The water was very cold;
and thoroughly sobered, poor Ellen felt chill enough in body
and mind too; all her fine spirits were gone; and not the less
because Nancy's had risen to a great pitch of delight at her
misfortune. The air rang with her laughter; she likened Ellen
to every ridiculous thing she could think of. Too miserable to
be angry, Ellen could not laugh, and would not cry, but she
exclaimed, in distress —
"Oh, what shall I do! I am so cold!"
"Come along," said Nancy; "give me your hand; we'll run over
to Mrs. Van Brunt's — 'tain't far — it's just over here.
There," said she, as they got to the top of the bank, and came
within sight of a house standing only a few fields off —
"there it is! Run, Ellen, and we'll be there directly."
"Who is Mrs. Van Brunt?" Ellen contrived to say, as Nancy
hurried her along,
"Who is she? — run, Ellen! — why, she's just Mrs. Van Brunt —
your Mr. Van Brunt's mother, you know — make haste, Ellen! —
we had rain enough the other day; I'm afraid it wouldn't be
good for the grass if you stayed too long in one place; hurry!
I'm afraid you'll catch cold — you got your feet wet after
all, I'm sure."
Run they did; and a few minutes brought them to Mrs. Van
Brunt's door. The little brick walk leading to it from the
courtyard gate was as neat as a pin; so was every thing else
the eye could rest on; and when Nancy went in, poor Ellen
stayed _her_ foot at the door, unwilling to carry her wet shoes
and dripping garments any further.
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