the place of woods and flowers, it was so sweet still. Ellen
looked till, she didn't know why, she felt calmed and soothed
— as if somebody was saying to her softly, "Cheer up, my
child, cheer up; things are not so bad as they might be:
things will be better." Her attention was attracted at length
by voices below; she looked down, and saw there, in one of the
yards, a poor deformed child, whom she had often noticed
before, and always with sorrowful interest. Besides his bodily
infirmity, he had a further claim on her sympathy, in having
lost his mother within a few months. Ellen's heart was easily
touched this morning; she felt for him very much. "Poor, poor
little fellow!" she thought; "he's a great deal worse off than
I am. _His_ mother is dead; mine is only going away for a few
months — not for ever — oh, what a difference! and then the
joy of coming back again!" — poor Ellen was weeping already at
the thought — "and I will do, oh, how much! while she is gone
— I'll do more than she can possibly expect from me — I'll
astonish her — I'll delight her — I'll work harder than ever I
did in my life before — I'll mend all my faults, and give her
so much pleasure! But oh! if she only needn't go away! oh,
Mamma!" Tears of mingled sweet and bitter were poured out
fast, but the bitter had the largest share.

The breakfast-table was still standing, and her father gone,
when Ellen went down stairs. Mrs. Montgomery welcomed her with
her usual quiet smile, and held out her hand. Ellen tried to
smile in answer, but she was glad to hide her face in her
mother's bosom; and the long close embrace was too close and
too long; it told of sorrow as well as love; and tears fell
from the eyes of each, that the other did not see.