It was not so. Her only recollection of Battersby was as
of a place where she had had plenty to eat and drink, not too much hard
work, and where she had not been scolded. When she heard that Ernest had
quarrelled with his father and mother she assumed as a matter of course
that the fault must lie entirely with Ernest.
"Oh, your pore, pore ma!" said Ellen. "She was always so very fond of
you, Master Ernest: you was always her favourite; I can't abear to think
of anything between you and her. To think now of the way she used to
have me into the dining-room and teach me my catechism, that she did! Oh,
Master Ernest, you really must go and make it all up with her; indeed you
must."
Ernest felt rueful, but he had resisted so valiantly already that the
devil might have saved himself the trouble of trying to get at him
through Ellen in the matter of his father and mother. He changed the
subject, and the pair warmed to one another as they had their tripe and
pots of beer. Of all people in the world Ellen was perhaps the one to
whom Ernest could have spoken most freely at this juncture. He told her
what he thought he could have told to no one else.
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