"
"The men may go," said Ellen, "but I had a great deal rather
Mr. Van Brunt would stay than not — if we can only manage to
cook things for him; we should have to do it, at any rate, for
ourselves, and for grandma."
"Well — _I_ ain't as fond of him as all that," said Nancy, "but
it'll have to be as you like, I suppose. We'll feed him
somehow."
Mr. Van Brunt came in to ask if they had anything in the house
for supper. Ellen told him "plenty," and would have him come
in just as usual. There was nothing to do but to make tea;
cold meat and bread and butter and cheese were all in the
buttery; so that evening went off very quietly.
When she came down the next morning, the fire was burning
nicely, and the kettle on and singing. Not Nancy's work; Mr.
Van Brunt had slept in the kitchen; whether on the table, the
floor, or the chairs, was best known to himself; and before
going to his work, had left everything he could think of ready
done to her hand; — wood for the fire, pails of water brought
from the spout, and some matters in the lower kitchen got out
of the way. Ellen stood warming herself at the blaze, when it
suddenly darted into her head that it was milking time. In
another minute she had thrown open the door and was running
across the chip-yard to the barn. There, in the old place,
were all her old friends, both four-legged and two-legged; and
with great delight she found Dolly had a fine calf, and
Streaky another superb one, brindled just like herself.
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