CHAPTER IV.
AN UNRULY SPIRIT.
We cannot give an account of half the disputes between Mrs. Merrill andEllen which were generally reported to Mr. Villars by both parties,until he was ready to go anywhere from his hitherto quiet home, insearch of peace. And yet, when the difficulties in which he had becomeinvolved through Mr. Leslie began first to be perceived, and Mr. Villarsto fear that he must leave his home, it seemed dearer to him than ever.Besides, he would say to himself, as he sat thinking over the threatenedchanges--What is to become of these poor children--and my oldservants--and Mrs. Merrill--good Mrs. Merrill--who, I am sure, neverexpected to leave me, and is now too old to look out new friends?Distressed by such thoughts, it is no wonder if Mr. Villars looked sad,and sat silent for hours together, sometimes looking out of a windowsometimes turning his eyes upon a book which he generally held in hishand, as an excuse for not talking; though it was easy to see that hewas not reading,--or if he was, it must be the same page, over and overagain, as he never turned a leaf. Mary had noticed all this, and itgrieved her greatly, for except Ellen, there was no one now in the worldwhom she loved half so well as her Uncle Villars. She tried at first toamuse him by talking to him; but finding that, though he always answeredher kindly, he would at such times soon leave the parlor where they wereseated, and go, either to his own room or to the library, she determinednot again to disturb him when he seemed so thoughtful. But though Maryceased to talk to her Uncle Villars, she could not cease to observe himand to wish that she knew the cause of his sadness. This cause she atlast thought she had discovered in the differences of Ellen and Mrs.Merrill. Vainly did poor Mary try to accommodate these differences, herefforts generally ended in making both of the disputants displeased withher. It must not be thought that Mrs. Merrill was cross andill-tempered. On the contrary, all her difficulties with Ellen arosefrom her desire to do what was kind and right by an orphan girl placedin her charge, for Mr. Villars before he brought his nieces home hadsaid, "There will of course, Mrs. Merrill, be many things in which thesegirls will require the attention of a woman to their conduct and theircomforts. In these things I know I may trust to your goodness,"--andMrs. Merrill was determined his trust should not be disappointed.
Mary and Ellen had walked out together one afternoon, and when theyreturned, laid their bonnets carelessly upon the table in the parlor.There they remained, till Mrs. Merrill came in to see the table preparedfor tea. "Miss Mary, Miss Ellen, why, here are your new crape bonnets.You should always put them away as soon as you come in; crape is veryexpensive, my dears, and very easily injured."
Mary rose and removed the bonnets from the table. Ellen remained seatedwith her head bent over a piece of paper, on which she seemed to bedrawing.
"Miss Ellen," said Mrs. Merrill, "did you hear what I said?"
"Yes, Mrs. Merrill, I heard you."
"I will put both bonnets away, Mrs. Merrill," said Mary; "I always putEllen's away for her."
"Well, my dear Miss Mary, that may be very kindly meant in you, but itwould be far better that your sister should learn to do without you."
Ellen did not even look up--Mary moved towards the door, with the hopethat if the bonnet was once out of sight all would be quiet, but Mrs.Merrill saw the movement, and irritated by Ellen's disregard of what shesaid, she exclaimed, "Stop, Miss Mary; I am sorry to find fault withyou, who are generally so good, but I do not think it right in you tointerfere, when I would have your sister learn to wait on herself. I amsure it is for her own good. I am sure it is not for my sake I take thetrouble."
Mary looked earnestly at Ellen, but the head was perseveringly bentdown, and except that her face had become quite red and her pencil movedvery fast, any one might have supposed that she had not heard a word ofwhat was passing. There stood Mary, with a bonnet in each hand,perfectly irresolute, afraid to speak to Ellen lest she should causeher to say something saucy--afraid to oppose Mrs. Merrill, who it wasevident was now very determined. At length she ventured to say, "Ellenis busy drawing, Mrs. Merrill--"
Before she could add another word, Ellen, who scorned to offer anyapology for her inattention to Mrs. Merrill's wishes, threw aside thepaper and pencil, saying, "I am not busy at all--I was only making markson the paper, Mary."
"I knew it--knew it," said Mrs. Merrill; "you were only making marks toshow me that you did not care for me.
"Give me that bonnet, Miss Mary," taking Ellen's from her as she spoke,and laying it again on the table, on which in the mean time she hadarranged every thing for tea. "There--let it lie there till Mr. Villarscomes in. I will see if he thinks that a proper place for a young lady'sbonnet."
Ellen smiled scornfully.
"Oh, Mrs. Merrill," said Mary, with tears in her eyes, "do not plaguepoor Uncle Villars about it."
"I assure you, Miss Mary Leslie, I am not the one to plague your UncleVillars. Many a year I have lived with him, and a quiet home we haveboth had of it till now, and the same will he say, I will be bound!"
"Ellen, dear Ellen, I am sure you would not do any thing to worry ourgood, kind Uncle Villars; come, dear Ellen, and take your bonnet upstairs."
"Mary, I wish you would let me and my bonnet alone. I did not ask you totake it up."
"Well--but, Ellen, poor Uncle Villars looks so sad already. Do not beobstinate, dear Ellen."
"I am not going to say or do any thing to Uncle Villars, Mary, and Ithink it's very hard if I am to be blamed for every thing--even for hislooking sad; but nobody ever finds fault with me that you do not taketheir part."
"Oh, Ellen"--but Ellen turned away, and Mary with a heavy heart walkedoff with her own bonnet as she saw her Uncle Villars entering. Now, anyone who has read this scene will perceive that Mrs. Merrill, althoughshe was right in the thing itself which she would have had Ellen do, wasvery wrong in her manner of enforcing it. The only right way to governany one is by giving them confidence in your kindly feelings towardsthem--by love. Now, Ellen was a spoiled child, and could not haveconfidence in the kindly feelings of any one who thwarted her. Mr.Villars saw all this, and therefore he had great patience with Ellen,and generally soothed her into some concession to Mrs. Merrill; verylittle would satisfy her kind spirit; and so the storm would for thetime pass over. But these storms so frequently returned, that Mr.Villars felt, unless something could be done to arouse Ellen's own mindto a conviction of the evil of her temper and a determined effort tosubdue it, she must always be unhappy herself, and the cause ofunhappiness to others. As Mr. Villars became more interested in Ellen,as it was natural he should do from feeling that she was now whollydependent on him, his anxiety on this subject increased, and he oftenfound himself imagining different methods for correcting her faults.
One of Ellen's bad habits, and that which perhaps most materiallyinterfered with Mrs. Merrill's comfort, was late sleeping, or ratherlying in bed, for Ellen was in reality not asleep for an hour beforeMary could induce her to rise,--but Ellen said if she was not asleep,neither was she wide awake. You may wonder that this practice shouldhave interfered with Mrs. Merrill's comfort, as by keeping Ellen out ofthe way it would seem rather to promote her quiet; but Mrs. Merrillprided herself on her orderly housekeeping, and while she was too kindto let Ellen go without her breakfast, she was greatly annoyed at havingto keep the table waiting for her. Mary would have taken some breakfastto her sister in their room, and so have obviated the difficulty; butthis Mrs. Merrill would on no account permit, lest the carpet or thebedclothes should be slopped with tea or greased with butter. A fewmornings after the scene with the bonnet, Mary having risen as usual anddressed herself, began her efforts to arouse Ellen.
"Ellen--wake, Ellen--I hear Uncle Villars moving about in his room."
Ellen, without speaking or opening her eyes, turned over and coveredherself up more closely.
Mary spoke again, "Ellen--Uncle Villars has gone down stairs--he willring the bell for breakfast presently."
Ellen did not stir.
Mary touched her,--put her a
rm around her and tried to raise her; Ellenflounced off to the other side of the bed, exclaiming, "Mary, let mealone."
"Oh, Ellen, jump up--there's the breakfast bell--you know nothing putsMrs. Merrill so much out of sorts as our being too late to breakfastwith Uncle Villars."
"I do not care for Mrs. Merrill's being out of sorts--cross old woman;she might just as well let me have my breakfast up here as not. I willlie half an hour longer just to spite her."
"But, Ellen, Uncle Villars--"
"Uncle Villars does not care a pin about my getting up, if he only hasyou to sit by him; you know that as well as I do."
"Well, I care, Ellen--"
"Oh do, Mary--go, and eat your breakfast, and let me alone."
Another ring of the breakfast bell hurried Mary off, exclaiming, "Makehaste, Ellen, and you may get down yet before we are done--I will eatvery slowly."
The affectionate kiss with which Mr. Villars saluted Mary was followedby the question, "Where is Ellen?"
"Miss Ellen is not awake yet, I suppose, Miss Mary."
Mary at that moment heard Ellen's step on the floor above, and answeredquickly, "Oh, yes, Mrs. Merrill, she is awake and up."
"Well," said Mr. Villars with a good-humored smile, "if she is up, wemay hope she will soon be down."
Mary did hope so, and she seated herself cheerfully by her UncleVillars, while Mrs. Merrill poured out coffee. The nice hot cakes andUncle Villars' pleasant chat made Mary quite forget her promise to eatslowly, until just as she was concluding her breakfast, Mrs. Merrill,approaching the door, said, "Your sister stays so long, Miss Mary, Iwill go and see if she wants any thing."
"I will go, Mrs. Merrill," said Mary, starting up; but it was too late,and she seated herself again, exclaiming, "Oh! I am so sorry."
"Poor child," said Mr. Villars, "you look as much frightened as if youwere afraid that Ellen would be beaten. Mrs. Merrill may scold a little,but cheer up, I am sure she would not hurt Ellen for the world."
"Oh no, Uncle Villars, I know she would not; it was not that which mademe feel sorry."
"What was it then, child?"
Mary looked down and colored as she said, "Ellen is not used to beingcrossed at all, you know, Uncle Villars, and Mrs. Merrill is not used toEllen's ways, and so they do not understand each other; and--and--I amsure when they come to you, Uncle Villars, it must worry you who alwayslived so quietly before we came."
Mr. Villars did not see exactly what Mary was coming to, but heanswered, "It has disturbed me, my dear, very much, I acknowledge, butmore for Ellen's sake than my own."
"I have seen, Uncle Villars, how very badly you felt about it; and Ihave been thinking--perhaps--you had better send us away."
Mary gave this advice slowly and hesitatingly, and as she looked up uponconcluding it, her eyes were full of tears; for Mary loved her UncleVillars dearly, and she was old enough to know something of her own andEllen's situation, and to feel how sad it would be for them to be sentaway from the house of their best friend to live among strangers. Mr.Villars saw the tears in Mary's eyes, and he understood all her tenderand generous thoughts, and drawing her to him he laid her head on hisshoulder, and putting her hair aside, kissed her forehead, calling her,"Dear child--dear child." He was silent a moment, and any one who hadlooked closely at him would have seen that his own eyes glistened; thenhe added, "It is one of my chief sorrows, Mary, that we shall be obligedto part; but not for the reason you think--not on poor Ellen'saccount--though I sometimes hope it may be the cause of good to her."
At this moment the parlor door was thrown open, and Ellen enteredhastily. She was followed by Mrs. Merrill, neither of them wearing veryplacid faces. Mr. Villars, not desiring to hear the complaints on eitherside, rose from table, and still holding Mary's hand, said, as he gaveEllen his morning kiss, "Eat your breakfast, my dear, and then come tothe library; you will find Mary there, and I have something to tellyou."
Aunt Kitty's Tales Page 45
