Ellen thought it a _chef-d'oeuvre_, and was unbounded in
her admiration. It lay folded up in white paper in a locked
drawer, ready for New Year's day. In addition to all these
pieces of business, John had begun to give her drawing
lessons, according to his promise. These became Ellen's
delight. She would willingly have spent much more time upon
them than he would allow her. It was the most loved employment
of the day. Her teacher's skill was not greater than the
perfect gentleness and kindness with which he taught. Ellen
thought of Mr. Howard's speech about gunpowder— she could not
understand it.
"What is your conclusion on the whole?" asked John, one day,
as he stood beside her mending a pencil.
"Why," said Ellen, laughing and blushing, "how _could_ you guess
what I was thinking about, Mr. John?"
"Not very difficult, when you are eyeing me so hard."
"I was thinking," said Ellen, — "I don't know whether it is
right in me to tell it — because somebody said you —"
"Well?"
"Were like gunpowder."
"Very kind of somebody! And so you have been in doubt of an
explosion?"
"No — I don't know — I wondered what he meant."
"Never believe what you hear said of people, Ellen; judge for
yourself. Look here — that house has suffered from a severe
gale of wind, I should think — all the uprights are slanting
off to the right — can't you set it up straight?"
Ellen laughed at the tumble-down condition of the house, as
thus pointed out to her, and set about reforming it.
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