think so too, Ellen; the plainer the prettier. Now, what comes next?"
"The knife, Mamma, to make the pens," said Ellen, smiling.
"True, the knife. Let us see some of your best penknives. Now, Ellen, choose. That one won't do, my dear; it should have two blades a large as well as a small one. You know you want to mend a pencil sometimes."
"So I do, Mamma to be sure you're very right; here's a nice one. Now, Mamma, the wax."
"There is a box full choose your own colours." Seeing it was likely to be a work of time, Mrs. Montgomery walked away to another part of the store. When she returned, Ellen had made up an assortment of the oddest colours she could find.
"I won't have any red, Mamma, it is so common," she said.
"I think it is the prettiest of all," said Mrs. Montgomery.
"Do you, Mamma? then I will have a stick of red on purpose to seal to you with."
"And who do you intend shall have the benefit of the other colours?" inquired her mother.
"I declare, Mamma," said Ellen, laughing; "I never thought of that; I am afraid they will have to go to you. You must not mind, Mamma, if you get green, and blue, and yellow seals once in a while."
"I dare say I shall submit myself to it with a good grace, said Mrs. Montgomery. "But come, my dear, have we got all that we want? This desk has been very long in furnishing."
"You haven't given me a seal yet, Mamma."
"Seals! There are a variety before you; see if you can find one that you like. By the way, you cannot seal a letter, can you?"
"Not yet, Mamma," said Ellen, smiling again; "that is another of the things I have got to learn."
"Then I think you had better have some wafers in the mean time."
While Ellen was picking out her seal, which took not a little time, Mrs. Montgomery laid in a good supply of wafers of all sorts; and then went on further to furnish the desk with an ivory leaf-cutter, a paper-folder, a pounce-box, a ruler, and a neat little silver pencil; also some drawing-pencils, India- rubber, and sheets of drawing-paper. She took a sad pleasure in adding everything she could think of that might be for Ellen's future use or advantage; but as with her own hands she placed in the desk one thing after another, the thought crossed her mind, how Ellen would make drawings with those very pencils, on those very sheets of paper, which her eyes would never see! She turned away with a sigh, and receiving Ellen's seal from her hand, put that also in its place. Ellen had chosen one with her own name.
"Will you send these things at once?" said Mrs. Montgomery; "I particularly wish to have them at home as early in the day as possible."
The man promised. Mrs. Montgomery paid the bill, and she and
Ellen left the store.
They walked a little way in silence.
"I cannot thank you, Mamma," said Ellen.
"It is not necessary, my dear child," said Mrs. Montgomery, returning the pressure of her hand; "I know all that you would say."
There was as much sorrow as joy at that moment in the heart of the joyfullest of the two.
"Where are we going now, Mamma?" said Ellen again, after a while.
"I wished and intended to have gone to St. Clair and Fleury's, to get you some merino and other things, but we have been detained so long already that I think I had better go home. I feel somewhat tired."
"I am very sorry, dear Mamma," said Ellen; "I am afraid I kept you too long about that desk."
"You did not keep me, daughter, any longer than I chose to be kept. But I think I will go home now, and take the chance of another fine day for the merino."
CHAPTER IV.
The Bitter-sweet of Life.
When dinner was over and the table cleared away, the mother and daughter were left, as they always loved to be, alone. It was late in the afternoon, and already somewhat dark, for clouds had gathered over the beautiful sky of the morning, and the wind, rising now and then, made its voice heard. Mrs. Montgomery was lying on the sofa, as usual, seemingly at ease; and Ellen was sitting on a little bench before the fire, very much at her ease, indeed, without any seeming about it. She smiled as she met her mother's eyes.
"You have made me very happy to-day, Mamma."
"I am glad of it, my dear child. I hoped I should. I believe the whole affair has given me as much pleasure, Ellen, as it has you."
There was a pause.
"Mamma, I will take the greatest possible care of my new treasures."
"I know you will. If I had doubted it, Ellen, most assuredly I should not have given them to you, sorry as I should have been to leave you without them. So you see you have not established a character for carefulness in vain."
"And, Mamma, I hope you have not given them to me in vain, either. I will try to use them in the way that I know you wish me to; that will be the best way I can thank you."
"Well, I have left you no excuse, Ellen. You know fully what I wish you to do and to be; and when I am away I shall please myself with thinking that my little daughter is following her mother's wishes; I shall believe so, Ellen. You will not let me be disappointed?"
"Oh no, Mamma," said Ellen, who was now in her mother's arms.
"Well, my child," said Mrs. Montgomery, in a lighter tone, "my gifts will serve as reminders for you if you are ever tempted to forget my lessons. If you fail to send me letters, or if those you send are not what they ought to be, I think the desk will cry shame upon you. And if you ever go an hour with a hole in your stocking, or a tear in your dress, or a string off your petticoat, I hope the sight of your workbox will make you blush."
"Workbox, Mamma!"
"Yes. Oh, I forgot you've not seen that."
"No, Mamma what do you mean?"
"Why, my dear, that was one of the things you most wanted, but I thought it best not to overwhelm you quite this morning; so while you were on an exploring expedition round the store, I chose and furnished one for you."
"Oh Mamma, Mamma!" said Ellen, getting up and clasping her hands, "what shall I do? I don't know what to say; I can't say anything. Mamma, it's too much."
So it seemed, for Ellen sat down and began to cry. Her mother silently reached out a hand to her, which she squeezed and kissed with all the energy of gratitude, love, and sorrow; till, gently drawn by the same hand, she was placed again in her mother's arms and upon her bosom. And in that tried resting-place she lay, calmed and quieted, till the shades of afternoon deepened into evening, and evening into night, and the light of the fire was all that was left to them.
Though not a word had been spoken for a long time, Ellen was not asleep; her eyes were fixed on the red glow of the coals in the grate, and she was busily thinking,
