For those, Alice's wish was enough — she never opened them.
Furthermore, Alice insisted that when Ellen had once fairly
begun a book she should go through with it — not capriciously
leave it for another, nor have half a dozen about at a time.
But when Ellen had read it once she commonly wanted to go over
it again, and seldom laid it aside until she had sucked the
sweetness all out of it.
As for drawing, it could not go on very fast while the cold
weather lasted. Ellen had no place at home where she could
spread out her paper and copies without danger of being
disturbed. Her only chance was at the parsonage. John had put
all her pencils in order before he went, and had left her an
abundance of copies, marked as she was to take them. They, or
some of them, were bestowed in Alice's desk; and whenever
Ellen had a spare hour or two, of a fine morning or afternoon,
she made the best of her way to the mountain; it made no
difference whether Alice were at home or not — she went in,
coaxed up the fire, and began her work. It happened many a
time that Alice, coming home from a walk or a run in the
woods, saw the little hood and cloak on the settee before she
opened the glass door, and knew very well how she should find
Ellen, bending intently over her desk. These runs to the
mountain were very frequent; sometimes to draw, sometimes to
recite, always to see Alice and be happy.
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