"I got this," said John, handing her a little book which lay
beside him.
"What is this! Wime's — Wiem's — Life of Washington —
Washington? he was — may I look at it?"
"Certainly!"
She opened the book, and presently sat down on the floor where
she was, by the side of the sofa. Whatever she had found
within the leaves of the book, she had certainly lost herself.
An hour passed. Ellen had not spoken or moved except to turn
over leaves.
"Ellen!" said John.
She looked up — her cheeks coloured high.
"What have you found there?" said he, smiling.
"Oh, a great deal! But — did Mr. Marshman give you this?"
"No."
"O!" said Ellen, looking puzzled, "I thought you said you got
this this morning."
"No, I got it last night. I got it for you, Ellie."
"For me!" said Ellen, her colour deepening very much; "for me!
did you? Oh, thank you! — oh, I'm so much obliged to you, Mr.
John!"
"It is only an answer to one of your questions."
"This! is it? I don't know what, I am sure. Oh, I wish I could
do something to please you, Mr. John!"
"You shall, Ellie; you shall give me a brother's right again."
Blushingly Ellen approached her lips to receive one of his
grave kisses; and then, not at all displeased, went down on
the floor, and was lost in her book.
Oh, the long joy of that New Year's day! — how shall it be
told? The pleasure of that delightful book, in which she was
wrapped the whole day — even when called off, as she often
was, by Ellen Chauncey, to help her in fifty little matters of
business or pleasure.
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