Ellen thanked her, but said she did not want anything.

"Oh, yes, you do," said Mrs. Forbes; "I know better. You're as pale as I don't know what. Come! this'll put roses in your cheeks. Don't you like bread and milk?"

The Wide, Wide World — Part 81

"Yes, very much indeed, Ma’am," said Ellen; "but I'm not hungry."

The Wide, Wide World — Part 81

She rose, however, and came to the table.

The Wide, Wide World — Part 81

"Oh, well, try to eat a bit, just to please me. It's real good country milk — not a bit of cream off. You don't get such milk as that in the city, I guess. That's right! — I see the roses coming back to your cheeks already?"

"You expect your pa and ma up to Thirlwall by-and-by, don't you?"

Mrs. Forbes was surprised, and longed to ask why not, and what Ellen had come for; but the shade that had passed over her face as she answered the last question, warned the landlady she was getting upon dangerous ground.

"I believe so, Ma’am — I don't know — she was to have met me; papa said he would write."

"Oh, well! maybe something hindered her from coming. It's no matter; you'll get home just as well. Mr. Van Brunt will be here soon, I guess; it's 'most time for him to be along."

She went to the front door to look out for him, but returned without any news. A few minutes passed in silence, for, though full of curiosity, the good landlady dared not ask what she wanted to know, for fear of again exciting the sorrow of her little companion. She contented herself with looking at Ellen, who, on her part, much rested and refreshed, turned from the table, and was again, though somewhat less sadly, gazing into the fire.

Presently the great wooden clock struck half-past five, with a whirring, rickety voice, for all the world like a hoarse grasshopper. Ellen at first wondered where it came from, and was looking at the clumsy machine, that reached nearly from the floor of the kitchen to the ceiling, when a door at the other end of the room opened, and "Good day, Mrs. Forbes," in a rough but not unpleasant voice, brought her head quickly round in that direction. There stood a large, strong-built man, with an ox-whip in his hand. He was well made, and rather handsome, but there was something of heaviness in the air of both face and person mixed with his certainly good-humoured expression. His dress was as rough as his voice — a coarse gray frock-coat, green velveteen pantaloons, and a fur cap that had seen its best days some time ago.