The fire had gone
out, the room was cold; even so little a matter as catnip-tea
seemed a thing far off and hard to come by. While she stood
looking at the great logs in the fireplace, which she could
hardly move, and thinking it was rather a dismal state of
things, in came Mr. Van Brunt with his good-natured face, and
wanted to know if he could do anything for her. The very room
seemed more comfortable as soon as his big figure was in it.
He set about kindling the fire forthwith, while Ellen went up
to the store-room. A well-filled store-room! Among other
things, there hung at least a dozen bunches of dried herbs
from one of the rafters. Ellen thought she knew catnip, but
after smelling of two or three, she became utterly puzzled,
and was fain to carry a leaf of several kinds down to Mr. Van
Brunt to find out which was which. When she came down again,
she found he had hung on the kettle for her, and swept up the
hearth; so Ellen, wisely thinking it best to keep busy, put
the ironing blanket on the table, and folded the clothes, and
set the irons to the fire. By this time the kettle boiled. How
to make catnip-tea Ellen did not exactly know, but supposed it
must follow the same rules as black tea, in the making of
which she felt herself very much at home. So she put a pinch
or two of catnip leaves into the pot, poured a little water on
them, and left it to draw.
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