Ellen had no words to answer. Her aunt saw her weary down-
look, and soon after supper proposed to take her upstairs.
Ellen gladly followed her. Miss Fortune showed her to her
room, and first asking if she wanted any thing, left her to
herself. It was a relief. Ellen's heart had been brimful, and
ready to run over for some time, but the tears could not come
then. They did not now, till she had undressed and laid her
weary little body on the bed: then they broke forth in an
agony. "She did not kiss me! she didn't say she was glad to
see me!" thought poor Ellen. But weariness this time was too
much for sorrow and disappointment. It was but a few minutes,
and Ellen's brow was calm again, and her eyelids still, and,
with the tears wet upon her cheeks, she was fast asleep.
CHAPTER X.
Mud — and what came of it.
The morning sun was shining full and strong in Ellen's eyes
when she awoke. Bewildered at the strangeness of everything
around her, she raised herself on her elbow, and took a long
look at her new home. It could not help but seem cheerful. The
bright beams of sunlight, streaming in through the windows,
lighted on the wall and the old wainscoting; and paintless and
rough as they were, nature's own gilding more than made amends
for their want of comeliness. Still Ellen was not much pleased
with the result of her survey. The room was good-sized, and
perfectly neat and clean; it had two large windows opening to
the east, through which, morning by morning, the sun looked in
— that was another blessing.
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