into the barn-yard she could not.

"You ain't worth a straw, Ellen!" said she, when she came back; "couldn't you ha' headed him and driv' him into the barn-yard? Now that plaguy beast will just be back again by the time I get well to work. He ha'n't done much mischief yet—there's Mr. Van Brunt's salary, he's made a pretty mess of; I'm glad on't! He should ha' put potatoes, as I told him. I don't know what's to be done—I can't be leaving my cheese to run and mind the garden every minute, if it was full of Timothys; and you'd be scared if a mosquito flew at you; you had better go right off for Mr. Van Brunt and fetch him straight home—serve him right! he has no business to leave things so. Run along, and don't let the grass grow under your feet!"

Ellen wisely thought her pony's feet would do the business quicker. She ran and put on her gingham dress and saddled and bridled the Brownie in three minutes; but before setting off she had to scream to her aunt that Timothy was just coming round the corner of the barn again; and Miss Fortune rushed out to the garden as Ellen and the Brownie walked down to the gate.

The weather was fine, and Ellen thought to herself it was an ill wind that blew no good. She was getting a nice ride in the early morning, that she would not have had but for Timothy's lawless behaviour. To ride at that time was particularly pleasant and rare; and forgetting how she had left poor Miss Fortune between the ox and the cheese-tub, Ellen and the Brownie cantered on in excellent spirits.

She looked in vain as she passed his grounds to see Mr. Van Brunt in the garden or about the barn. She went on to the little gate of the courtyard, dismounted, and led the Brownie in. Here she was met by Nancy, who came running from the way of the barn-yard.

"How d'ye do, Nancy?" said Ellen; "where's Mr. Van Brunt?"

"Goodness, Ellen! what do you want?"

"I want Mr. Van Brunt, where is he?"

"Mr. Van Brunt! he's out in the barn, but he's used himself up."

"Used himself up! what do you mean?"

"Why, he's fixed himself in fine style; he's fell through the trap-door and broke his leg."

"Oh, Nancy!" screamed Ellen, "he hasn't! how could he?"

"Why, easy enough if he didn't look where he was going, there's so much hay on the floor. But it's a pretty bad place to fall."

"How do you know his leg is broken?"

"'Cause he says so, and anybody with eyes can see it must be. I'm going over to Hitchcock's to get somebody to come and help in with him; for you know me and Mrs. Van Brunt ain't Samsons."

"Where is Mrs. Van Brunt?"

"She's out there—in a terrible to do."

Nancy sped on to the Hitchcocks'; and greatly frightened and distressed, Ellen ran over to the barn, trembling like an aspen. Mr. Van Brunt was lying in the lower floor, just where he had fallen; one leg doubled under him in such a way as left no doubt it must be broken. He had lain there some time before any one found him; and on trying to change his position when he saw his mother's distress, he had fainted from pain. She sat by weeping most bitterly. Ellen could bear but one look at Mr. Van Brunt; that one sickened her. She went up to his poor mother, and getting down on her knees by her side, put both arms round her neck.

"Don't cry so, dear Mrs. Van Brunt" (Ellen was crying so she could hardly speak herself), "pray don't do so! he'll be better—Oh, what shall we do?"

"Oh, ain't it dreadful!" said poor Mrs. Van Brunt. "Oh, 'Brahm, 'Brahm! my son! the best son that ever was to me—Oh, to see him, there—ain't it dreadful? he's dying!"

"Oh no, he isn't," said Ellen, "oh no, he isn't! What shall we do, Mrs. Van Brunt? what shall we do?"

"The doctor," said Mrs. Van Brunt, "he said send for the doctor! but I can't go, and there's nobody to send. Oh, he'll die! Oh my dear 'Brahm; I wish it was me!"

"What doctor?" said Ellen; "I'll find somebody to go; tell me what doctor?"

"Dr. Gibson, he said; but he's away off to Thirlwall; and he's been lying here all the morning a'ready! nobody found him—he couldn't make us hear. Oh, isn't it dreadful?"

"Oh, don't cry so, dear Mrs. Van Brunt," said Ellen, pressing her cheek to the poor old lady's; "he'll be better—he will! I've got the Brownie here, and I'll ride over to Mrs. Hitchcock's and get somebody to go right away for the doctor. I won't be long, we'll have him here in a little while, don't feel so bad!"

"You're a dear blessed darling!" said the old lady, hugging and kissing her, "if ever there was one. Make haste, dear, if you love him! he loves you!"

Ellen stayed but to give her another kiss. Trembling so that she could hardly stand she made her way back to the house, led out the Brownie again, and set off full speed for Mrs. Hitchcock's. It was well her pony was sure-footed, for letting the reins hang, Ellen bent over his neck crying bitterly, only urging him now and then to greater speed, till at length the feeling that she had something to do came to her help. She straightened herself, gathered up her reins, and by the time she reached Mrs. Hitchcock's was looking calm again, though very sad and very earnest. She did not alight, but stopped before the door and called Jenny. Jenny came out, expressing her pleasure.

"Dear Jenny," said Ellen, "isn't there somebody here that will go right off to Thirlwall for Dr. Gibson? Mr. Van Brunt has broken his leg, I am afraid, and wants the doctor directly."

"Why, dear Ellen," said Jenny, "the men have just gone off this minute to Mrs. Van Brunt's. Nancy was here for them to come and help move him in a great hurry. How did it happen? I couldn't get anything out of Nancy."

"He fell down through the trap-door. But, dear Jenny, isn't there anybody about? Oh," said Ellen, clasping her hands, "I want somebody to go for the doctor so much."

"There ain't a living soul!" said Jenny; "two of the men and all the teams are 'way on the other side of the hill ploughing, and pa and June and Black Bill have gone over, as I told you; but I don't believe they'll be enough. Where's his leg broke?"

"I didn't meet them," said Ellen; "I came away only a little while after Nancy."

"They went 'cross lots, I guess—that's how it was; and that's the way Nancy got the start of you."

"What shall I do?" said Ellen. She could not bear to wait till they returned; if she rode back she might miss them again, besides the delay; and then a man on foot would make a long journey of it. Jenny told her of a house or two where she might try for a messenger; but they were strangers to her; she could not make up her mind to ask such a favour of them. Her friends were too far out of the way.

"I'll go myself!" she said suddenly. "Tell 'em, dear Jenny, will you, that I have gone for Dr. Gibson, and that I'll bring him back as quick as ever I can. I know the road to Thirlwall."

"But, Ellen! you mustn't," said Jenny; "I am afraid to have you go all that way alone. Wait till the men come back, they won't be long."

"No, I can't, Jenny," said Ellen, "I can't wait; I must go. You needn't be afraid. Tell 'em I'll be as quick as I can."

"But see, Ellen!" cried Jenny, as she was moving off, "I don't like to have you!"

"I must, Jenny. Never mind."

"But see, Ellen!" cried Jenny again, "if you will go—if you don't find Dr. Gibson just get Dr. Marshchalk, he's every bit as good and some folks think he's better; he'll do just as well. Good-bye!"

Ellen nodded and rode off. There was a little fluttering of the heart at taking so much upon herself; she had never been to Thirlwall but once since the first time she saw it. But she thought of Mr. Van Brunt, suffering for help which could not be obtained, and it was impossible for her to hesitate. "I am sure I am doing right," she thought, "and what is there to be afraid of? If I ride two miles alone, why shouldn't I four? And I am doing right—God will take care of me." Ellen earnestly asked Him to do so; and after that she felt pretty easy. "Now, dear Brownie," said she, patting his neck, "you and I have work to do to-day, behave like a good little horse as you are." The Brownie answered with a little cheerful kind of neigh, as much as to say, Never fear me! They trotted on nicely.

But nothing could help that being a disagreeable ride. Do what she would, Ellen felt a little afraid when she found herself on a long piece of road where she had never been alone before. There were not many houses on the way; the few there were looked strange; Ellen did not know exactly where she was, or how near the end of her journey; it seemed a long one. She felt rather lonely; a little shy of meeting people, and yet a little unwilling to have the intervals between them so very long. She repeated to herself, "I am doing right—God will take care of me," still there was a nervous trembling at heart. Sometimes she would pat her pony's neck and say, "Trot on, dear Brownie! we'll soon be there!" by way of cheering herself; for certainly the Brownie needed no cheering, and was trotting on bravely. Then the thought of Mr. Van Brunt, as she had seen him lying on the barn floor, made her feel sick and miserable; many tears fell during her ride when she remembered him. "Heaven will be a good place," thought little Ellen as she went; "there will be no sickness, no pain, no sorrow; but Mr. Van Brunt!—I wonder if he is fit to go to heaven?" This was a new matter of thought and uneasiness, not now for the first time in Ellen's mind; and so the time passed till she crossed the bridge over the little river, and saw the houses of Thirlwall stretching away in the distance. Then she felt comfortable.

Long before, she had bethought her that she did not know where to find Dr. Gibson, and had forgotten to ask Jenny. For one instant Ellen drew bridle, but it was too far to go back, and she recollected anybody could tell her where the doctor lived. When she got to Thirlwall, however, Ellen found that she did not like to ask anybody; she remembered her old friend Mrs. Forbes of the Star Inn, and resolved she would go there in the first place. She rode slowly up the street, and looking carefully till she came to the house. There was no mistaking it; there was the very same big star over the front door that had caught her eye from the coach-window, and there was the very same boy or man, Sam, lounging on the sidewalk. Ellen reined up, and asked him to ask Mrs. Forbes if she would be so good as to come out to her for one minute. Sam gave her a long Yankee look and disappeared, coming back again directly with the landlady.

"How d'ye do, Mrs. Forbes?" said Ellen, holding out her hand; "don't you know me? I am Ellen Montgomery—that you were so kind to, and gave me bread and milk—when I first came here—Miss Fortune's——"

"Oh, bless your dear little heart," cried the landlady; "don't I know you? and ain't I glad to see you! I must have a kiss. Bless you! I couldn't mistake you in Jerusalem, but the sun was in my eyes in that way I was a'most blind. But ain't you grown though! Forget you? I guess I ha'n't! there's one o' your friends wouldn't let me do that in a hurry; if I ha'n't seen you I've heerd on you. But what are you sitting there in the sun for? Come in—come in—and I'll give you something better than bread and milk this time. Come, jump down."

"Oh, I can't, Mrs. Forbes," said Ellen; "I am in a great hurry. Mr. Van Brunt has broken his leg, and I want to find the doctor."

"Mr. Van Brunt?" cried the landlady. "Broken his leg! The land's sakes! how did he do that? he too!"

"He fell down through the trap-door in the barn; and I want to get Dr. Gibson as soon as I can to come to him. Where does he live, Mrs. Forbes?"

"Dr. Gibson? You won't catch him to hum, dear; he's flying round somewheres. But how come the trap-door to be open? and how happened Mr. Van Brunt not to see it afore he put his foot in it? Dear! I declare I'm real sorry to hear you tell. How happened it, darlin'? I'm cur'ous to hear."

"I don't know, Mrs. Forbes," said Ellen; "but oh, where shall I find Dr. Gibson? Do tell me! He ought to be there now. Oh, help me! Where shall I go for him?"

"Well, I declare," said the landlady, stepping back a pace; "I don't know as I can tell. There ain't no sort of likelihood that he's to hum at this time o' day. Sam! you lazy feller, you ha'n't got nothing to do but to gape at folks; ha' you seen the doctor go by this forenoon?"

"I seen him go down to Mis' Perriman's," said Sam. "Mis' Perriman was a dyin', Jim Barstow said."

"How long since?" said his mistress.

But Sam shuffled and shuffled, looked every way but at Ellen or Mrs. Forbes, and "didn't know."

"Well, then," said Mrs. Forbes, turning to Ellen, "I don't know but you might about as well go down to the post-office; but if I was you, I'd just get Dr. Marshchalk instead! He's a smarter man than Dr. Gibson any day in the year; and he ain't quite so awful high neither, and that's something. I'd get Dr. Marshchalk; they say there ain't the like o' him in the country for settin' bones; it's quite a gift—he takes to it natural like."

But Ellen said Mr. Van Brunt wanted Dr. Gibson, and if she could she must find him.

"Well," said Mrs. Forbes, "every one has their fancies. I wouldn't let Dr. Gibson come near me with a pair of tongs; but anyhow, if you must have him, your best way is to go right straight down to the post-office and ask for him there. Maybe you'll catch him."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Ellen. "Where is the post-office?"

"It's that white-faced house down street," said the landlady, pointing with her finger where Ellen saw no lack of white-faced houses. "You see that big red store with the man standing out in front?—the next white house below, that is Mis' Perriman's; just run right in and ask for Dr. Gibson. Good-bye, dear; I'm real sorry you can't come in. That first white house."

Glad to get free, Ellen rode smartly down to the post-office. Nobody before the door; there was nothing for it but to get off here and go in; she did not know the people either. "Never mind; wait for me a minute, dear Brownie, like a good little horse as you are!"

No fear of the Brownie. He stood as if he did not mean to budge again in a century. At first going in Ellen saw nobody in the post-office; presently, at an opening in a kind of boxed-up place in one corner, a face looked out and asked what she wanted.

"Is Dr. Gibson here?"

"No," said the owner of the face, with a disagreeable kind of smile.

"Isn't this Miss Perriman's house?"

"You are in the right box, my dear, and no mistake," said the young man; "but then it ain't Dr. Gibson's house, you know."

"Can you tell me, sir, where I can find him?"

"Can't indeed. The doctor never tells me where he is going, and I never ask him. I am sorry I didn't this morning, for your sake."

The way, and the look, made the words extremely disagreeable, and furthermore, Ellen had an uncomfortable feeling that neither was new to her. Where had she seen the man before? She puzzled herself to think. Where but in a dream had she seen that bold, ill-favoured face, that horrible smile, that sandy hair? She knew—it was Mr. Saunders, the man who had sold her the merino at St. Clair & Fleury's. She knew him, and she was very sorry to see that he knew her. All she desired now was to get out of the house and away; but on turning she saw another man, older and respectable-looking, whose face encouraged her to ask again if Dr. Gibson was there. He was not, the man said; he had been there and gone.

"Do you know where I should be likely to find him, sir?"

"No, I don't," said he. "Who wants him?"

"I want to see him, sir."

"For yourself?"

"No, sir; Mr. Van Brunt has broken his leg, and wants Dr. Gibson to come directly and set it."

"Mr. Van Brunt," said he. "Farmer Van Brunt that lives down towards the Cat's Back? I'm very sorry! How did it happen?"

Ellen told as shortly as possible, and again begged to know where she might look for Dr. Gibson.

"Well," said he, "the best plan I can think of will be for you——How did you come here?"

"I came on horseback, sir."

"Ah, well, the best plan will be for you to ride up to his house; maybe he'll have left word there, and anyhow you can leave word for him to come down as soon as he gets home. Do you know where the doctor lives?"

"No, sir."

"Come here," said he, pulling her to the door. "You can't see it from here; but you must ride up street till you have passed two churches, one on the right hand first, and then a good piece beyond you'll come to another red brick one on the left hand; and Dr. Gibson lives in the next block but one after that, on the other side. Anybody will tell you the house. Is that your horse?"

"Yes, sir. I'm very much obliged to you."

"Well I will say! if you ha'n't the prettiest fit-out in Thirlwall. Shall I help you? Will you have a cheer?"

"No, I thank you, sir; I'll bring him up to this step; it will do just as well. I am very much obliged to you, sir."

He did not seem to hear her thanks; he was all eyes, and, with his clerk, stood looking after her till she was out of sight.

Poor Ellen found it a long way up to the doctor's. The post-office was near the lower end of the town and the doctor's house was near the upper; she passed one church and then the other; but there was a long distance between, or what she thought so. Happily the Brownie did not seem tired at all; his little mistress was tired and disheartened too. And there all this time was poor Mr. Van Brunt lying without a doctor! She could not bear to think of it.

She jumped down when she came to the block she had been told of, and easily found the house where Dr. Gibson lived. She knocked at the door. A grey-haired woman with a very dead-and-alive face presented herself. Ellen asked for the doctor.

"He ain't to hum."

"When will he be at home?"

"Couldn't say."

"Before dinner?"

The woman shook her head. "Guess not till late in the day."

"Where is he gone?"

"He has gone to Babcock—gone to 'attend a consummation,' I guess, he told me—Babcock is a considerable long way."

Ellen thought a minute.

"Can you tell me where Dr. Marshchalk lives?"

"I guess you'd better wait till Dr. Gibson comes back, ha'n't you?" said the woman coaxingly; "he'll be along by-and-by. If you'll leave me your name I'll give it to him."

"I cannot wait," said Ellen, "I am in a dreadful hurry. Will you be so good as to tell me where Dr. Marshchalk lives?"

"Well—if so be you're in such a takin' you can't wait—you know where Miss Forbes lives?"

"At the inn?—the Star—yes."

"He lives a few doors this side o' her'n; you'll know it the first minute you set your eyes on it—it's painted a bright yaller."

Ellen thanked her, once more mounted, and rode down the street.