As Many as Touched Him
9781465684691
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
OH dear! I do wish the postman would make haste and come, said Ellen Mansfield to herself, as she stood at the farmyard gate, looking eagerly up the narrow lane into which it opened. It was a bright July morning, and the sun was pouring its warm rays on her fair hair and rosy cheeks, as she waited bareheaded in the open air, having no fear of the effects of such exposure to its influence. She was so absorbed in her watch for the country letter carrier, who was never very punctual to his time, as to give heed to naught besides. Wolf, the old sheep dog, crept close to her side, and put his nose into her hand, but his mute expression of affection met with no response. The chickens gathered round her, and chirped in vain, with the hope of attracting her attention, and being rewarded with some bread crumbs or grains of corn, such as she often bestowed on them. Ellen's thoughts were all of the letter which she hoped would arrive that morning. But presently, she was roused by the sound of her mother's voice calling to her from within the house— "Ellen, Ellen, where are you? I want you directly!" Ellen looked annoyed, and her lip pouted. "How tiresome!" she muttered to herself. And instead of hastening to obey the summons, she went a few steps down the lane, so that the thick hedge might hide her from her mother's view, in case she came to the door to look for her. Ellen was a tall, well grown girl, about sixteen years of age, with a bright, intelligent face, having the fresh complexion and clear blue eyes which only country girls can boast. She was strong and active, and her mother naturally expected much help from this daughter, the eldest child of a family of ten. But Ellen hated house work, and thought it a hardship that she should be expected to undertake such tasks, and was always glad when, as now, she managed to elude her mother's vigilance and enjoy some minutes of idleness. The minutes were many this morning, for the postman did not come any the quicker because she was waiting for him. And her conscience told her more than once that she ought to return to the house, yet still she lingered. At last, she caught sight of the old man coming slowly down the lane, sorting some letters in his hand as he came. "Oh dear! Why can't he walk a little faster?" thought Ellen, impatiently. "He moves like a snail. I am sure one of those letters must be from Aunt Matilda." There was a house on the other side of the lane for which the postman was bound before he came to Ellen's home. Ellen watched him go in at the gate, and waited anxiously for his reappearance. But when he came out again, there were no letters in his hand.
