So that's how my lantern came to be going to the
barn in such an awk'ard night as this."
They had reached the little gate, and Mr. Van Brunt with some
difficulty pulled it open. The snow lay thick upon the neat
brick walk which Ellen had trod the first time with wet feet
and dripping garments. A few steps further, and they came to
the same door that had opened then so hospitably to receive
her. As the faint light of the lantern was thrown upon the old
latch and door-posts, Ellen felt at home; and a sense of
comfort sank down into her heart which she had not known for
some time.
CHAPTER XX.
Head-sick and heart-sick.
Mr. van Brunt flung open the door, and the two wet and weary
travellers stepped after him into the same cheerful,
comfortable-looking kitchen that had received Ellen once
before. Just the same — tidy, clean swept up, a good fire, and
the same old red-backed chairs standing round on the hearth in
most cozy fashion. It seemed to Ellen a perfect storehouse of
comfort; the very walls had a kind face for her. There were no
other faces, however; the chairs were all empty. Mr. Van Brunt
put Alice in one and Ellen in another, and shouted, "Mother! —
here!" — muttering that she had taken herself off with the
light somewhere. Not very far: for in half a minute, answering
the call, Mrs. Van Brunt and the light came hurriedly in.
"What's the matter, 'Brahm? — who's this? — why 'tain't Miss
Alice! My gracious me! — and all wet! — oh, dear, dear! poor
lamb! Why, Miss Alice, dear, where have you been? — and if
that ain't my little Ellen! oh dear! what a fix you are in!
Well, darling, I'm glad to see you again a'most anyway.
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