She soon spied, a few yards distant, a little
stream of water pouring from the end of a pipe or trough
raised about a foot and a half from the ground; and a well-
worn path leading to it, left no doubt of its being "the
spout." But when she had reached it, Ellen was in no small
puzzle as to how she should manage. The water was clear and
bright, and poured very fast into a shallow wooden trough
underneath, whence it ran off into the meadow and disappeared.
"But what shall I do without a basin?" thought Ellen; "I can't
catch any water in my hands, it runs too fast. If I only could
get my face under there — that would be fine!"
Very carefully and cautiously she tried it, but the continual
spattering of the water had made the board on which she stood
so slippery, that before her face could reach the stream, she
came very near tumbling headlong, and so taking more of a cold
bath than she wished for. So she contented herself with the
drops her hands could bring to her face — a scanty supply; but
those drops were deliciously cold and fresh. And afterwards
she pleased herself with holding her hands in the running
water till they were red with the cold. On the whole, Ellen
enjoyed her washing very much. The morning air came playing
about her; its cool breath was on her cheek, with health in
its touch. The early sun was shining on tree, and meadow, and
hill; the long shadows stretched over the grass, and the very
brown outhouses looked bright.
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