"Well," said Mr. Van Brunt, rising, "I'll despatch this
business down-stairs, and then I'll bring up the sleigh. The
pickle's ready, I suppose."
"No, it ain't," said Miss Fortune, "I couldn't make it
yesterday; but it's all in the kettle, and I told Sam to make
a fire down-stairs, so you can put it on when you do down. The
kits are all ready, and the salt, and everything else."
Mr. Van Brunt went down the stairs that led to the lower
kitchen; and Miss Fortune, to make up for lost time, set about
her morning's work with even an uncommon measure of activity.
Ellen, in consideration of her being still weak, was not
required to do anything. She sat and looked on, keeping out of
the way of her bustling aunt as far as it was possible; but
Miss Fortune's gyrations were of that character, that no one
could tell five minutes beforehand what she might consider "in
the way." Ellen wished for her quiet room again. Mr. Van
Brunt's voice sounded downstairs in tones of business; what
could he be about? it must be very uncommon business that kept
him in the house. Ellen grew restless with the desire to go
and see, and to change her aunt's company for his; and no
sooner was Miss Fortune fairly shut up in the buttery at some
secret work, than Ellen gently opened the door at the head of
the lower stairs, and looked down. Mr. Van Brunt was standing
at the bottom, and looked up.
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