Hastily dressing herself, and a good deal excited already, she
ran down stairs, and, after the morning salutations, examined
her mother's looks with as much anxiety as she had just done
those of the weather. All was satisfactory there also; and
Ellen ate her breakfast with an excellent appetite; but she
said not a word of the intended expedition till her father
should be gone. She contented herself with strengthening her
hopes, by making constant fresh inspections of the weather and
her mother's countenance alternately; and her eyes returning
from the window on one of these excursions, and meeting her
mother's face, saw a smile there which said all she wanted.
Breakfast went on more vigorously than ever. But after
breakfast it seemed to Ellen that her father never would go
away. He took the newspaper, an uncommon thing for him, and
pored over it most perseveringly, while Ellen was in a perfect
fidget of impatience. Her mother, seeing the state she was in,
and taking pity on her, sent her up stairs to do some little
matters of business in her own room. These Ellen despatched
with all possible zeal and speed; and coming down again, found
her father gone, and her mother alone. She flew to kiss her in
the first place, and then made the inquiry, "Don't you think
to-day will do, Mamma?"

"As fine as possible, daughter; we could not have a better;
but I must wait till the doctor has been here."

"Mamma," said Ellen, after a pause, making a great effort of
self-denial, "I am afraid you oughtn't to go out to get these
things for me. Pray don't, Mamma, if you think it will do you
harm. I would rather go without them; indeed I would."