The time Ellen _did_ secure to herself was held
the more precious, and used the more carefully. After all it
was a very profitable and pleasant winter to her.
John's visit came as usual at the holidays, and was enjoyed as
usual; only that every one seemed to Ellen more pleasant than
the last. The only other event that broke the quiet course of
things (besides the journeys to Ventnor) was the death of Mrs.
Van Brunt. This happened very unexpectedly and after a short
illness, not far from the end of January. Ellen was very
sorry, both for her own sake and Mr. Van Brunt's, who she was
sure felt much, though, according to his general custom, he
said nothing. Ellen felt for him none the less. She little
thought what an important bearing this event would have upon
her own future well-being.
The winter passed and the spring came. One fine, mild,
pleasant afternoon, early in May, Mr. Van Brunt came into the
kitchen and asked Ellen if she wanted to go with him and see
the sheep salted. Ellen was seated at the table with a large
tin pan in her lap, and before her a huge heap of white beans,
which she was picking over for the Saturday's favourite dish
of pork and beans. She looked up at him with a hopeless face.
"I should like to go very much indeed, Mr. Van Brunt, but you
see I can't. All these to do!"
"Beans, eh?" said he, putting one or two in his mouth.
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