The Wide, Wide World | Page 4

by chance attracted Ellen's attention, and she suddenly recollected her
mother had had no tea. To make her mother's tea was Ellen's regular
business. She treated it as a very grave affair, and loved it as one of the
pleasantest in the course of the day. She used in the first place to make
sure that the kettle really boiled; then she carefully poured some water
into the teapot and rinsed it, both to make it clean and to make it hot;
then she knew exactly how much tea to put into the tiny little teapot,
which was just big enough to hold two cups of tea; and having poured a
very little boiling water to it, she used to set it by the side of the fire
while she made half a slice of toast. How careful Ellen was about that
toast! The bread must not be cut too thick, nor too thin; the fire must, if
possible, burn clear and bright; and she herself held the bread on a fork,
just at the right distance from the coals to get nicely browned without
burning. When this was done to her satisfaction (and if the first piece
failed, she would take another), she filled up the little tea-pot from the
boiling kettle, and proceeded to make a cup of tea. She knew, and was
very careful to put in, just the quantity of milk and sugar that her
mother liked; and then she used to carry the tea and toast on a little tray
to her mother's side, and very often held it there for her while she ate.

All this Ellen did with the zeal that love gives, and though the same
thing was to be gone over every night of the year, she was never
wearied. It was a real pleasure; she had the greatest satisfaction in
seeing that the little her mother could eat was prepared for her in the
nicest possible manner; she knew her hands made it taste better; her
mother often said so.
But this evening other thoughts had driven this important business quite
out of poor Ellen's mind. Now, however, when her eyes fell upon the
little kettle, she recollected her mother had not had her tea, and must
want it very much; and silently slipping off the sofa, she set about
getting it as usual. There was no doubt this time whether the kettle
boiled or no; it had been hissing for an hour and more, calling as loud
as it could to somebody to come and make the tea. So Ellen made it,
and then began the toast. But she began to think, too, as she watched it,
how few more times she would be able to do so — how soon her
pleasant tea makings would be over — and the desolate feeling of
separation began to come upon her before the time. These thoughts
were too much for poor Ellen; the thick tears gathered so fast, she could
not see what she was doing; and she had no more than just turned the
slice of bread on the fork when the sickness of heart quite overcame her;
she could not go on. Toast and fork and all dropped from her hand into
the ashes; and rushing to her mother's side, who was now lying down
again, and throwing herself upon her, she burst into another fit of
sorrow — not so violent as the former, but with a touch of hopelessness
in it which went yet more to her mother's heart. Passion in the first said,
"I cannot;" despair now seemed to say, "I must."
But Mrs. Montgomery was too exhausted to either share or soothe
Ellen's agitation. She lay in suffering silence; till after some time she
said faintly — "Ellen, my love, I cannot bear this much longer."
Ellen was immediately brought to herself by these words. She arose,
sorry and ashamed that she should have given occasion for them, and
tenderly kissing her mother, assured her, most sincerely and resolutely,
that she would not do so again. In a few minutes she was calm enough
to finish making the tea, and having toasted another piece of bread, she

brought it to her mother. Mrs. Montgomery swallowed a cup of tea, but
no toast could be eaten that night.
Both remained silent and quiet awhile after this, till the clock struck ten.
"You had better go to bed, my daughter," said Mrs. Montgomery.
"I will, Mamma."
"Do you think you can read me a little before you go?"
"Yes, indeed, Mamma;" and Ellen brought the book. "Where shall I
read?"
"The twenty-third Psalm."
Ellen began it, and went through it steadily and slowly, though her
voice quivered a little.
" 'The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not