University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.
FACE TO FACE WITH HUNGER.

When Ellie rose on the next morning, she found the
ground covered with a deep layer of snow.

The storm had indeed died away; no rain had fallen;
but in its place had come the chill fall of snow, preceding
the full winter.

As the child looked out, her heart sank more than ever
within her, and clasping her hands, she gazed with a
species of dumb agony upon the white, cold, pitiless snow.
That snow was nothing to others than herself, or those

like herself. The comfortable merchant, with his great
coat and India-rubber shoes, and warm throat-wrapping,
smiled at it; and, perchance, was not sorry that the price
of coals and wood, and all “produce,” would by its means
go up. The gay youths and maidens looked forth gladly
and saw, in the future, happy sleigh rides, with their
tinkling bells, making such merry music round them as
they flitted on, past laden trees, by streams, and over
bridges, with their much discussed prerogatives of bold
salutes upon the tingling cheek. The children everywhere
looked forth upon the snow—yet in their nightgowns—and
were full of ecstacy at the bright visions of
snow-balling, and a thousand sports, which come in with
the merry, laughing, white and beautiful snow!

Not so did it appear to Ellie; there was nothing merry
in the snow to her—and if any beauty, it resembled that
of the white polar bear, whose velvet fur and graceful
head conceal the coldest and most pitiless cruelty. To
the child the snow storm signified only freezing cold and
the inability to procure the necessaries which her uncle
needed. And so she gazed upon it with a wild look,
which was so piteous in its appeal, so full of fear and
suffering, that any one beholding her would have shed
tears of sympathy, so evident was her agony.

For several minutes Ellie continued to gaze upon the
snow, shivering as she stood, for the room was bitter cold.
Then covering her face with her hands she sank down,
and for a time shook with passionate sobs, which she tried
in vain to check. Oh! what had she done that her merciful
Father in Heaven, should heap this last agony on her

head—trying her it seemed so cruelly? Why was she left thus
to struggle alone against all the ills of life—what deadly
sin had she cherished, to draw down upon her head this
cruel, cruel trial?

And, as these thoughts passed through her mind, Ellie's
form shook again, and her brown hair wavered and fell,
but could not hide the flood of tears which streamed down
her cheeks. For some moments she remained thus overcome,
but gradually she grew calmer; and, leaning her
head on the cold, hard window-sill, prayed long and
earnestly.

She rose at last, murmuring, “Thy will be done,” and
drying her eyes, set to work upon her morning preparations.
A small bundle of splinters remained still, which
she had gathered in the street before going to bed on the
evening before, and with these she managed to kindle a
slight fire. She then assisted Charley in dressing, and
brushed his hair—going through all these things with a
forlorn resignation which was most touching.

Uncle Joe soon awoke, and Ellie hastened to his bed-side,
and with a cheerful smile asked him how he felt.

“Pretty well, daughter,” said Uncle Joe, faintly, “why
'seems there's a light! It's snow—snow!”

And a cloud passed over the thin flushed face.

“Oh, that's nothing!” said Ellie, smiling, to hide the
trembling of her lips, “that's nothing, dear uncle, and it
will soon melt and go away. You will be well very soon
now, and you see I am very happy.”

With which words Ellie feigned that she had left something
in her closet, and entering it hastily, burst into tears.

Even in the agony of weeping, however, the child suppressed
any sound, and had her cry out in silence. She then dried
her eyes, and trying to smile, came back and set about
her work again. Those tears had sprung from a thought
which suddenly came to her mind, a fact which for a moment
she had forgotten. There was nothing whatever
in the house—not so much as a morsel of bread for breakfast,
or a spoonful of tea.

Ellie's mind was racked with this thought, and she revolved
project after project. Where could she get the
material for breakfast?—that meal once over she would
have time to think. Face to face now with actual material
hunger—with the grim foe Want—she almost found her
energies paralyzed; and felt as though she could ask nothing
better than a painless sleep beneath the pitiless snow
which had disarmed her heart.

But the brave, hopeful nature soon banished such
thoughts, and with a murmured prayer the child put on
her old bonnet and opened the door, and went out, without
any direct project.

It was bitter cold, and the sun, struggling up through
a heavy mist, seemed to be the mere burlesque of an ordinary
sun, so chill and gloomy did it look. Ellie shivered,
and the cold wind penetrated to her very heart, chilling
the life blood in her veins.

Where should she go?

All her neighbors were as poor as herself—or nearly—
and to borrow of them, would almost be robbery, even
though they were willing to lend. The poor help each

other, but the morsel which they part with is often taken
from their own mouths.

Ellie stood despairingly upon the threshold thinking
where she should go. Borrow—nay, if necessary, beg—
she must. The only question was, where?

As these thoughts passed through her mind, she saw
the light of a fire shining through the cellar window of
the large dilapidated house which stood nearly opposite
to the cabin which her uncle occupied; and she remembered
that an old negro woman lived there, with whom
she had once or twice exchanged a word in passing. Her
kind face now came to Ellie's memory, and she determined
to go and borrow a little bread and tea of her.

In a minute she had hastened along the street, making
deep marks, as she walked, in the soft snow, and reached
the entrance to the cellar.

She went down the rough steps and knocked. The
voice of the old woman bade her come in, and Ellie opened
the door.

The very sight of the room seemed to revive the child;
and timidly entering, she looked around for a moment with
a sigh, which was not for herself.

If uncle had only that warm, pleasant-looking room!