{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_30146/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_30146","id":"gutenberg_30146","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30146","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian life -- Juvenile fiction","Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction","Family life -- Juvenile fiction","Sisters -- Juvenile fiction","Wealth -- Religious aspects -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"Produced by Daniel Fromont.  HTML version by Al Haines.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Transcriber's note: This is the first of a series of four novels by\nSusan Warner, all of which are in the Project Gutenberg collection:\n\n  1. What She Could\n  2. Opportunities\n  3. The House in Town\n  4. Trading]\n\n\n\n\n\nWHAT SHE COULD.\n\n\n\nBY THE AUTHOR OF\n\n\"THE WIDE WIDE WORLD,\" &c.\n\n\n\nLONDON:\n\nJAMES NISBET & CO., 21 BERNERS STREET.\n\nMDCCCLXXI.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\"WHAT SHE COULD.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\n\"Girls, there's a Band!\"\n\n\"A what?\"\n\n\"A Band--in the Sunday-School.\"\n\n\"I am sure there is a careless girl in the house,\" put in another\nspeaker. \"Go and wipe your feet, Maria; look at the snow you have\nbrought in.\"\n\n\"But, mamma----\"\n\n\"Go and get rid of that snow before you say another word. And you too,\nMatilda; see, child, what lumps of snow are sticking to your shoes. Was\nthere no mat at the door?\"\n\n\"There was a cold wind there,\" muttered Maria, as she went to obey\norders. \"What harm does a little snow do?\"\n\nBut while she went to the door again, her sister, a pretty, delicate\nchild of fewer years, stood still, and adroitly slipped her feet out of\nthe snowy shoes she had brought in, which she put in the corner of the\nfireplace to thaw and dry off; the little stocking feet standing\ncomfortably on the rug before the blaze. It was so neatly done, the\nmother and elder sisters looked on and could not chide. Neatness suited\nthe place. The room was full of warm comfort; the furniture in nice\norder; the work, several kinds of which were in as many hands, though\nlying about also on chairs and tables, had yet the look of order and\nmethod. You would have said at once that there was something good in\nthe family. The child in front of the fire told more for it. Her\ndelicate features, the refined look and manner with which she stood\nthere in her uncovered feet, even a little sort of fastidious grace\nwhich one or two movements testified, drew the eyes of mother and\nsisters, and manifestly stopped their tongues; even called forth a\nsmile or two.\n\n\"What is all this Maria is talking about, Matilda?\"\n\n\"Why, we have been to the Sunday-School meeting, mamma.\"\n\n\"I know that; and it was not a night fit for you to go. What ever\npossessed you and Maria?\" remarked one of the sisters.\n\n\"Why, Mr. Richmond wanted to see all the Sunday-School,\" said Matilda,\nthoughtfully. \"He wanted you too, I suppose; and you were not there.\"\n\n\"There is no use in having a meeting such a night. Of course, a great\nmany people could not be there. It ought to have been put off.\"\n\n\"Well, it was not put off,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"What did he want? What was Maria talking about?\"\n\n\"She is the best one to ask,\" said the child.\n\nAt the same moment Maria came in from getting rid of the snow, and\nenquired if Tilly had told them everything? Finding all was right, she\nsat down contentedly before the fire and stretched out her feet towards\nit.\n\n\"We've had a splendid time, I can tell you,\" she began.\n\n\"What was done in particular?\" asked one of the older girls, who was\nmaking a bonnet. \"More than usual?\"\n\n\"A great many things in particular, and one in general. We've made a\nBand.\"\n\n\"I have made several since you have been away,\" the other sister\nremarked.\n\n\"You know we cannot understand that unless you explain,\" said the\nbonnet-maker.\n\n\"You must let Maria take her own manner,\" said their mother.\n\n\"Well, now, I'll tell you all about it,\" said Maria. \"There weren't a\ngreat many people there, to begin with.\"\n\n\"Of course not! such a night.\"\n\n\"So there were plenty of empty benches, and it didn't look like a\nmeeting at all, at first; and I wondered if it would come to anything;\nbut then Mr. Richmond came in, and I saw _he_ meant something.\"\n\n\"Mr. Richmond always does mean something,\" interrupted Matilda.\n\n\"You hush, Tilly! Well, there were prayers first, of course; and then\nMr. Richmond stood up in the aisle, and said he wanted to know how many\nof us all there were willing to be really good.\"\n\n\"The servants of Christ, he said,\" Matilda explained.\n\n\"Yes, the servants of Christ, of course; and he said he didn't know any\nbetter way to get at it than that we should all stand up.\"\n\nA burst of laughter from all Maria's audience a little confused her.\nOnly Matilda looked gravely at her sister, as if she were making bad\nwork of it. Maria coloured, stammered, and began again.\n\n\"You all know what I mean! You know what I mean, mamma? Mr. Richmond\ndid not say that we should _all_ stand up.\"\n\n\"Then why did you say it?\"\n\n\"I thought you would understand. He said that all those should stand\nup, so that he might see who they were, who were willing to be real\nworkers for Christ; those who were willing to give themselves to the\nLord, and to do everything or anything he gave them to do for Him. So\nwe stood up, and Mr. Richmond went round and took our names down.\"\n\n\"Everybody who was there?\"\n\n\"Why, no!--those who were willing to do as Mr. Richmond said.\"\n\n\"Did _you_ stand up?\" asked one of her sisters.\n\n\"Yes; I did.\"\n\n\"Who else?\"\n\nAfter a pause----\n\n\"Oh, a great many people! All the members of the church, of course; and\nthen a good many more that aren't. Esther Trembleton rose, and Ailie\nSwan, and Mattie Van Dyke, and Frances Barth, and Mrs. Rice. And little\nMary Edwards, she was there, and she rose, and Willie Edwards; and Mr.\nBates got up and said he was happy to see this day. I think he was\nready to cry, he was so glad.\"\n\n\"And is this the 'Band' you spoke of?\"\n\n\"This is the Sunday-School Working Band; that is what Mr. Richmond\ncalled it.\"\n\n\"What work are you going to do?\"\n\n\"I don't know! Mr. Richmond said he could not tell just yet; but we are\nto have meetings and all sorts of things. And then Mr. Richmond talked.\"\n\n\"What about?\"\n\n\"Oh, I can't tell. You know how he talks.\"\n\n\"He said what the Band were to do,\" remarked Matilda.\n\n\"I told what that was.\"\n\n\"You did not tell what he said.\"\n\n\"Why, yes, I did; he said they were to do all the work for Christ that\nthey could; and they were to pray a great deal, and pray for each other\na great deal; and they were to live right.\"\n\n\"Uncompromising Christian lives, he said. Mamma, what does\n'uncompromising' mean?\"\n\n\"Why, you know!\" put in her sister.\n\n\"Tell, then, Maria,\" said the mother.\n\n\"Matilda must know, mamma; for Mr. Richmond explained it enough.\"\n\n\"Then certainly you must.\"\n\n\"I can't talk like Mr. Richmond, though,\" said Maria. \"Letty, you'll\nspoil that bonnet if you put red flowers in.\"\n\n\"That's as _you_ think,\" said Letty. \"Blue would be very dull.\"\n\n\"Mamma, what is uncompromising?\" pursued Matilda, a pair of large,\nserious brown eyes fastening on her mother's face to await the answer.\n\n\"Did not Mr. Richmond tell you?\"\n\n\"If he did, I did not understand, mamma.\"\n\n\"Then he ought to use words you _can_ understand; that is all I have to\nsay. I cannot undertake to be Mr. Richmond's dictionary. Uncompromising\nmeans different things at different times. It isn't a word for you,\nTilly,\" the mother added, with a smile at the child.\n\n\"There is only one thing Tilly will ever be uncompromising about,\" her\noldest sister remarked.\n\n\"What is that?\" the little one asked quick.\n\n\"Girls, stop talking and go to bed,\" said their mother. \"Letitia and\nAnne, put up work; I am tired. Maria, you and Tilly go at once and be\nout of the way.\"\n\n\"I can't see how I am in the way,\" remarked Maria. \"Letty has not done\nher bonnet yet, and she will not go till she has.\"\n\n\"Letty, I am not going to wait for that bonnet.\"\n\n\"No, ma'am; there is no need.\"\n\n\"I am not going to leave you up, either. I know how that works. The\nbonnet can be finished to-morrow. And, Anne, roll up your ruffles.\nCome, girls!\"\n\n\"What a lovely mantilla that is going to be; isn't it, mamma?\" said\nMaria. \"Won't Anne look nice when she gets it on? I wish you'd let me\nhave one just like it, mamma.\"\n\n\"I do not care about your having one just like it,\" said Anne. \"What\nwould be the use of that?\"\n\n\"The same use, I suppose----\"\n\n\"Maria, go to bed!\" said her mother \"And Matilda. Look what o'clock it\nis.\"\n\n\"I can't go, mamma, unless somebody will bring me some shoes. Mine are\nwet.\"\n\n\"Maria, fetch Tilly a pair of shoes. And go, children.\"\n\nThe children went; but Maria grumbled.\n\n\"Why couldn't you come up-stairs in your stocking feet? _I_ should.\"\n\n\"It isn't nice,\" said the little one.\n\n\"Nice! you're so terribly nice you can't do anything other people do.\nThere is no use in our coming to bed now; Anne and Letty will sit up\ntill eleven o'clock, I shouldn't wonder; and we might just as well as\nnot. Mamma can't get them to bed. Letty and Anne ought to have been at\nthe meeting to-night. I wonder if they would have risen? Why did not\nyou rise, Matilda?\"\n\n\"I had not thought about it.\"\n\n\"Can't you do anything without thinking about it first?\"\n\n\"I do not understand it yet.\"\n\n\"Understand! why, nothing is easier than to understand. Of course, we\nare all to be as good as we can be, that's all.\"\n\n\"You don't think that is much,\" said the little one, as she began\nslowly to undress herself. The work of undressing and dressing was\nalways slow with Tilly. Every article of clothing taken off was to be\ndelicately folded and nicely laid away at night; and taken out and put\non with equal care and punctiliousness in the morning. Maria's\nstockings went one way and her shoes another; while Tilly's were put\nexactly ready for use under her chair. And Maria's clothes presently\nlay in a heap on the floor. But not till some time after Matilda's neat\narrangements had been made and she herself was safe in bed. Maria had\ndallied while the other was undressing.\n\n\"I think you are very curious, Matilda!\" she exclaimed, as she followed\nher sister into bed. \"I shouldn't think it required much _thinking_, to\nknow that one ought to be good.\"\n\n\"You haven't put out the candle, Maria.\"\n\nMaria bounced from her bed, and bounced in again.\n\n\"O Maria!\" said Matilda in a moment or two, plaintively; \"you've\n_blown_ it out! and the room is all filled with smoke.\"\n\n\"It doesn't make any difference,\" said Maria.\n\n\"It is very disagreeable.\"\n\n\"It will be gone in a minute.\"\n\n\"No, it won't, for I can see the red spark on the end of the candle\nnow.\"\n\n\"You are so particular, Tilly!\" said her sister. \"If _you_ ever take a\nnotion to be good, you'll have to leave off some of your ways, I can\ntell you. You needn't mind a little smell of candle-smoke. Go to sleep,\nand forget it.\"\n\n\"Don't good people mind disagreeable things?\" said Matilda.\n\n\"No, of course, they don't. How could they get along, you know? Don't\nyou remember what Mr. Richmond said?\"\n\n\"I don't remember that he said _that_. But then, Maria, would you mind\ngetting up to snuff out that candle? It's dreadful!\"\n\n\"Nonsense! I shan't do it. I've just got warm.\"\n\nAnother minute or two gave tokens that Maria was past minding\ndiscomfort of any sort. She was fast asleep. Tilly waited, panted,\nlooked at the glimmering red end of the candle snuff; finally got out\nof bed and crept to the dressing-table where it stood, and with some\ntrouble managed to put a stop to smoke for that night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nThe house in which these things happened was a brown house, standing on\nthe great high-road of travel which ran through the country, and just\nwhere a considerable village had clustered round it. From the upper\nwindows you caught a glimpse of a fine range of blue mountains, lying\nmiles away, and with indeed a broad river flowing between; but the\nriver was too far off to be seen, and hidden behind intervening ground.\nFrom the lower windows you looked out into the village street; clean\nand wide, with comfortable houses standing along the way, not crowded\ntogether; and with gardens between and behind them, and many trees\nshielding and overhanging. The trees were bare now; the gardens a\nspread of snow; the street a white way for sleigh-runners;\nnevertheless, the aspect of the whole was hopeful, comfortable,\nthriving, even a little ambitious. Within this particular house, if you\nwent in, you would see comfort, but little pretension; a neat look of\nthings, but such things as had been mended and saved, and would not be\nrashly replaced. It was very respectable, therefore, and had no look of\npoverty. So of the family gathered around the breakfast-table on the\nmorning after the Sunday-School meeting. It was a fair group, healthy\nand bright; the four girls and their mother. They were nicely dressed;\nand good appetites spoke of good spirits; and the provision on the\ntable was abundant though plain.\n\nMaria asked if Letty had finished her bonnet last night. Letty said she\nhad.\n\n\"And did you put those red flowers in?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"That will be gay.\"\n\n\"Not too gay. Just enough. The bonnet would be nothing if it had not\nflowers.\"\n\nMaria's spoon paused half way to mouth. \"I wonder,\" she said, gravely,\n\"if Mr. Richmond likes red flowers?\"\n\n\"He has nothing to do with _my_ bonnet,\" said Letitia. \"And no more\nhave you. You need not raise the question. I shall wear what becomes\nme.\"\n\n\"What is the difference whether one wears red or blue, Maria?\" said her\nmother. \"Do you think one colour is more religious than another?--or\nmore wicked? What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Nothing, ma'am,\" Maria answered, a little abashed. \"I was only\nthinking.\"\n\n\"I think Mr. Richmond likes flowers everywhere,\" said Matilda; \"and all\ncolours.\"\n\n\"People that are very religious do not wear flowers in their bonnets\nthough, do they?\" said Maria.\n\n\"Mr. Richmond did not say any such thing!\" said Matilda, indignantly.\n\n\"What did he say? What was all this last night's talk about?\" said\nAnne. \"I did not understand half of it. Was it against red flowers, or\nred anything?\"\n\n\"I did not understand any of it,\" said Mrs. Englefield.\n\n\"Why, mamma, I told you all, as plain as could be,\" said Maria. \"I told\nyou he made a Band----\"\n\n\"He didn't,\" interrupted Matilda; \"the Band made themselves.\"\n\nBut at this, the shout that went round the breakfast-table threatened\nto endanger the dishes.\n\n\"It's no use trying to talk,\" said Maria, sullenly, \"if you laugh so. I\ntold you there was a Band; ever so many of us rose up and agreed that\nwe would belong to it.\"\n\n\"Matilda, are you in it too?\" the mother asked.\n\n\"No, mamma.\"\n\n\"Why not? How comes that?\"\n\n\"She wasn't ready,\" her sister said.\n\n\"Why not, Tilly?\"\n\n\"Mamma, I want to understand,\" said the child.\n\n\"Quite right; so do I.\"\n\n\"Wouldn't you do what Mr. Richmond says, whether you understand or\nnot?\" inquired Maria, severely.\n\n\"I would rather know what it is, first,\" said Matilda, in her way,\nwhich was a compound of cool and demure, but quite natural.\n\n\"And when is the next meeting?\" said Letitia. \"I guess I'll go.\"\n\n\"It won't be for a week,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"And will you join the Band, Letty?\" Maria asked somewhat eagerly.\n\n\"How, join it?\"\n\n\"Why, rise up, when you are asked.\"\n\n\"What does 'rising up' mean, Maria? What do you rise for?\"\n\n\"Why, it means just that you promise to be good, you know.\"\n\n\"But I have heard you promise that a number of times, it seems to me;\nwithout 'rising up,' as you call it. Will the promise not better, if\nyou make it on your feet instead of sitting?\"\n\n\"Now, mamma,\" said Maria, flushing, \"isn't that just wicked in Letitia?\"\n\n\"My dear, I do not understand one word at present of what this is all\nabout,\" her mother answered.\n\nPerhaps Matilda was in the same mood, for she was a thoughtful little\nchild all the way to school that morning. And at the close of the\nschool day, when the children were going home, she went slowly and\ndemurely along the icy street, while her sister and companions made a\nmerry time. There had been a little thaw in the middle of the day, and\nnow it had turned cold again, and the sidewalks were a glare of ice.\nMatilda was afraid, and went cautiously; Maria and the others took the\nopportunity for a grand slide, and ran and slipped and slid and sailed\naway homewards, like mad things. One after another, they passed her and\nrushed along, till Matilda was left the last, slowly shuffling her\nlittle feet over the track the feet of the others had made doubly\nslippery; when quick steps came up behind her, and a pleasant voice\nspoke--\n\n\"Are you afraid you are going to tumble down?\"\n\nMatilda started, but lifted her eyes very contentedly then to the face\nof the speaker. They had a good way to go, for he was a tall young man.\nBut he was looking down towards her with a bright face, and two good,\nclear blue eyes, and a smile; and his hand presently clasped hers.\nMatilda had no objection.\n\n\"Where is everybody else? how come you to be all alone?\"\n\n\"They have gone ahead, sliding on the ice.\"\n\n\"And you do not practise sliding?\"\n\n\"I am always afraid I shall fall down.\"\n\n\"The best way is not to be afraid; and then you don't fall down. See;\nno! hold fast. I shall not let you slip!\"\n\nAnd the gentleman and Matilda slid along the street for half a block.\n\n\"How do you like that?\"\n\n\"Very well, Mr. Richmond, with you holding me.\"\n\n\"It doesn't give you courage, eh? Well, we will walk on soberly\ntogether. I didn't see you stand when Maria did last night?\"\n\n\"Mr. Richmond, I did not know just what it all meant; and so I sat\nstill.\"\n\n\"You did not know just what it all meant?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Then you were perfectly right to sit still. But that means that I did\nnot speak so that you could understand me? Was it so?\"\n\n\"I did not understand----\" said Matilda.\n\n\"It comes to that, I suppose. It is my fault. Well, I shall remember\nand be very careful what I say the next time. I will speak so that you\nwill understand. But in that case, I want you to do one thing for me,\nTilly; will you?\"\n\n\"If I can, Mr. Richmond.\"\n\n\"Do you think I would ask something you could not do?\"\n\nMatilda looked up to the blue eyes again; they were fastened upon her\ngravely, and she hesitated.\n\n\"Mr. Richmond--I don't know. You might.\"\n\n\"I hope not,\" he said, smiling. \"I will try not. You won't promise me?\"\n\n\"If I can I will, Mr. Richmond.\"\n\n\"I am only going to ask you, when you hear what I have to say next\ntime, if you understand it, will you do what you think you ought to do?\"\n\nThere fell a silence upon that. Mr. Richmond's firm step on the icy\nground and Matilda's light footfall passed by house after house, and\nstill the little one's tongue seemed to be tied. They turned the\ncorner, and went their way along Matilda's own street, where the light\nof afternoon was now fading, and the western sky was throwing a\nreflection of its own. Past the butcher's shop, and the post-office,\nand house after house; and still Matilda was silent, and her conductor\ndid not speak, until they stopped before the little gate leading to the\nhouse, which was placed somewhat back from the road. At the gate Mr.\nRichmond stood still.\n\n\"What about my question, Matilda?\" he said, without loosing his hold of\nthe little hand which had rested so willingly in his all the way.\n\n\"Aren't you coming in, Mr. Richmond?\"\n\n\"Not to-night. What about my question?\"\n\n\"Mr. Richmond,\" said the child, slowly,--\"I do not always do the things\nI ought to do.\"\n\n\"No; I know you do not. But will you do _that_ thing, which you will\nthink you ought to do, when you have heard me, and understood what I\nsay, the next time the Band has a meeting?\"\n\nMatilda stood silent, her hand still in Mr. Richmond's.\n\n\"What's the matter?\"\n\n\"Perhaps I shall not want to do it,\" she said, looking up frankly.\n\n\"I ask you to do it all the same.\"\n\nMatilda did not move, and now her face showed great perplexity.\n\n\"Well?\" said Mr. Richmond, smiling at last.\n\n\"Perhaps I _cannot_ do it, Mr. Richmond?\"\n\n\"Then, if you think you cannot do it, will you come and tell me?\"\n\nMatilda hesitated and pondered and hesitated.\n\n\"Do you wish it very much, Mr. Richmond?\" she said, looking up\nappealingly into his face.\n\n\"I do wish it very much.\"\n\n\"Then I will!\" said Matilda, with a sigh.\n\nHe nodded, shook her hand, and turned away with quick steps. Matilda\nwent in and climbed the stairs to the room she and Maria shared\ntogether.\n\n\"What were you talking to Mr. Richmond so long about?\" said Maria.\n\n\"I wasn't talking to Mr. Richmond. He was talking to me.\"\n\n\"What's the difference? But I wish he would talk to Ailie Swan; she\nwants it, I know. That girl is too much!\"\n\n\"What has she done?\"\n\n\"Oh, _you_ don't know; she isn't in your set. _I_ know. She's just\ndisagreeable. I think people ought to be civil, if they are ever so\ngood.\"\n\n\"I thought good people were civil always.\"\n\n\"Shows you don't know much.\"\n\n\"Isn't Ailie Swan civil?\"\n\n\"I do not call it civility. What do you think, Tilly? I asked her if my\nSouth America wasn't good? and she said she thought it was not. Isn't\nthat civility?\"\n\n\"What did you ask her for?\"\n\n\"Because! I knew my South America was good.\"\n\n\"Let me see it.\"\n\n\"Nonsense! You do not know the first thing about it.\" But she gave her\nlittle sister the sheet on which the map was drawn. Matilda took it to\na table under the window, where the dying light from the western sky\nfell brightest; and putting both elbows on the table and her head in\nher hands, studied the map.\n\n\"Where is the atlas?\"\n\n\"What do you want of the atlas?\"\n\n\"I want to see if it is like.\"\n\n\"It is like, of course, child.\"\n\n\"I can't tell without seeing,\" Matilda persisted. And Maria grumblingly\nbrought the atlas, open at the map in question. Matilda took it and\nstudied anew.\n\n\"It is getting dark,\" said she at length. \"But your South America is\ncrooked, Maria.\"\n\n\"It isn't!\" said Maria, vehemently. \"How should it be crooked, when we\nangle it on, just according to the rules?\"\n\n\"Angle it on?\" repeated Matilda, looking at her sister.\n\n\"Yes. Oh, you don't understand, child; how should you? I told you you\ndidn't know anything about it. Of course, we have rules and things to\ngo by; and my South America was put on just right.\"\n\n\"It is not straight, though,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Why, no, it isn't straight; it is not meant to be straight; it is all\ncrookly crawly, going in and out, all round.\"\n\n\"But it don't stand straight,\" said Matilda; \"and it looks _thin_, too,\nMaria; it don't puff out as much as the real South America does.\"\n\n\"Puff out!\" Maria repeated. \"It's as good as Ailie's, anyhow; and a\ngreat deal better than Frances Barth's. Frances got a great blot on\nhers; she's so careless. George Van Dyke is making a nice one; and Ben\nBarth is doing a splendid map; but then Ben does everything----\"\n\nHere there was a great call to tea from below, and the girls went down.\nDown-stairs there was excitement. A letter had come from Mrs. Candy,\nMrs. Englefield's sister, saying that she herself with her daughter\nClarissa would be with them the beginning of the week. .\n\n\"To stay, mamma? O mamma, is Aunt Candy coming to stay? Do tell me. Is\nshe coming to stay?\" Maria exclaimed and questioned.\n\n\"She will stay a night with us, Maria. Don't be so eager.\"\n\n\"Only a night, mamma? Won't she be here longer?\"\n\n\"She is coming to stay till summer, Maria,\" said her eldest sister. \"Do\nbe reasonable.\"\n\n\"I think it is reasonable to want to know,\" said Maria. \"_You_ knew; so\nyou didn't care about it.\"\n\n\"I care a great deal; what do you mean?\" said Anne.\n\n\"I mean you didn't care about knowing. O mamma, can't I have my dress\nfinished before they come?\"\n\n\"What dress, Maria?\" her sister went on; for Mrs. Englefield was busy\nwith the letter.\n\n\"My new merino. It is almost done; it only wants finishing.\"\n\n\"There's all the braid to put on, isn't there?\"\n\n\"Well, that isn't much. Mamma, cannot I have my red merino finished\nbefore they come? I have got nothing to wear.\"\n\n\"What can you mean, Maria? You have everything you want. That is only\nfor your best dress.\"\n\n\"But, mamma, it is just when I should want it, when they come; you'll\nbe having everybody to tea. Won't you have it done for me? please,\nmamma?\"\n\n\"I think you can do it for yourself, Maria. I have no objection to your\nfinishing it.\"\n\n\"I cannot put on that braid--in that quirlicue pattern, mamma; I never\ndid such work as that; and I haven't time, besides.\"\n\n\"Nor inclination,\" said Letitia, laughing. \"Come, Maria, it is time you\nlearned to do something for yourself. Matilda, now, might plead\ninexperience, and have some reason; but you are quite old enough.\"\n\nThe dispute would have gone on, but Mrs. Englefield desired silence,\nand the family drew round the tea-table. Other plans for the following\nweeks filled every tongue. Mrs. Candy was well off; a widow with one\nchild, her daughter Clarissa; she had been in Europe for several years;\ncoming back now to her own country, she was bending her steps first of\nall to her sister's house and family.\n\n\"We shall have the new fashions, straight from Paris,\" Anne remarked.\n\n\"Has Aunt Candy been in Paris? I thought she was in Scotland, mamma?\"\n\n\"People may go to Paris, if they have been in Scotland, Maria. It is\nnot so far as around the world.\"\n\n\"But has she been in Paris?\"\n\n\"Lately.\"\n\n\"Mamma, what is Aunt Candy going to do with herself when summer comes?\nShe says, 'till summer.'\"\n\n\"When she tells us, I shall know, Letty. At present I am as ignorant as\nyou.\"\n\n\"Do you think she will buy a house here, and make her home here?\"\n\n\"That depends on how well she likes Shadywalk, I imagine.\"\n\n\"I hope she will!\"\n\n\"I would like to see, first, what she is,\" said Maria. \"We shall have\ntime enough for that, if they stay with us till summer. How old, mamma,\nis Clarissa Candy?\"\n\n\"Over your age, Maria, by a year or so.\"\n\n\"Will she go to school with us, do you suppose, mamma?\"\n\n\"I really cannot tell, Maria. I think it very likely.\"\n\n\"Is Aunt Candy very rich?\"\n\n\"You talk like a foolish girl. Why do you want to know?\"\n\n\"I was thinking whether Clarissa would be dressed a great deal better\nthan we are.\"\n\n\"And what if she is?\"\n\n\"Nothing. I was thinking. That's all.\"\n\n\"I don't think it signifies,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Oh! Matilda has found her tongue! I was waiting to see when she would\nspeak,\" cried Anne. \"What don't signify, little one?\"\n\n\"It don't signify, I think, whether any one is dressed better than\nanother; anybody--Clarissa or anybody else.\"\n\n\"Well, you are mistaken then,\" said Anne; \"for it does signify. All the\nworld knows it; and what is more, all the world feels it.\"\n\n\"I don't think I do,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Your time has not come.\"\n\n\"_Your_ time had come, though, before you were as old as she,\" said her\nmother; \"and Maria's and Letty's.\"\n\n\"I know Matilda is a wonderful child,\" said Anne, \"but her time will\ncome too, mamma; and _she_ will find it makes a difference whether she\nis dressed one way or another.\"\n\n\"I think _that_ now,\" observed Matilda.\n\n\"Anybody that has to fasten Tilly's dresses knows that,\" laughed Maria.\n\"I don't make half so much fuss.\"\n\n\"I wish you did,\" said her mother. \"You are not near careful enough in\nputting on your things. Now putting on is half the battle.\"\n\nThe argument lasted till Tilly and Maria went back to the consideration\nof South America, which was brought down-stairs to the lamp.\n\n\"You haven't got the Amazon right,\" said Matilda; \"and Rio Janeiro is\ntoo far down; and it's all crooked--don't you see?\"\n\n\"No!\" said Maria; \"and if it is, Ailie Swan needn't have said hers was\nbetter.\"\n\n\"You asked her.\"\n\n\"Well, if I did?\"\n\n\"What could she say?\"\n\n\"I don't care; it was awfully rude; and people ought to be polite, if\nthey're ever so good.\"\n\n\"What is all that?\" said Mrs. Englefield. \"That is not Tilly's map?\"\n\n\"Oh no, mamma; she can't draw maps; she is only setting up for a judge.\"\n\n\"She would do it as well as that, if she would try,\" said her mother.\n\"I wish you would love your studies, Matilda. You could do so well if\nyou pleased.\"\n\n\"Clarissa Candy will make you both ashamed,\" said Anne. \"She has\nlearned everything, and is terribly smart; 'going on to learn\neverything else,' her mother says.\"\n\n\"Mamma,\" said Maria, \"I have only my green silk and my blue delaine for\nnice dresses; and the silk is old-fashioned, you know, and the delaine\nis too short; and I want my merino finished.\"\n\n\"Finish it, then.\"\n\nMaria pouted.\n\n\"I cannot afford every indulgence to you, as your aunt can to Clarissa;\nyou must make it up by your own industry.\"\n\n\"But can I, mamma?\"\n\n\"Can you what?\"\n\n\"If I am very smart, can you give me things, if I make them up, that I\ncan be as well dressed as Clarissa Candy?\"\n\n\"Let us see the merino made first,\" said her mother.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nThere was great interest now at Shadywalk, at least in one house, to\nknow when the Liverpool steamer, _City of Pride_, would be in.\nConjectures proving unsatisfactory and uncertain, the whole family took\nto studying the marine lists in the daily papers; and when everybody\nelse had looked them over, the last one of the family did it again with\nextra care; lest by some singular coincidence the letters forming the\n_City of Pride_ might have escaped the eyes so keen set to find them.\nThe paper grew better than a novel. It furnished a great deal of matter\nfor conversation, besides; for all the steamers which had got in were\ntalked over, with their dates of sailing, and number of days on the\npassage; with each of which the times, certain and probable, of the\n_City of Pride_ were compared. Then there was the question, whether\nAunt Candy might have changed her mind at the last minute, and waited\nfor another steamer; and the reports of the weather lately experienced\nat sea were anxiously read and put alongside of the weather lately\nexperienced at Shadywalk.\n\nPreparations in the house went on diligently; whatever might help it to\nmake a better impression, or afford greater comfort to the expected\nguests, was carefully done. Mrs. Englefield even talked of getting a\nnew stair-carpet, but contented herself with having the old one taken\nup and put down again, the stairs washed, and the stair-rods\nbrightened; the spare room, the large corner chamber looking to the\nnorth and west, was scrupulously swept and dusted; furniture rubbed;\nlittle white knitted mats laid on the dressing-table; the chintz\ncurtains taken down and put up again; a new nice chamber set of white\nchina was bought, for the pitcher of the old set had an ugly nick in it\nand looked shabby; the towel rack was filled with white napery; the\nhandsomest Marseilles quilt was spread on the bed; the stove was\nblackened and polished. It looked \"very respectable,\" Anne said, when\nall was done.\n\nWhat private preparations went on, besides, on the part of the girls,\nit would be hard to say. Maria worked hard at her braiding--that was\nopen to anybody's observation; but there were less obvious flutings and\nironings down in the kitchen, and adjusting of ribbons and flowers in\nsecret consultations up-stairs. And one piece of care was made public\nby Maria, who announced that Letty had trimmed her old bonnet three\ntimes over before she would be suited.\n\n\"Very well,\" said Letty, contentedly. \"I should like to know who would\nwear an old thing when he could have a new; and mine is like new now.\"\n\n\"Things can't be new always,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"What then?\" her sisters asked, laughing.\n\n\"Then it must be respectable for them to be old, sometimes.\"\n\n\"Respectable! Not very pleasant, when they are to be set alongside of\nthings as new and nice as they can be. I like to be as good as anybody,\nfor my part.\"\n\n\"Mamma,\" said Matilda, \"do you know there is a great hole in the door\nmat?\"\n\n\"It is worn out a great deal too soon,\" said Mrs. Englefield; \"I shall\ntell Mr. Hard that his goods do not last; to be sure, you children do\nkick it to pieces with the snow.\"\n\n\"But, mamma, I should think you might get another, and let that one go\nto the kitchen.\"\n\n\"And then, wouldn't you like me to buy a new hall cloth? there is very\nnearly a hole in that.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, mamma!\"\n\n\"I cannot do it, children. I am not as rich as your Aunt Candy. You\nmust be contented to let things be as they are.\"\n\nThe girls seemed to take it as a grave fact, to judge by their faces.\n\n\"And I think all this is very foolish talking and feeling. People are\nnot any better for being rich.\"\n\n\"But they are a great deal happier,\" said Letitia.\n\n\"I don't know, I am sure. I never was tried. I think you had better put\nthe thought out of your heads. I should be sorry if you were not as\nhappy as your cousin, and with as much reason.\"\n\n\"Mamma's being sorry doesn't help the matter,\" said Letitia, softly. \"I\nknow I should be happier if I had what I want. It is just nonsense to\nsay I should not. And mamma would herself.\"\n\nThat evening, the end of the week it was, the newspaper rewarded the\nfirst eyes that looked at its columns, with the intelligence that the\n_City of Pride_ had been telegraphed. She would be in that night. And\nthe list of passengers duly showed the names of Mrs. Candy and\ndaughter. The family could hardly wait over Sunday now. Monday\nmorning's train, they settled it, would bring the travellers. Sunday\nwas spent in a flutter. But, however, that Monday, as well as that\nSunday, was a lost day. The washing was put off, and a special dinner\ncooked, in vain. The children stayed at home and did not go to school,\nand did nothing. Nobody did anything to speak of. To be sure, there was\na great deal of running up and down stairs; setting and clearing\ntables; going to and from the post-office; but when night came, the\nhouse and everything in it was just where the morning had found them;\nonly, all the humanity in it was tired with looking out of windows.\n\n\"That's the worst of expecting people!\" Mrs. Englefield observed, as\nshe wearily put herself in an arm-chair, and Letitia drew the window\ncurtains. \"You never know what to do, and the thing you do is sure to\nbe the wrong thing. Here Judith might as well have done her washing as\nnot; and now it's to do to-morrow, when we don't want it in the way,\nand it will be in the way.\"\n\n\"Don't you think they will come to-night, mamma?\" said Matilda.\n\n\"I don't know, I am sure. I know no more than you do. How can I tell?\nOnly don't ask me any more questions.\"\n\n\"Would you have tea yet, mamma?\" said Letitia.\n\n\"There's a question, now! I tell you, don't ask me. Just when you like.\"\n\n\"There's no train due for a good while, mamma; they _couldn't_ come for\ntwo or three hours. I think we had better have tea.\"\n\nSo she went off to prepare it, just as Matilda who had put her face\noutside of the window curtain, proclaimed that somebody was coming to\nthe door.\n\n\"Only one person though, mamma. Mamma! it's Miss Redwood--Mr.\nRichmond's Miss Redwood.\"\n\n\"It wanted but that!\" Mrs. Englefield exclaimed, with a sort of\nresigned despair. \"Let her in, Matilda. I locked the door.\"\n\nThe person who followed Matilda to the sitting-room was a slim woman,\nin black costume, neither new nor fashionable. Indeed, it had no such\npretensions; for the fashion at that time was for small bonnets, but\nMiss Redwood's shadowed her face with a reminiscence of the\ncoal-scuttle shapes, once worn many years before. The face under the\nbonnet was thin and sharp-featured; yet a certain delicate softness of\nskin saved it from being harsh; there was even a little peachy bloom on\nthe cheeks. The eyes were soft and keen at once; at least there was no\nwant of benevolence in them, while their glance was swift and shrewd\nenough, and full of business activity.\n\n\"Miss Redwood, how do you do? I am glad to see you. Do sit down,\" was\nMrs. Englefield's salutation, made without rising.\n\n\"How do you do, Mis' Englefield? Why--seems as if you was expectin'\nfolks here?\"\n\n\"Just what we are doing; and it is some of the hardest work one can do.\"\n\n\"Depends on who you expect, seems to me. And I guess 'tain't harder\nwork than what I've been doing to-day. I've been makin' soap. Got it\ndone, too. And 'tain't to do agin till this time next year comes round.\"\n\n\"Can you make enough at once for the whole year? I cannot.\"\n\n\"'Spects you use a passel, don't ye?\"\n\n\"Of course--in so large a family. But you're a great hand for soap,\nMiss Redwood, if folks say true?\"\n\n\"Cellar ain't never out of it,\" said Miss Redwood, shaking her head.\n\"It's strong, mine is; that's where it is. You see I've my own leach\nsot up, and there's lots o' ashes; the minister, he likes to burn wood,\nand I like it, for it gives me my ley; and I don't have no trouble with\nit; the minister, he saws it and splits it and chops it, and then when\nall's done he brings it in, and he puts it on. All I have to do is to\nget my ashes. I did think, when I first come, and the minister he told\nme he calculated to burn wood in his room, I did think I should give\nup. 'Why sir,' says I, 'it'll take a load o' wood a day, to fill that\nere chimney; and I hate to see a chimney standin' empty with two or\nthree sticks a makin' believe have a fire in the bottom of it.\nBesides,' says I, 'stoves is a sight cleaner and nicer, Mr. Richmond,\nand they don't smoke nor nothin', and they're always ready.' 'I'll take\ncare of the fire,' says he, 'if you'll take care of the ashes.' Well,\nit had to be; but I declare I thought I should have enough to do to\ntake care of the ashes; a-flyin' over everything in the world as they\nwould, and nobody but my two hands to dust with; but I do believe the\nminister's wood burns quieter than other folks', and somehow it don't\nfly nor smoke nor nothin', and the room keeps decent.\"\n\n\"Your whole house is as neat as a pin. But you have no children there\nto put it out of order, Miss Redwood.\"\n\n\"Guess we do,\" said the minister's housekeeper quietly; \"there ain't\nany sort o' thing in the village but the minister has it in there by\nturns. There ain't any sort o' shoes as walks, not to speak of boots,\nthat don't go over my carpets and floors; little and big, and brushed\nand unbrushed. I tell you, Mis' Englefield, they're goin' in between\nthem two doors all the week long.\"\n\n\"I don't know how you manage them, I'm sure.\"\n\n\"Well, _I_ don't,\" said the housekeeper. \"The back is fitted to the\nburden, they say; and I always _did_ pray that if I had work to do, I\nmight be able to do it; and I always was, somehow. And it's a\nfirst-rate place to go and warm your feet, when the minister is out,\"\nshe added after a pause.\n\n\"What?\" said Mrs. Englefield, laughing.\n\n\"The minister's fire, to be sure, that I was talkin' about. Of course,\nI have to go in to see it's safe, when he ain't there; and sometimes I\nthink it's cheaper to sit down and watch it than to be always runnin'.\"\n\n\"Mr. Richmond was a lucky man when he got you for a housekeeper,\" said\nMrs. Englefield.\n\n\"Well, I don't know,\" said Miss Redwood, contemplatively, with rather a\nsweet look on her old face. \"I 'spose I might as well say I was a lucky\nwoman when I got his house to keep. It come all by chance, too, you may\nsay----\"\n\n\"Mamma, tea is ready,\" Maria here interrupted.\n\n\"Miss Redwood, will you come down and have tea with us?\"\n\n\"No; but what I come to ask was somethin' different. I was so taken up\nwith my soap-kettle all day, I just forgot somethin' more important,\nand didn't make no new risin'; and I hain't got none to-night for the\nminister's bread. I know you're one of the folks that likes sweet\nbread, Mis' Englefield, and has it; and I've come to beg a cup o' your\nrisin'.\"\n\nOne of the girls was sent for the article, and Mrs. Englefield went on.\n\n\"The minister's an easy man to live with, I suppose; isn't he?\"\n\n\"What sort do you mean by that, Mrs. Englefield?\"\n\n\"Why! I mean he is easily suited, and don't give more trouble than can\nbe helped, and don't take it hard when things go wrong.\n\n\"Things don't go wrong, fur's I know,\" said Miss Redwood. \"Not with\nhim, nor with me.\"\n\n\"Easily pleased, isn't he?\"\n\n\"When folks do just what they'd ought to do, he _is_,\" said the\nhousekeeper with some energy. \"I have no sort of patience, for my part,\nwith the folks that are pleased when they hadn't ought to be pleased.\"\n\n\"But isn't that what Mr. Richmond preaches to us all the time? that we\nought to be pleased with everybody?\"\n\n\"Why, no, mamma!\" said Matilda.\n\n\"I thought he did.\"\n\n\"I take it t'other way,\" Miss Redwood observed. \"It comes close, it\ndoes, some of the minister's talk; but I always think, if I had a right\nto be better pleased with myself, maybe other folks' onesidedness\nwouldn't worry me. I'll do as much for you, next time, Miss Letty,\" she\nsaid, rising to take what that young lady had brought her. And\ntherewith away she went.\n\n\"Well, we have got off with our lives this time,\" said Mrs. Englefield.\n\"Now, girls, let us have tea.\"\n\n\"Mamma, I believe here they are this minute,\" said Matilda. \"The\nomnibus is stopping.\"\n\nIt was declared to be impossible; but nevertheless found true. The\nomnibus was certainly at the door, backing down upon the side walk; and\ntwo figures did get out of it and came through the little courtyard to\nthe house. And then all doubts were resolved; Mrs. Candy was in the\narms of her sister, and the cousins were looking at each other.\n\nThat is, as soon as people could get their wrappings off. Letty and\nMaria were assiduous in their endeavours to relieve Miss Clarissa of\nher hood and furs and the cloakings and mufflings which a night ride\nhad rendered necessary; while Anne waited upon her aunt; and\nimpressions were forming and opinions taking ground, under all the\nconfused chatter about the journey, the train, the omnibus, and the\n_City of Pride;_ opinions and impressions which were likely enough to\nget turned topsy-turvy in another day or two; but for the present\nnobody knew that.\n\n\"And here is somebody who says nothing!\" Mrs. Candy remarked, stooping\ndown to touch Matilda's hair with a light finger.\n\n\"Tilly does the thinking for the family,\" said Mrs. Englefield. \"Now do\ncome down and have some tea.\"\n\n\"Down? Where are we going?\" said Mrs. Candy. \"Your house stands on the\nground level, I noticed.\"\n\n\"Oh, we have a very nice basement; and just for eating, you know, it\ndoes not make much difference where you are--and it is so much more\nconvenient, being near the kitchen.\"\n\n\"In Germany we used to take our meals in the open air a great deal,\"\nMrs. Candy went on, as the party filed down the narrow stairs.\n\n\"In the open air! Not at this season?\"\n\n\"Well, not with the thermometer at zero,\" said Mrs. Candy, laughing a\nlittle. \"Nor at quite so high a temperature as you have here!\"\n\nThe room down-stairs was bright enough, and looked cheerful, with its\nwell-spread table and tea-urn; but it was low, and full of close stove\nheat. The travellers got as far from the source of this as the limits\nof the table would let them, and presently begged for an open door. But\nMrs. Englefield's tea was good; and very soon the family talk began to\nmove naturally. Mrs. Candy pleased her nieces. A fine-looking and also\na kind-looking woman, with a good figure, well clothed in a handsome\ntravelling dress; a gold watch and chain; and an easy, good-humoured,\nand at the same time, sensible air and way of talking. It was not\ndifficult to get acquainted with her; she met all advances more than\nhalf way; and her talk even that first evening was full of amusement\nand novelty for the young people. It was less easy to know what to\nthink of Clarissa. Her cousins held a consultation about her that night\nbefore going to sleep.\n\n\"She looks as old as Letty.\"\n\n\"But she isn't. Oh, she don't, either.\"\n\n\"She's well looking; don't you think so?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you what I think,\" said Matilda. \"She's beau-ti-ful.\"\n\n\"I don't think _so_,\" said Letty; \"but she's an uncommon looking girl.\"\n\n\"How old _is_ she?\"\n\n\"She is sixteen.\"\n\n\"Well! Maria's only half a year younger than that.\"\n\n\"She hasn't said three words yet; so I cannot tell what she is,\" Anne\nremarked.\n\n\"She didn't like going down into the basement,\" said Letty.\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"I know she didn't!\"\n\n\"I should like to know where she would go; there is no other place,\"\nsaid Maria.\n\n\"I suppose that is just what she didn't like,\" said Letitia.\n\n\"There might be, though,\" Matilda began again. \"If mamma would open the\nback room behind the parlour, and move the table and things up\nthere,--I think it would be a great deal pleasanter.\"\n\n\"That's like Matilda!\" the other girls exclaimed in chorus.\n\n\"Well, I _don't_ think that basement room is pleasant,\" said the girl.\n\"I never did. I am always glad to get out of it.\"\n\n\"And now, I suppose, you will be taking all Clarissa's dainty ways, in\naddition to your own!\" said Letitia. \"I wonder what will become of the\nrest of us.\"\n\n\"What dainty ways has Clarissa?\" Matilda inquired.\n\n\"You can see for yourself. She doesn't like the heat of a stove; and\nshe must look at her watch to see what time it is, though the clock was\nright opposite to her.\"\n\n\"I am sure I would look at a watch, if I had it,\" Matilda added.\n\n\"And did you see what travelling gloves she wore?\"\n\n\"Why not?\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Why not, of course! you will have no eyes for any one shortly but\nClarissa Candy; I can see it. But she is a member of the Church, isn't\nshe?\"\n\n\"What if she is?\" said Matilda. \"Mamma read that in one of Aunt Candy's\nletters, I remember.\"\n\n\"We'll see what Mr. Richmond will say to her. Maria reports that he\ndoes not like red flowers; I wonder what he will think of some other\nthings.\"\n\n\"That is only Maria's nonsense,\" Matilda insisted. \"I know Mr. Richmond\nlikes red flowers; he has got a red lily in his room.\"\n\n\"In his room--oh yes! but not in people's bonnets, you know; nor in\ntheir heads; if they are Christians.\"\n\n\"I can't imagine what people's being Christians has to do with red\nflowers,\" said Matilda. \"Besides, Clarissa hadn't any flowers about her\nat all. I don't know what you are talking of.\"\n\n\"Didn't you see her gold chain, though, that hung round her neck?\"\n\n\"Her watch was on that. Mayn't Christians wear gold chains? What\nnonsense you do talk, Letitia!\"\n\n\"I shouldn't want to be a Christian if I thought I couldn't wear\nanything,\" Maria remarked.\n\n\"Nor would I,\" said Letitia. \"So I advise you, my dears, to be a little\ncareful how you join Bands and such things. You may find that Mr.\nRichmond is not just the sort of Christian you want to be.\"\n\nThe conclave broke up, having reached a termination of general\ndissatisfaction common to such conclaves. Maria went to bed grumbling.\nMatilda was as usual silent.\n\nThe next day, however, found all the family as bright as itself. It was\na cold day in January; snow on the ground; a clear, sharp sunshine\nglittering from white roofs and fence tops and the banks of snow heaped\nagainst the fences, and shining on twigs and branches of the bare\ntrees; coming into houses with its cheery and keen look at everything\nit found, as if bidding the dark sides of things, and the dusty\ncorners, to change their characters and be light and fair. In the\nbasement the family gathered for breakfast in happy mood, ready to be\npleased with each other; so pleasure was the order of the day. Pleasure\nhad a good deal to feed on, too; for after the long breakfast was over\nand the conversation had adjourned to the parlour, there came the\nbestowing of presents which Clarissa had brought for her friends. And\nthey were so many and so satisfactory, that the criticisms of the past\nnight were certainly for the present forgotten; Letitia forgave her\ncousin her daintiness, and Maria overlooked the gold watch. Matilda as\nusual said little, beyond the civil, needful words, which that little\ngirl always spoke gracefully.\n\n\"You are a character, my dear, I see,\" her aunt observed, drawing\nMatilda to her side caressingly.\n\n\"What is that, Aunt Candy?\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know, my dear,\" her aunt answered, laughing; \"you put me\nto define and prove my words, and you bring me into difficulty. I\nthink, however, I shall be safe in saying, that a 'character' is a\nperson who has his own thoughts.\"\n\n\"But doesn't everybody?\"\n\n\"Have his own thoughts? No, my dear; the majority have the thoughts of\nother people.\"\n\n\"How can they, Aunt Candy?\"\n\n\"Just by not thinking for themselves. It saves a great deal of trouble.\"\n\n\"But we all think for ourselves,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Do we? Reflect a little. Don't _some_ of you think like other people?\nabout ways of doing, and acting, and dressing, for instance?\"\n\n\"Oh yes. But, Aunt Candy, if people think for themselves, _must_ they\ndo unlike other people?\"\n\n\"If they follow out their thoughts, they must, child.\"\n\n\"That suits Matilda then,\" said her sister Anne.\n\n\"Well, it is very nice for a family to have one character in it,\" said\nMrs. Candy.\n\n\"But, Aunt Candy, isn't Clarissa a character too?\"\n\n\"I don't know, Tilly; I really have not found it out, if she is. Up to\nthis time she always thinks as I think. Now she has given you the\ntokens of remembrance she has brought home for you; what do you think\n_I_ have got?\"\n\n\"O aunt, nothing more!\" exclaimed Anne.\n\n\"Clarissa and I are two people, if neither of us is a character,\nhowever,\" said Mrs. Candy. \"Her gifts are not my gifts. But mine shall\nbe different from hers. And if there is more than one character among\nus, I should like to find it out; and this will do it.\"\n\nSo saying, she fetched out her purse and presented to each of her\nsister's children a bank-note for twenty-five dollars.\n\nMrs. Englefield exclaimed and protested. But Mrs. Candy laid her hand\non her sister's mouth, and declared she must please herself in her own\nway.\n\n\"What do you want us to do with this, Aunt Candy?\" Matilda inquired in\na sort of contemplative wonder.\n\n\"Just whatever will please you, will please each of you, best. Only\nthat. That is my condition, girls, if I may call it so. You are not to\nspend that money for any claims of duty or conscience; but simply in\nthat way which will afford you the highest pleasure.\"\n\nThanks were warm and gratification very high; and in the best mood in\nthe world the new relations sat down to talk to each other and study\neach other for the remainder of the day. Clarissa pleased her cousins.\nShe was undoubtedly extremely pretty, with big, brown, honest eyes,\nthat gave a good full look into the face she was speaking to; beautiful\nhair a little lighter in colour, and great sweetness of outline and\nfeature. Yet she was reserved; very quiet; very self-possessed--to a\ndegree that almost carried an air of superiority in the minds of her\ncousins. Those large brown eyes of hers would be lifted swiftly to the\nface of some one speaking, and then go down again, with no sign of\nagreeing or disagreeing--indeed, with no sign of her thought at all;\nbut she _had_ thoughts of course; why should she not show them, as her\ncousins did? It was almost supercilious, to the fancy of Anne and\nLetitia; Matilda and Maria were fascinated. Then her hands were more\ndelicate than those of Mrs. Englefield's children; and there were one\nor two costly rings on them. Anne and Letty did not understand their\nvalue, but nevertheless even they could guess that they belonged to a\nsuperior description of jewellery from that which was displayed beneath\nthe glass cases of Mr. Kurtz the watchmaker of Shadywalk. Then\nClarissa's dress was of fine quality, and made beautifully, and her\nlittle gold watch with its chain \"put a finish upon it,\" Anne said. A\nlittle hair necklace with a gold clasp was round her neck besides; and\nher comb was real tortoise-shell. Clarissa was dainty, there was no\ndoubt; but her sweet mouth was grave and modest; her words were few;\nher manners were very kindly and proper; and her cousins on the whole\nwere obliged to approve her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\n\"What is all this hurry about?\" Clarissa inquired one evening, as they\nwere going down-stairs in answer to the tea-bell; \"why are we earlier\nthan usual? Anne says we are.\"\n\n\"Oh, because it is prayer-meeting night--no, not prayer meeting, it\nisn't either, but our Band-meeting; and we have to be early for that,\nyou know. Oh, you don't know anything about our Band; but you will,\nto-night. You'll join it, won't you, Clarissa?\"\n\n\"I know something about Bands,\" said Clarissa; \"but I never belonged to\none. Is it the custom here for ladies to do such things?\"\n\n\"What things? And do you know about bands? like ours?\"\n\n\"I daresay I shall find I have something to learn,\" said Clarissa.\n\n\"There is a great deal to learn from Mr. Richmond, I can tell you,\"\nsaid Maria. \"Oh, you don't know Mr. Richmond, you haven't seen him,\nbecause Sunday was so stormy. Well, you'll see him to-night.\"\n\n\"Aunt Englefield,\" said Clarissa, when they were seated at the\ntea-table,--\"is your Mr. Richmond Band-master as well as clergyman?\"\n\n\"Bands are a mystery to me, Clarissa,\" said Mrs. Englefield; \"I do not\nunderstand Maria when she gets upon that subject. I hope you will be\nable to enlighten me some time. Are you going to-night?--well, then, I\nshall hope to be wiser when you return.\"\n\nTea was hurried through, cloaks and furs and hoods and all sorts of\nwrappings were put on; and the party set forth, Anne and Letitia this\ntime going along. It was pleasanter out than in. White streets and\nclear starlight, and still, cold, fine air. About the corner a few men\nand boys were congregated as usual; after passing them and turning into\nthe other street, few passengers were to be seen. Here and there one,\nor a group, making for the lecture-room; here and there somebody\nseeking a friend's house for pleasure; nobody was out on business at\nShadywalk in the evening, and no waggons or sleighs got belated in the\ndarkness. It would have been very dark, but for the snow and the stars.\nThere were no shop-windows illuminated, and no lamps along the street\nand no gas anywhere. Past the shut-up houses and stores, in the dim,\nsnowy street, the little cluster of girls went swiftly on.\n\n\"You are in a great hurry,\" said Clarissa.\n\n\"Oh, we want to get there before anything begins,\" Maria said. \"And\nit's cold, besides!\"\n\n\"What church is this we are passing?\"\n\n\"Oh, this is our church. You haven't seen it. It is real nice inside.\"\n\n\"Not outside?\" said Clarissa. \"Well, I cannot see it in this light. And\nis that next place the one we are going to?\"\n\n\"Yes, that's our lecture-room. That's _very_ nice.\"\n\nSo it was. Pleasant light from withinside streamed warm through the\nhanging window-blinds of the long windows, and promised welcome before\nthey got in. At the door, under the projecting hood, a lamp shone\nbright upon the entrance steps. People were flocking in. The opening\ndoor let them into a cheerful room, not large, with long rows of seats\non either hand of a wide, matted aisle; the view closed by a little\ndesk at the farther end on a raised platform. Right and left of the\ndesk, two small transepts did somewhat to enlarge the accommodations of\nthe place, which had a cosy, home look, comfortable and bright.\n\n\"Where do those doors lead to?\" Clarissa whispered;--\"behind the desk?\"\n\n\"Oh, those open to the infant class room. Isn't it nice?\" Maria\nanswered.\n\n\"It is small,\" said Clarissa.\n\n\"It is large enough, though. _We_ shall not fill it to-night.\"\n\nAnd they did not. There was only a little company gathered, of various\nages. Some quite grown people; many who were younger. They had drawn\ntowards the upper end of the room, and clustered near the platform.\n\n\"There is Mr. Richmond,\" Maria whispered presently; \"do you see him? he\nis up there near the desk talking to Mr. Barker,--Mr. Barker is one of\nour teachers, but he has got nothing to do with the Band. That is Mrs.\nTrembleton, isn't she pretty?--sitting down there in front; she always\nsits just there, if she can, and I have seen her ever so put out if she\ncouldn't when somebody else had got it, you know. And there\"----\n\n\"But, Maria,\" whispered Clarissa, gravely, \"do you think it is quite\nproper to whisper so in church?\"\n\n\"This isn't church!\" Maria replied, with great readiness.\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"Why, it is only our Sunday-Schoolroom; and this is a Band meeting.\"\n\n\"It looks very like church to me,\" said Clarissa. \"Hush! don't whisper\nany more.\"\n\nFor the minister now took his stand at the little desk before\nmentioned; and even Maria was quiet enough during the prayer with which\nhe began the proceedings. But then Mr. Richmond came in front of the\ndesk, and began to speak seriously indeed, but with an easy simplicity\nwhich Clarissa thought was \"not like church.\"\n\n\"It may not be known to everybody present,\" Mr. Richmond began,\n\"exactly what was done at our last meeting here Thursday night. I wish\nit to be very well understood, that every one may join with us in the\naction we took, intelligently;--or keep away from it, intelligently. I\nwish it to be thoroughly understood. We simply pledged ourselves, some\nof us who were here Thursday night, to live and work for Christ to the\nbest and the utmost of our ability, as He would give us grace to do. We\npledged ourselves to each other and to our Master; to the end that we\nmight the better help each other, being so pledged; and that we might\nenter into some system and plan of work by which we might accomplish\nmuch more than we could hope to do without plan or system. I have a\nlist in my hand of various kinds of work which it may be well for us to\nattempt; some kinds will suit some people, and other kinds will suit\nother people; but before we go into a consideration of these, I will\nread something else to you. We must do this thing--we must enter into\nthis pledge to God and each other, those of us who enter into\nit,--knowing exactly what we do, and if possible, why we do it. I have\ndrawn up in a few words what we mean, or what we ought to mean, in\ngiving this pledge; and now I am going to read it to you; and after I\nhave read it I shall ask all of you who have heard it and agreed to it,\nto rise up, without any regard to the question whether you were among\nthose who rose last Thursday or not. I wish no one to stand who does\nnot fully and intelligently agree to every word of this covenant;--but\nI hope that will be the case with every one of you all. The children\ncan understand it as well as the grown people. This is the covenant:--\n\n\"'We are the servants of Christ.\n\n\"'And as He died for all, that they which live should not live unto\nthemselves but unto Him; so we do not count ourselves to belong to\nourselves. We are the Lord's.\n\n\"'We want to do all we can do, that would please Him and honour Him,\nwhether it be in our own hearts or in the world.\n\n\"'So we stand ready to do His will; in telling the good news to others;\nin showing how precious we hold it; in carrying help of every sort to\nour neighbour, upon every opportunity; walking as children of the\nLight; if by any means we may advance our Lord's kingdom and glory.\n\n\"'And all this we will try to do, by His help,--trusting in His grace\nand resting in His promises, whose word cannot fail.'\n\n\"Now,\" said Mr. Richmond, when he had read this, which he read very\nslowly and deliberately, as if he wished that every one should weigh\nevery word, \"I am going to ask you to rise and so declare your\nagreement with this covenant--all of you who have heard and understood\nit, and who are ready to pledge yourselves to its responsibilities.\nEvery one whose own mind and wish this covenant expresses will please\nrise.\"\n\nThe little stir which this request occasioned through the room, left\nfew of the assembly in their seats. Maria, as soon as she was upon her\nfeet, looked to see how it was with her companions. To her great\nsatisfaction, Clarissa was standing beside her; but Anne and Letitia\nwere sitting in their places, and so was Matilda in hers beyond them.\nMaria frowned and nodded at her, but Mr. Richmond had desired the\npeople to sit down again before these signs could take any effect.\n\n\"It is as I hoped,\" Mr. Richmond said in a satisfied voice. \"I have no\nalteration to make in my lists, beyond the addition of one or two new\nnames; and that sort of alteration I shall be glad to make whenever\npeople will let me. I will receive new names at any time, of those who\nwish to join our Band--our Working Band. I do not know what we shall\ncall ourselves; but one thing is certain, we mean to be a working\npeople. Now, suppose we see what kinds of work we are prepared to\nundertake--each one of us in particular. Of course, we are _all_ to do\n_all_ we can, and of _all_ kinds; but there are some kinds of work that\neach one can do better than he can do others; and to those particular\nlines of effort each one will pledge himself to give special attention.\n\n\"The first thing on my list is--\n\n\"'_Bringing new scholars to the school_. Who will take this as his\nspecial work? Observe, it is not meant that you should ask any children\nto come to our school who are already members of some other school. We\ndo not wish that. But who will undertake to look out and bring in some\nof the children that go nowhere? All who want to do this, raise your\nhands.\"\n\nThere was a show of hands.\n\n\"We must have a secretary,\" said Mr. Richmond. \"Mr. Van Dyke, here is\npaper and ink; will you kindly come and write for us? We want to put\ndown all the names that enlist in this department of work. This is\nNumber One. Put down, opposite to Number One, Mattie Van Dyke, Willie\nEdwards, Mary Edwards, Maria Englefield.\"\n\nMr. Richmond went on giving the names until some eight or ten were\nregistered. The children looked delighted. It was great doings.\n\nThe next thing on Mr. Richmond's list was the \"_School-singing_.\" He\nexplained that he wished the special attention of those who could give\nit to this matter; that they should always stand ready to help the\nsinging in the Sunday-School, and make it just as good as it could be,\nand keep it good; that they should not wait for others, if there was no\none to lead, but start the hymn themselves and carry it through with\nspirit.\n\nThere were not so many that pledged themselves to this work; but, as\nbefore, Maria was one.\n\nThe third thing, was \"_Welcoming strangers and new scholars_\" in the\nchurch and in the school. Here a breeze sprung up. Mr. Richmond had\nremarked upon the great importance of this duty and the common neglect\nof it; nevertheless there seemed to be some prospect that the neglect\nwould continue. Mrs. Trembleton asked, \"How were such strangers to be\nwelcomed?\"\n\n\"What would you like yourself, Mrs. Trembleton? Suppose you were to go\nto a strange church, where you knew nobody. Would it be pleasant to\nhave some one come up and take your hand and say you were welcome? and\ngive you a greeting when you met in the street?--perhaps come to see\nyou?\"\n\n\"I think,\" said Mrs. Trembleton, after a pause, \"it would depend a good\ndeal on who it was did it!\"\n\n\"Whether it would be pleasant?\" said Mr. Richmond, smiling. \"But you do\nnot doubt that it would be pleasant to any stranger to have _you_ come\nup and speak and shake hands, and do such offices of kindness?\"\n\n\"It might be pleasant to them,\" said Mrs. Trembleton. \"I don't think I\nshould like to do it to everybody.\"\n\n\"What do you say, Miss Benyon?\" Mr. Richmond asked.\n\n\"Oh, I couldn't, Mr. Richmond!\" the young lady answered, shrinking.\n\n\"I'll do it,\" spoke out one of the boys.\n\n\"George Lockwood will welcome strangers, Mr. Van Dyke,\" said the\nminister. \"And Willie Edwards holds up his hand,--and Ben Barth. But\nshall we have none but the boys to do the welcoming? The new scholars\nwill not be all boys. Ah! there is Miss Peach; Ellen Peach, Mr. Van\nDyke;--and Maria Englefield,--and Sarah Bent.\"\n\n\"Won't it make confusion in the school?\" Mr. Van Dyke suggested.\n\n\"Will not what make confusion?\"\n\n\"Why, if half-a-dozen scholars are jumping up and leaving their\nclasses, to receive somebody who is coming in?\"\n\n\"I did not say that they should choose lesson time--or school time at\nall--for their kind civilities. After school is over--or when meeting\nin the street--or going into church. Opportunities will present\nthemselves. It is rather the will that seems to be wanting than the\nway.\"\n\n\"It seems to me,\" spoke out another lady, \"this welcoming of strangers\nis everybody's business.\"\n\n\"Proverbially nobody's business, Miss Fitch,\" Mr. Richmond answered\nwith a smile. \"You will leave it for me to do; and I shall conclude\nthat Mrs. Trembleton will attend to it; Mrs. Trembleton does not like\nthe charge;--and there we are. Esther, what do you say?\"\n\n\"Oh, I should not like to do it, Mr. Richmond!\"\n\nNobody seemed to like to do it. Some were shy; some were humble, or\nthought they were; some fancied themselves of too little consequence;\nsome of too much! Mr. Richmond went on to the next thing, which was\n\"_Temperance Work_.\" Here there was no want of volunteers. Boys and\ngirls and young ladies, and even men, were ready to pledge themselves\nto this cause. The names were many. It took some time to get them all\ndown.\n\nThen came what Mr. Richmond's list called \"_Aid and Comfort;_\" and\nwhich he explained to mean, the giving of all sorts of material and\nsocial aid that the cases of sick and poor and distressed might call\nfor. Anybody who would visit such cases, and provide or procure what\nthey needed, or anybody unable to visit who would furnish the necessary\nsupplies if called upon, might be enrolled on this committee. Plenty of\npeople were ready for this.\n\n\"_Visiting absent scholars_\" found quite a number willing to engage in\nit. The cause of \"_Missionary Collections_\" and \"_Sunday-School\nprayer-meetings_\" found but few; evidently those were not popular\nobjects. \"_Promoting attendance upon church_\" did not meet with much\nfavour. The tenth department of work was \"_Carrying the Message_\". This\nMr. Richmond explained to mean, the telling the good news of Christ to\nall who have not heard or who do not accept it; to everybody we can\nreach, at home and abroad, wherever we may. There were not a few who\nwere ready to pledge themselves to this; as also to \"_Bible Reading_\"\nin houses where sickness or poverty or ignorance made such work\ndesirable. But \"_Tract Distributing_,\" which one would have thought a\nvery kindred effort with the two last, was much more cautiously\nundertaken. Some boys were ready for it; a few girls; very few grown up\npeople of either sex.\n\nThe young people of Mrs. Englefield's family walked home more silently\nthan they had come. To be sure, there was a little throng of persons\ngoing their way; they could not speak in private. So under the still,\nbright stars, they went home without telling any of their thoughts to\neach other. But perhaps the air was chilly after coming out of the\nheated lecture-room; for they all poured into the parlour to get warm,\nbefore going up-stairs to take off their things.\n\n\"Well, you are late,\" Mrs. Englefield said.\n\n\"Yes; but we had, oh, such a nice meeting!\" Maria answered.\n\n\"What was it all about? Now, I hope, we shall get at some light on the\nsubject.\"\n\nBut the light was not in a hurry to come. Anne and Letitia loosened\ntheir bonnet strings, and sat down; Maria and Matilda threw off their\ncloaks and hoods and sought the fire; nobody volunteered to be\nspokesman for the party.\n\n\"What was done, Clarissa?\" her mother asked.\n\n\"I can hardly tell, mamma. A sort of association formed, for doing\nparish work.\"\n\n\"I do not think much of associations,\" Mrs. Candy said. \"People can\nwork just as well in private, if they would only be content. Did _you_\njoin this association?\"\n\n\"What is _parish work_, Clarissa?\" Matilda asked.\n\n\"Why, work in the parish, of course,\" Mrs. Englefield answered.\n\n\"I don't know what the parish is, mamma?\"\n\n\"Don't you? Well,--all the people that Mr. Richmond has the care of, I\nsuppose; isn't it, sister?\"\n\n\"But who has he the care of?\" Matilda persisted, looking up at her\nmother earnestly.\n\n\"Well, child,\" said Mrs. Englefield, half laughing, \"in a sort, he has\nthe care of all the people he preaches to.\"\n\n\"Does he?\" said Matilda. But at that the laugh became general.\n\n\"Why not, Tilly?\" said Mrs. Candy.\n\n\"Who gave him the care of us?\" said Matilda, thoughtfully.\n\n\"A minister always has the care of a church when he has a church,\" said\nMrs. Candy. \"Is this Tilly's way of going into things in general,\nMarianne?\"\n\n\"_But_,\" said Matilda,--\"can anybody take a church and take care of\npeople, if he has a mind?\"\n\n\"No; only a man who has been properly educated and appointed.\"\n\n\"Then how comes he to have the _care_ of us?\"\n\n\"Come here, Tilly,\" said Clarissa. And she began a whispered\nexplanation, to which the little girl listened intently.\n\n\"I do not hear yet what was the business done to-night?\" Mrs.\nEnglefield went on.\n\n\"Why, there were committees formed,\" said Letitia, \"for doing every\nsort of business under heaven.\"\n\n\"Committees!\" said the two ladies who had stayed at home.\n\n\"Maria can tell you,\" said Anne. \"Maria, on how many committees are\nyou?\"\n\nMaria hugged the fire and did not answer.\n\n\"On how many, Maria?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I didn't count.\"\n\n\"I lost count, too,\" her sister said. \"Let me see. Mamma, Maria has\nundertaken to find and bring in new scholars for the school.\"\n\n\"I hope she will be punctual in going herself, then,\" said Mrs.\nEnglefield. \"She _hasn't_ been, this six months past, to my knowledge.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I am now, mamma,\" said Maria.\n\n\"She has undertaken to practise for the school singing.\"\n\n\"I didn't,\" said Maria. \"I only said I would help in it.\"\n\n\"Your help will not be worth much without practising. She has promised\nto undertake temperance work, too. _How_ she will manage it, I do not\nknow; unless she is going to begin upon us here at home. We are all\nsuch hard drinkers.\"\n\n\"Almost all the Sunday-School are engaged to help in temperance work,\"\nsaid Maria, standing on her defence.\n\n\"How are _you_ going to do anything?\" her mother asked. \"You have\nneither brothers, nor father, nor cousins, in danger, that you can go\nto work upon them. What are you going to do, Maria?\"\n\n\"That is but the beginning, mamma,\" Anne went on. \"Maria is also\nengaged to visit the sick and afflicted, and make soup and give\nmedicine for them.\"\n\n\"Why, I did not, Anne!\" Maria exclaimed again.\n\n\"What did you mean, then, by joining the 'Aid and Comfort' committee?\"\n\n\"I did not say I would make soup, or give medicine. Everybody does not\nmake soup.\"\n\n\"No; and so I thought that is just what the 'Aid and Comfort' committee\nagreed to do.\"\n\n\"And the doctors give the medicine,\" said Matilda. \"Clarissa is on that\ncommittee too.\"\n\n\"We can go together,\" said Maria; \"and we can find something to do.\"\n\n\"Something for somebody else to do,\" said Anne. \"You can find who would\nlike some soup, can't you?\"\n\n\"There are next to no poor people in Shadywalk,\" said Mrs. Englefield.\n\"I don't believe there is anybody in the village who would like some\nsoup better than I should.\"\n\n\"There are several doctors,\" said Anne; \"so I am afraid there are sick\npeople occasionally. Else the doctors will soon be in want of soup.\nBut, mamma, _that_ is not the whole of Maria's engagements. She has\npledged herself to 'carry the message,' read the Bible, and distribute\ntracts.\"\n\n\"Don't you read the Bible now, Maria?\" her mother asked.\n\n\"Oh yes, mamma,\" said Matilda. \"This means reading the Bible to\nsomebody who is blind, you know, or sick and can't read, or who doesn't\nknow how.\"\n\n\"There are no such people in Shadywalk,\" said Mrs. Englefield, promptly.\n\n\"Shadywalk is a happy village then,\" said her sister.\n\n\"When do you expect to find time for all these things, Maria?\" her\nmother continued. \"Do you know what a state your bureau drawers are in,\nat this minute? You told me you had been too busy to attend to them.\nAnd the frock that you spilt ink on, the week before last, at school,\nyou have not mended; and you need it--and you said you could not get a\nminute.\"\n\n\"I have been busy about something else, mamma,\" Maria said.\n\n\"That braiding. Yes. But there is always 'something else.' There are\nother things that ought to begin at home besides charity. Do _you_\nbelong to this association, Matilda?\"\n\n\"No, mamma,\" came in a low voice from the child.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\nThe answer was not ready.\n\n\"Have you joined it, Clarissa?\" her mother asked.\n\n\"Yes, mamma.\"\n\n\"And what have you pledged yourself to do?\"\n\n\"I think nothing, mamma, that I was not properly pledged to before.\"\n\n\"Such as what?\"\n\n\"I gave my name for the visiting and helping sick and poor people; for\nthe singing in the school;--I believe that is all, mamma.\"\n\n\"I shall not let you go where there is sickness,\" said Mrs Candy. \"When\ndid you pledge yourself to that ever?\"\n\n\"When I took the vows of the Church, mamma,\" Clarissa said, with a\nlittle hesitation, \"I suppose I engaged to do some of these things.\"\n\n\"Some of them; I have no objection to your singing as much as you like;\nbut as to your going where there are fevers and bad air, and all that\nsort of thing, I should not be willing at all.\"\n\n\"There will not be much occasion for it in Shadywalk,\" said Mrs.\nEnglefield. \"We have few poor people; there are not many who have not\nfriends of their own to take care of them.\"\n\n\"Anne and Letitia, you have nothing to do with all this?\" their aunt\nasked.\n\n\"I have enough to do as it is, Aunt Candy,\" said Anne.\n\n\"And I don't like the new sorts of work, Aunt Erminia,\" said Letitia.\n\n\"I know you wanted to stand up with us this evening, though,\" said\nMaria. \"You felt bad because you didn't.\"\n\nThis remark threatened to disturb the harmony of the party; so Mrs.\nEnglefield broke it up, and sent everybody to bed.\n\n\"How do you like our Mr. Richmond, Clarissa?\" she asked, as they were\nseparating.\n\n\"I don't know, Aunt Marianne; it struck me he was something of an\nenthusiast.\"\n\n\"That is just what I think,\" said Mrs. Englefield.\n\n\"Those people are dangerous, Marianne,\" said Mrs. Candy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nThe next day but one, in the afternoon, a little figure set out from\nMrs. Englefield's gate on a solitary expedition. She had left her\nsisters and cousin in high debate, over the various probabilities of\npleasure attainable through the means of twenty-five dollars. Matilda\nlistened gravely for a while; then left them, put on her hood and\ncloak, and went out alone. It was rather late in the short winter\nafternoon; the slanting sunbeams made a gleam of cheer, though it was\ncold cheer too, upon the snowy streets. They stretched away, the white\nstreets, heaped with banks of snow where the gutters should be,\noverhung with brown branches of trees, where in summer the leafy canopy\nmade a pleasant shade all along the way. No shade was wanted now; the\nair was growing more keen already since the sun had got so far down in\nthe west. Tilly turned the corner, where by Mr. Forshew's hardware shop\nthere was often a country waggon standing, and always a knot of\nloitering men and boys gathering or retailing the news, if there was\nany; when there was none, seeking a poorer amusement still in stories\nand jests, mingled with profanity and tobacco. Tilly was always glad to\nhave passed the corner; not that there was the least danger of\nincivility from any one lingering there, but she did not like the\nneighbourhood of such people. She turned up towards the church, which\nstood in one of the principal streets of the village. Matilda herself\nlived in the other principal street. The two were at right angles to\neach other, each extending perhaps half a mile, with comfortable houses\nstanding along the way; about the \"corner\" they stood close together,\nfor that was the business quarter, and there were the stores. Passing\nthe stores and shops, there came next a succession of dwelling-houses,\nsome of more and some of less pretension; in general it was _less_. The\nnew houses of the successful tradesmen were for the most part in the\nstreet where Matilda's mother lived. These were many of them old and\nlow; some were poor. Here there was a doctor's shop; there a heap of\ndingy sheep skins and brown calf hides cast down at a door, told of the\nleather store; here and there hung out a milliner's sign. A few steps\nfurther on the other side of the way, a great brick factory stood;\nMatilda had no very distinct notion of what wares it turned out, but\nthe children believed they were iron works of some sort. A cross street\nhere led to side ways which extended parallel with the main\nthoroughfare, one on the north and one on the south of it, and which,\nthough more scatteringly built up, were yet a considerable enlargement\nof the village. A little further on, and Matilda had reached the\nchurch; in her language _the_ church, though only one of several in\nwhich the villagers delighted. A great creamy-brown edifice, of no\nparticular style of architecture, with a broad porch upheld by a row of\nbig pillars, and a little square tower where hung a bell, declared to\nbe the sweetest and clearest of all in the neighbourhood. So, many\nthought, were the utterances inside the church. Just beyond, Matilda\ncould see the lecture-room, with its transepts, and its pretty hood\nover the door, for all which and sundry other particulars concerning it\nshe had a private favour; but Matilda did not go so far this afternoon.\nShort of the lecture-room, a gate in the fence of the church grounds\nstood open; a large gate, through which waggons and carriages sometimes\npassed; Matilda turned in there, and picked her way over the ridgy snow\ndown the lane that led to the parsonage.\n\nThe parsonage sat thus quietly back from the sights and noises of the\nstreet; a little brown house, it looked, half hidden in summer by the\nsweeping foliage of the elms that overarched the little lane; half\nsheltered now in winter by a goodly pine-tree that stood in the centre\nof the little plot of grass round which swept the road to the\nfront-door. Wheels or runners had been there, for the road was tracked\nwith them; but not many, for the villagers needed no such help to get\nto the minister, and there were few of the church people who lived at a\ndistance and could leave their work and take their teams on a week-day\nto come a-pleasuring; and still fewer who were rich enough to do as\nthey liked at all times. There were some; but Matilda ran little risk\nof meeting them; and so mounted the parsonage steps and lifted the\nknocker with no more than her own private reasons for hesitation,\nwhatever those might be. She knocked, however, and steps carne within,\nand Miss Redwood opened the door.\n\n\"Well!\" she said, \"here's the first one this blessed afternoon. I\nthought I was going to get along for once without any one; but such\nluck don't come to me. Wipe the snow off, dear, will you, clean? for my\nhall's as nice as--well, I don't know what; as nice as it had ought to\nbe. That will do. Now, come in, for the air's growin' right sharp. What\nis it, my dear?\"\n\n\"Is Mr. Richmond at home?\" Matilda asked.\n\n\"Well, I s'pose he is. I hain't hearn him nor seen him go out since\nnoon. Do ye want to see him, or is it a message?--ye want to see him,\neh. Well, I s'pose he'll see you--if he ain't too busy--and I don't\nknow when he gets time for all he has to do, but he gets it; so I\ns'pose I had ought to be satisfied. _I_ don't, I know; but I s'pose men\nand women is different. Some folks would say that's a reason why men\nwas created the first and the best; but I don't think so myself. And\nhere I am an old goose, a-talkin' to little Tilly Englefield about\nphilosophy, instead o' lettin' her into the minister's room. Well, come\nin, dear; round this way; the minister has taken a notion to keep that\ndoor shut up because of the cold.\"\n\nMiss Redwood had not been idle during the utterance of this speech.\nFirst she had been shaking the snow from the door mat on which\nMatilda's feet had left it; then she seized a broom and brushed the\nwhite masses from the hall carpet out to the piazza, and even off the\npainted boards of that. Finally came in, shut the door, and led Matilda\nto the back of the hall, where it turned, and two doors, indeed three,\nconfronted each other across a yard of intervening space. The\nhousekeeper knocked at the one which led into the front room; then set\nit open for Matilda to go in, and closed it after her.\n\nA pleasant room that was, though nothing in the world could be more\nunadorned. Deal shelves all around were filled with books; a table or\ntwo were piled with them; one, before the fire, was filled as well with\npapers and writing materials. This fronted, however, a real blazing\nfire, the very thing Miss Redwood had once been so uneasy about; in a\nwide open chimney-place, where two great old-fashioned brass andirons\nwith round heads held a generous load of oak and hickory sticks, softly\nsnapping and blazing. The sweet smell of the place struck Matilda's\nsense, almost before she saw the minister. It was a pure, quiet,\nscented atmosphere that the room held; where comfort and study seemed\nto lurk in the very folds of the chintz window-curtains, and to shine\nin the firelight, and certainly seemed to fill Mr. Richmond's arm-chair\neven when he was not in it. He rose out of it now to meet his little\nvisitor, and laid study on the table. Of one sort.\n\n\"All's well at home, Tilly?\" he asked, as he put her into his own chair.\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"And you do not come to me with any message but to see me yourself?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"That's nice. Now while you are talking to me, I will roast you an\napple.\"\n\nMatilda looked on with great curiosity and as great a sense of relief,\nwhile Mr. Richmond took out of a cupboard a plate of apples, chose a\nfine one with a good bit of stem, tied a long pack-thread to this, and\nthen hung the apple by a loop at the other end of the string, to a hook\nin the woodwork over the fireplace. The apple, suspended in front of\nthe blazing fire, began a succession of swift revolutions; first in one\ndirection and then in the other, as the string twisted or untwisted.\n\n\"Did you ever roast an apple so?\"\n\n\"No, Mr. Richmond.\"\n\n\"It is the best way in the world--when you haven't got any other.\"\n\n\"We haven't got that way at our house,\" said Matilda; \"for we have no\nfires; nothing but stoves.\"\n\n\"You speak as if you thought fires were the best plan of the two.\"\n\n\"Oh, I do, Mr. Richmond! I do _not_ like stoves at all. They're so\nclose.\"\n\n\"I always thought stoves were rather close,\" said Mr. Richmond. \"Now\nwhat did you come to see me roast apples for this afternoon? Did you\ncome to keep your promise?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" Matilda answered, rather faintly.\n\n\"Are you sorry you made the promise?\" Mr. Richmond inquired, looking at\nher. But the look was so pleasant, that Matilda's could not keep its\nsolemnity. She had come in with a good deal.\n\n\"I don't know but I _was_ sorry,\" she said.\n\n\"And you are not sorry now?\"\n\n\"I think not.\"\n\n\"That is all the better. Now what did you want to say to me, Matilda?\"\n\n\"You know you made me say I would come, Mr. Richmond.\"\n\n\"Did I? I think not. I do not think I _made_ you say anything--do you\nthink I did?\"\n\n\"Well, you _asked_ me, Mr. Richmond.\"\n\n\"Just what did I ask you?\"\n\n\"You asked me, if I would come and tell you--you said you _wished_ I\nwould come and tell you--if----\"\n\nAnd Matilda made a great pause. The eyes of her friend seemed only to\nbe watching the apple, yet perhaps they knew that her little lips were\nunsteady and were trying to get steady. He left his seat to attend to\nthe roast; got a plate and put on the hearth under it; arranged the\nfire; then came and with his own hands removed Matilda's hood and\nloosened and threw back her cloak; and while he did this he repeated\nhis question, in tones that were encouragement itself.\n\n\"I wished you would come and tell me if--if what?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Richmond--if I thought I could not do something that I\nthought--I ought.\"\n\n\"Yes, I believe that was it, Tilly. Now, to begin with one thing at a\ntime, what do you think you 'ought' to do?\"\n\n\"Last night, I mean, Mr. Richmond; I mean, the night before last, at\nthe meeting.\"\n\n\"I know. Well, what did you think then you ought to do?\"\n\n\"Mr. Richmond, I think, I thought that I ought to rise up when Maria\nand the others did.\"\n\n\"I knew you thought so. Why did you not, then, Matilda?\"\n\n\"I couldn't.\"\n\n\"Do you know why you could not?\"\n\nAgain there was difficulty of speech on the child's part. Mr.\nRichmond's saying that \"he knew\" she had had such feelings, was an\nendorsement to her conscience; and Matilda could not immediately get\nover a certain swelling in her throat, which threatened to put a stop\nto the conversation. The minister waited, and she struggled.\n\n\"Why could _you_ not do what the others did, Matilda?\"\n\n\"Mr. Richmond--I didn't want to do the things.\"\n\n\"What things? Bringing new scholars to the Sunday-School, for instance?\"\n\n\"Oh no, sir, I wouldn't mind doing _that_, or some other things either.\nBut----\"\n\n\"You mean, you do not want to pledge yourself to be a servant of the\nLord Jesus Christ?\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" after a pause, and low.\n\n\"Well, Tilly,\" said the minister, \"I can only be very sorry for you.\nYou keep yourself out of a great joy.\"\n\n\"But, Mr. Richmond,\" said Matilda, down whose cheeks quiet tears were\nnow running, one after another; \"don't you think I am very young yet to\nbe a member of the Church?\"\n\n\"Do you think Jesus died for you, Tilly?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Do you believe He loves you now?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"You understand all about that. Does _He_ want you to be His obedient\nchild and dear servant?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Richmond.\"\n\n\"You know all about that, too. Can you think of any reason why you\nshould for another year refuse to love Him, refuse to mind Him, and do\nall that your example and influence can do to keep others from loving\nand minding Him? When He so loves and has loved you?\"\n\nTilly's little hands went up to her face now, and the room was very\nstill; only the flames softly flickering in the fireplace, and the\napple sputtering before the fire. Mr. Richmond did not say a word for\nseveral minutes.\n\n\"Mr. Richmond,\" said Matilda at last, \"do you think anybody cares what\nI do?--when I am so little?\"\n\n\"I think the Lord Jesus cares. He said nobody was to hinder the little\nchildren from coming to Him. And I would rather be in His arms and have\nHim bless me, if I were you, than be anywhere else, or have anything\nelse. And so would you, Tilly.\"\n\n\"But, Mr. Richmond--it is because I am not good.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know it. But that is a reason for giving yourself to the Lord\nJesus. He will make you good; and there is no other way.\"\n\nBut Tilly's trouble at this got beyond management. She left her seat\nand came to Mr. Richmond, letting his arm draw her up to him, and\ndropping her head on his shoulder.\n\n\"O Mr. Richmond,\" she said, \"I don't know how!\"\n\n\"Don't know how to give yourself to Jesus? Do it in your heart, Tilly.\nHe is there. Tell Him He may have you for His own child. He is at the\ndoor of your heart knocking; open the door and bid Him come in. He will\nmake it a glad place if you do.\"\n\n\"Mr. Richmond,\" said the child, with great difficulty between her\nsobs--\"won't you tell Him that I will?\"\n\nThey kneeled down and the minister made a short prayer. But then he\nsaid--\n\n\"Now, Tilly, I want you to tell the Lord yourself.\"\n\n\"I can't, Mr. Richmond.\"\n\n\"I think you can. And I want you to try.\"\n\nThey waited and waited. Tilly sobbed softly, but the minister waited\nstill. At last Tilly's tears ceased; then with her little hands spread\nbefore her face, she said very slowly--\n\n\"O Lord, I am a naughty child. I want to be good. I will do everything\nthat you tell me. Please take my heart and make it all new, and help me\nto be strong and do right. Amen.\"\n\nThey rose up, but Mr. Richmond kept the child within his arm, where she\nhad been standing.\n\n\"Now, Tilly, how do we know that our prayers are heard?\"\n\n\"God has promised, hasn't He, Mr. Richmond?\"\n\n\"Where? in what words?\"\n\nTilly hesitated, and then repeated part of the verse, \"Ask, and it\nshall be given you. Seek, and ye shall find.\"\n\n\"And look here,\" said Mr. Richmond, half turning, so as to bring her\nand himself within reach of the Bible that lay at his elbow on the\ntable--\"see here, Matilda. Read these words.\"\n\n\"'If ye shall ask anything in My name, I will do it.'\"\n\n\"And here,\"--\n\n\"'Whatsover ye shall ask the Father in My name, He will give it you.'\"\n\n\"Does Jesus ever break His promises?\"\n\n\"No, Mr. Richmond; He can't.\"\n\n\"Then remember that, whenever you think of to-day, and whenever you\nfeel troubled or weak. _You_ are weak, but He is strong; and He cannot\nbreak His promises. So you and I are safe, as long as we hold to Him.\"\n\nThere was silence a little while, and Mr. Richmond set the apple to\ntwirling again. It had untwisted its string and was hanging still.\n\n\"I am to put your name now, I suppose, Tilly, among the names of our\nBand; am I?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Richmond.\"\n\n\"What work would you like specially to do?\"\n\n\"I do not know, Mr. Richmond; I will think.\"\n\n\"Very well; that is right. And there is another place where your name\nought to go--is there not?\"\n\n\"I don't know, sir.\"\n\n\"Yes; among those who desire to be members of the Church; to tell the\nworld they are Christ's people.\"\n\n\"Oh no, Mr. Richmond.\"\n\n\"Why 'oh no, Mr. Richmond'?\"\n\n\"I am not good enough. I want to be better first.\"\n\n\"How do you expect to get better?\"\n\nSilence.\n\n\"I suppose your thought is, that Jesus will make your heart new, as you\nasked Him just now, and help you to be strong. Is that it?--Yes. And\nyou do not expect to accomplish the change or grow strong by your own\npower?\"\n\n\"Oh no, sir.\"\n\n\"Don't you think Jesus loves you now as well as He will by and by, and\nis as ready to help you?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Richmond.\"\n\n\"Then, Tilly, I call it just distrust of Him, to hold off from what He\ncommands you to do, for fear He will not help you to do it. I would be\nashamed to offer such an excuse to Him.\"\n\n\"But--has He commanded _that_, Mr. Richmond?\"\n\n\"He has commanded us to confess openly that we are His servants, hasn't\nHe? and to be baptized in token of the change He has wrought in us, and\nas a sign that we belong to Him? How can we do either the one or the\nother without joining the Church?\"\n\n\"I thought\"--Matilda began, but seemingly did not like to tell what she\nhad thought.\n\n\"Let us have it, Tilly,\" said her friend, drawing her closer to him.\n\"You and I are talking confidentially, and it is best in those cases to\ntalk all out. So what did you think?\"\n\n\"I thought there were people who were the servants of Christ, and yet\ndid not join any church,\" Matilda said softly.\n\n\"By not doing it, they as good as say to the world that they are not\nHis servants. And the world judges accordingly. I have known people\nunder such a delusion; but when they were honest, I have always known\nthem to come out of it. If you give all you have to the Lord Jesus, you\nmust certainly give your influence.\"\n\n\"But, I thought I might wait,\" Tilly said again.\n\n\"Till when?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" she whispered.\n\n\"Wait for what?\"\n\n\"Till I was more like what--I ought to be, Mr. Richmond.\"\n\n\"Till you were more like the Lord Jesus?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Do you not think the quickest way to grow like Him would be to do and\nobey every word He says?\"\n\nMatilda bowed her head a little.\n\n\"You will be more likely to grow good and strong that way than any\nother; and I am sure the Lord will be more likely to help you if you\ntrust Him, than if you do not trust Him.\"\n\n\"I think so too,\" Matilda assented.\n\n\"Then we will do everything, shall we, that we think our Lord would\nlike to have us do? and we will trust Him to help us through with it?\"\nMr. Richmond said, with an affectionate look at the child beside him;\nand Matilda met the look and answered it with another.\n\n\"But, Mr. Richmond----\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"There is one question I should like to ask.\"\n\n\"Ask it.\"\n\n\"Why ought people to be baptized?\"\n\n\"Because our Lord commands it. Isn't that a good reason?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; but--what does it mean, Mr. Richmond?\"\n\n\"It is a way of saying to the world, that we have left it, and belong\nto the Lord Jesus Christ. It is a way of saying to the world, that His\nblood has washed away our sins and His Spirit has made our hearts\nclean; or that we trust Him to do both things for us. And it is the\nappointed way of saying all this to the world; _His_ appointed way. Do\nyou understand?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Now, do you not think that those who love the Lord Jesus, ought to be\nglad to follow His will in this matter?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" Matilda said again, raising her eyes frankly to Mr.\nRichmond's face.\n\n\"Would you be willing to be left out, when next I baptize some of those\nwho wish to make it publicly known that they are Christ's?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\" And presently she added. \"When will that be, Mr. Richmond?\"\n\n\"I do not know,\" he answered, thoughtfully. \"Not immediately. You and I\nmust have some more talks before that time.\"\n\n\"You are very good to me, Mr. Richmond,\" Matilda said, gratefully.\n\n\"Have we said all we ought to say this time? Are there any more\nquestions to bring up?\"\n\n\"_I_ haven't any to bring up,\" Matilda said.\n\n\"Is all clear that we have been talking about?\"\n\n\"I think so.\"\n\n\"Now, will you be good to me, and stay and take supper with me? That\nknock at the door means that Miss Redwood would like to have me know\nthat supper is ready. And you shall have this apple we have been\nroasting.\"\n\n\"Mr. Richmond, I think mamma would be frightened if I did not go home.\"\n\n\"She does not know where you are?\"\n\n\"Nobody knows,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Then it won't do to let you stay. You shall come another time, and we\nwill roast another apple, won't you?\"\n\n\"I should like to come,\" said Matilda. \"Mr. Richmond, didn't you say\nyou were going to talk to the Band and explain things, when we have our\nmeetings?\"\n\n\"I did say so. What do you want explained?\"\n\n\"Some time,--I would like to know just all it means, to be a servant of\nChrist.\"\n\n\"All it means,\" said Mr. Richmond. \"Well, it means a good deal, Tilly.\nI think we had better begin there with our explanations. I shall not\nmake it a lecture; it will be more like a class; so you may ask as many\nquestions as you please.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nThe light of day was darkening fast, as Matilda ran home. Even the\nwestern sky gave no glow, when she reached her own gate and went in.\nAfter all, she had run but a very little way, in her first hurry; the\nrest of the walk was taken with sober steps.\n\nWhen she came down-stairs, she found the lamp lit and all the young\nheads of the family clustering together to look at something. It was\nAnne's purchase, she found; Anne had spent her aunt's gift in the\npurchase of a new silk dress; and she was displaying it.\n\n\"It is a lovely colour,\" said Maria. \"I think that shade of--what do\nyou call it? is just the prettiest in the world. What _do_ you call it,\nClarissa? and where did you get it, Anne?\"\n\n\"It is pearl gray,\" said Clarissa.\n\n\"I would have got blue, while I was about it,\" said Letitia; \"there is\nnothing like blue; and it becomes you, Anne. You ought to have got\nblue. I would have had one dress that suited me, if I was you, if I\nnever had another.\"\n\n\"This will suit me, I think,\" said Anne.\n\n\"Aren't you going to trim it with anything? Dresses are so much trimmed\nnow-a-days; and this colour will not be anything unless you trim it.\"\n\nAnne replied by producing the trimming. The exclamations of delight and\napproval lasted for several minutes.\n\n\"What are you going to get, Letitia?\" Maria asked.\n\n\"I have not decided.\"\n\n\"I don't know, but I will have a watch,\" said Maria. \"You can get a\nvery good silver watch, a really good one, you know for twenty-five\ndollars.\"\n\n\"But a silver watch!\" said Anne. \"I would not wear anything but a gold\nwatch.\"\n\n\"How am I going to get a gold watch, I should like to know?\" said\nMaria. \"I think it would be splendid.\"\n\n\"But what do you want of a watch, Maria?\" her little sister asked.\n\n\"Oh, here is Matilda coming out! Just like her! Not a word about Anne's\ndress; and now she says, what do I want with a watch. Why, what other\npeople want with one; I want to see the time of day.\"\n\n\"I don't think you do,\" said Matilda. \"When do you?\"\n\n\"Why, I should like to know in school, when it is recess time; and at\nhome, when it is time to go to school.\"\n\n\"But the bell rings,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Well, I don't always hear the bell, child.\"\n\n\"But when you don't hear it, I tell you.\"\n\n\"Yes, and it's very tiresome to have you telling me, too. I'd rather\nhave my own watch. But I don't know what I will have; sometimes I think\nI'll just buy summer dresses, and then for once I'd have a plenty; I do\nlike to have plenty of anything. And there's a necklace and earrings at\nMr. Kurtz's that I want. Such lovely earrings!\"\n\n\"Well, Matilda, what are you thinking of?\" Letitia burst forth. \"Such a\nface! One would think it was wicked to wear earrings. What is it, you\nqueer child?\"\n\nBut Matilda did not say what she was thinking of. The elder ladies came\nin, and the party adjourned to the tea-table.\n\nA few hours later, when the girls had gone to their room, Matilda\nasked--\n\n\"When are you going to look for new scholars, Maria?\"\n\n\"_What?_\" was Maria's energetic and not very graceful response.\n\n\"When are you going to look for some new scholars to bring to the\nschool?\"\n\n\"The Sunday-School!\" said Maria. \"I thought you meant the school where\nwe go every day. I don't know.\"\n\n\"You promised you would try.\"\n\n\"Well, so I will, when I see any I _can_ bring.\"\n\n\"But don't you think you ought to go and look for them?\"\n\n\"How can I, Tilly? I don't know where to go; and I haven't got time,\nbesides.\"\n\n\"I think I know where we could go,\" said Matilda, \"and maybe we could\nget one, at any rate. Don't you know the Dows' house? on the turnpike\nroad?--beyond the bridge ever so far?\"\n\n\"The Dows'!\" said Maria. \"Yes, I know the Dows' house; but who's there?\nNothing but old folks.\"\n\n\"Yes, there are two children; I have seen them; two or three; but they\ndon't come to school.\"\n\n\"Then I don't believe they want to,\" said Maria; \"they could come if\nthey wanted to, I am sure.\"\n\n\"Don't you think we might go and ask them? Perhaps they would come if\nanybody asked them.\"\n\n\"Yes, we might,\" said Maria; \"but you see, Tilly, I haven't any time.\nIt'll take me every bit of time I can get between now and Sunday to\nfinish putting the braid on that frock; you have no idea how much time\nit takes. It curls round this way, and then twists over that way, and\nthen gives two curls, so and so; and it takes a great while to do it. I\nalmost wish I had chosen an easier pattern; only this is so pretty.\"\n\n\"But you promised, Maria.\"\n\n\"I didn't promise to go and look up people, child. I only promised to\ndo what I could. Besides, what have _you_ got to do with it? You did\nnot promise at all.\"\n\n\"I will go with you, if you will go up to the Dows',\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Oh, well!--don't worry, and I'll see about it.\"\n\n\"But will you go? Come, Maria, let us go.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"Any afternoon. To-morrow.\"\n\n\"What makes you want to go?\" said Maria, looking at her.\n\n\"I think you _ought_ to go,\" Matilda answered, demurely.\n\n\"And I say, what have you got to do with it? I don't see what\nparticular concern of mine the Dows are, anyhow.\"\n\nMatilda sat a long while thinking after this speech. She was on the\nfloor, pulling off her stockings and unlacing her boots; and while her\nfingers moved slowly, drawing out the laces, her cogitations were very\nbusy. What concern _were_ the Dows of hers or Maria's? They were not\npleasant people to go near, she judged, from the look of their house\nand dooryard as she had seen it in passing; and the uncombed, fly-away\nhead of the little girl gave her a shudder as she remembered it. They\nwere not people that were often seen in church; they could not be good;\nmaybe they used bad language; certainly they could not be expected to\nknow how to \"behave.\" Slowly the laces were pulled out of Matilda's\nboots, and her face grew into portentous gravity.\n\n\"Aren't you coming to bed?\" said Maria. \"What can you be thinking of?\"\n\n\"I am thinking of the Dows?\"\n\n\"What about them? I never thought about them three times in my life.\"\n\n\"But oughtn't we to think about people, Maria?\"\n\n\"Nice people.\"\n\n\"I mean, people that are not nice.\"\n\n\"It will be new times when you do,\" said Maria. \"Come! let the Dows\nalone and come to bed.\"\n\n\"Maria,\" said her little sister as she obeyed this request, \"I was\nthinking that Jesus thought about people that were not nice.\"\n\n\"Well?\" said Maria. \"Do lie down! what is the use of getting into bed,\nif you are going to sit bolt upright like that and talk lectures? I\ndon't see what has got into you.\"\n\n\"Maria, it seems to me, now I think of it, that those were the\nparticular people He did care about.\"\n\n\"Don't you think He cared about good people?\" said Maria, indignantly.\n\n\"But they were not good at first. Nobody was good at first--till He\nmade them good. He _said_ He didn't come to the good people; don't you\nremember?\"\n\n\"Well, what do you mean by all that? Are we not to care for anybody but\nthe people that are not good? A nice life we should have of it?\"\n\n\"Maria,\" said her little sister, very thoughtfully, \"I wonder what sort\nof a life He had?\"\n\n\"Tilly!\" said Maria, rising up in her turn, \"what has come to you? What\nbook have you been reading? I shall tell mamma.\"\n\n\"I have not been reading any book,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Then lie down and quit talking. How do you expect I am going to sleep?\"\n\n\"Let us go and see what we can do at the Dows, Maria, to-morrow, won't\nyou?\"\n\nBut Maria either did not or would not hear; so the matter passed for\nthat night. But the next day Matilda brought it up again. Maria found\nexcuses to put her off. Matilda, however, was not to be put off\npermanently; she never forgot; and day after day the subject came up\nfor discussion, until Maria at last consented.\n\n\"I am going because you tease me so, Tilly,\" she said, as they set\nforth from the gate. \"Just for that and nothing else. I don't like it a\nbit.\"\n\n\"But you promised.\"\n\n\"I didn't.\"\n\n\"To bring in new scholars?\"\n\n\"I did not promise I would bring the Dow children; and I don't believe\nthey'll come.\"\n\nThe walk before the children was not long, and yet it almost took them\nout of the village. They passed the corner this time without turning,\nkeeping the road, which was indeed part of the great high road which\ntook Shadywalk in its way, as it took many another village. The houses\nin this direction soon began to scatter further apart from each other.\nThey were houses of more pretension, too, with grounds and gardens and\nfruit trees about them; and built in styles that were notable, if not\naccording to any particular rule. Soon the ground began to descend\nsharply towards the bed of a brook, which brawled along with impetuous\nwaters towards a mill somewhere out of sight. It was a full, fine\nstream, mimicking the rapids and eddies of larger streams, with all\ntheir life and fury given to its smaller current. The waters looked\nblack and wintry in contrast with the white snow of the shores. A\nfoot-bridge spanned the brook, alongside of another bridge for\ncarriages; and just beyond, the black walls of a ruin showed where\nanother fine mill had once stood. That mill had been burnt. It was an\nold story; the girls did not so much as think about it now. Matilda's\nglance had gone the other way, where the stream rushed along from under\nthe bridge and hurried down a winding glen, bordered by a road that\nseemed well traversed. A house could be seen down the glen, just where\nthe road turned in company with the brook and was lost to view.\n\n\"I wonder who lives down there?\" said Matilda.\n\n\"I don't know. Yes, I do, too; but I have forgotten.\"\n\n\"I wonder if they come to church.\"\n\n\"I don't know _that;_ and I shall not go to ask them. Why, Matilda, you\nnever cared before whether people went to church.\"\n\n\"Don't you care now?\" was Matilda's rejoinder.\n\n\"No! I don't care. I don't know those people. They may go to fifty\nchurches, for aught I can tell.\"\n\n\"But, Maria,\"--said her little sister.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I do not understand you.\"\n\n\"Very likely. _That_ isn't strange.\"\n\n\"But, Maria,--you promised the other night--O Maria, what things you\npromised!\"\n\n\"What then?\" said Maria. \"What do you mean? What did I promise?\"\n\n\"You promised you would be a servant of Christ,\" Matilda said,\nanxiously.\n\n\"Well, what if I did?\" said Maria. \"Of course I did; what then. Am I to\nfind out whether everybody in Shadywalk goes to church, because I\npromised that? It is not my business.\"\n\n\"Whose business is it?\"\n\n\"It is Mr. Richmond's business and Mr. Everett's business; and Mr.\nSchoenflocker's business. I don't see what makes it mine.\"\n\n\"Then you ought not to have said that you would bring new scholars to\nthe school, I think, if you did not mean to do it; and whom do you mean\nto carry the message to, Maria? You said you would carry the message.\"\n\n\"I don't know what carrying the message means,\" said Maria.\n\nMatilda let the question drop, and they went on their way in silence;\nrising now by another steep ascent on the other side of the brook,\nhaving crossed the bridge. The hill was steep enough to give their\nlungs play without talking. At the top of the hill the road forked; one\nbranch turned off southwards; the high road turned east; the sisters\nfollowed this. A little way further, and both slackened their steps\ninvoluntarily as the house they were going to came full in view.\n\nIt was like a great many others; brown with the weather, and having a\ncertain forlorn look that a house gets when there are no loving eyes\nwithin it to care how it looks. The doors did not hang straight; the\nwindows had broken panes; a tub here and a broken pitcher there stood\nin sight of every passer-by. A thin wreath of smoke curled up from the\nchimney, so it was certain that people lived there; but nothing else\nlooked like it. The girls went in through the rickety gate. Over the\nhouse the bare branches of a cherry tree gave no promise of summery\nbloom; and some tufts of brown stems standing up from the snow hardly\nsuggested the gay hollyhocks of the last season. The two girls\nslackened their steps yet more, and seemed not to know very well how to\ngo on.\n\n\"I don't like it, Tilly,\" Maria said. \"I have a mind to give it up.\"\n\n\"Oh, I wouldn't, Maria,\" the little one replied; but she looked puzzled\nand doubtful.\n\n\"Well, suppose they don't want to see us in here? it don't look as if\nthey did.\"\n\n\"We can try, Maria; it will do no harm to try.\"\n\n\"I don't know that,\" said Maria. \"I'll never come such an errand again,\nMatilda; never! I give you notice of that. What shall I do? Knock?\"\n\n\"I suppose so.\"\n\nMaria knocked. The next minute the upper half of the door was opened,\nand an oldish woman looked out. A dirty woman, with her hair all in\nfly-away order, and her dress very slatternly as well as soiled.\n\n\"What do you want?\"\n\n\"Are there some children here?\" Maria began.\n\n\"Children? yes, there's children here. There's my children.\"\n\n\"Do they go to school?\"\n\n\"Has somebody been stealin' something, and you want to know if it's my\nchildren have done it?\" said the woman. \"'Cos they don't go to no\nschool that _you_ ever see.\"\n\n\"I did not mean any such thing,\" said Maria, quite taken aback.\n\n\"Well, what _did_ you mean?\" the woman asked sharply.\n\n\"We want to see the children,\" Matilda put in. \"May we come in and get\nwarm, if you please?\"\n\nThe woman still held the door in her hand, and looked at the last\nspeaker from head to foot; then half reluctantly opened the door.\n\n\"I don't know as it'll hurt you to come in,\" she said; \"but it won't do\nyou much good; the place is all in a clutter, and it always is. Come\nalong in, if you want to! and shut the door; 'tain't so warm here\nyou'll need the wind in to help you. Want the children, did you say?\nwhat do you want of 'em?\"\n\nMatilda thought privately that the wind would have been a good\ncompanion after all; no sooner was the door shut, than all remembrance\nof fresh air faded away. An inexpressible atmosphere filled the house,\nin which frying fat, smoke, soapsuds, and the odour of old garments,\nmingled and combined in proportions known to none but such\ndwelling-places. Yet it was not as bad as it might have been, by many\ndegrees; the house was a little frame house, open at the joints; and it\nstood in the midst of heaven's free air; all the winds that came from\nthe mountains and the river swept over and around it, came down the\nchimney sometimes, and breathed blessed breaths through every opening\ndoor and shackling window-frame. But to Matilda it seemed as bad as\ncould be. So it seemed to her eyes too. Nothing clean; nothing\ncomfortable; nothing in order; scraps of dinner on the floor; scraps of\nwork under the table; a dirty cat in the corner by the stove; a wash\ntub occupying the other corner. The woman had her sleeves rolled up,\nand now plunged her arms into the tub again.\n\n\"You can put in a stick of wood, if you want to,\" she said; \"I guess\nthe fire's got down. What did you come here for, hey? I hain't heard\nthat yet, and I'm in a takin' to find out.\"\n\n\"We thought maybe your children might like to go to Sunday-School,\"\nsaid Maria, with a great deal of trepidation; \"and we just came to ask\nthem. That's all.\"\n\n\"How did ye know but they went already?\" the woman asked, looking at\nMaria from the corner of her eye.\n\n\"I didn't know. I just came to ask them.\"\n\n\"Well, I just advise you not to mix yourself with people's affairs till\nyou _do_ know a little about 'em. What business is it o' yourn, eh,\nwhether my children goes to Sunday-School? Sunday-School! what a poke\nit is!\"\n\n\"They did not come to _our_ Sunday-School,\" said Matilda, for her\nsister was nonplussed; \"and we would like to have them come; unless\nthey were going somewhere else.\"\n\n\"They may speak for themselves,\" said Mrs. Dow; and she opened an inner\ndoor, and called in a shrill\nvoice--\"Araminty!--Jemimy!--Alexander!--come right along down, and if\nye don't I'll whip ye.\"\n\nShe went back to her washing-tub, and Maria and Matilda looked to see\nthree depressed specimens of young human life appear at that inner\ndoor; but first tumbled down and burst in a sturdy, rugged young rascal\nof some eight or nine years; and after him a girl a little older, with\nthe blackest of black eyes and hair, the latter hanging straight over\nher face and ears. The eyes of both fastened upon their strange\nvisitors, and seemed as if they would move no more.\n\n\"Them girls is come to get you to their Sunday-School,\" said the\nmother. \"Don't you want for to go?\"\n\nNo answer, and no move of the black eyes. Matilda certainly thought\nthey looked as if they feared the lifting of no mortal hand, their\nmother's or any other.\n\n\"Would you like to go to Sunday-School?\" inquired Maria politely,\ndriven to speak by the necessities of the silence. But she might as\nwell have asked Mrs. Dow's wash-tub. The mother laughed a little to\nherself.\n\n\"Guess you might as well go along back the road ye come!\" she said.\n\"You won't get my Araminty Jemimy into no Sunday-School o' yourn this\ntime. Maybe when she's growed older and wiser-like, she'll come and see\nyou. She don' know what a Sunday-School's like. She thinks it's some\nsort of a trap.\"\n\n\"I ain't afraid!\" spoke out black eyes.\n\n\"I didn't say you was,\" said her mother. \"I might ha' said you was\ncunnin' enough to keep your foot out of it.\"\n\n\"It is not a trap,\" said Matilda, boldly. \"It is a pleasant place,\nwhere we sing, and learn nice things.\"\n\n\"My children don't want to learn none o' your nice things,\" said the\nwoman. \"I can teach 'em to home.\"\n\n\"But you don't!\" said black eyes. \"You don't _never_ learn us\n_nothing!_\"\n\nThere was not the slightest sweet desire of learning evidenced in this\nspeech. It breathed nothing but defiance.\n\n\"Alexander, won't _you_ come?\" said Matilda, timidly, as her sister\nmoved to the door. For Maria's courage gave out. But at that question\nthe young urchin addressed set up a roar of hoarse laughter, throwing\nhimself down and rolling over on the floor. His mother shoved him out\nof her way with a push that was very like a kick, and his sister,\nseizing a wringing wet piece of clothes from the wash-tub, dropped it\nspitefully on his head. There was promise of a fight; and Matilda and\nMaria hurried out. They hastened their steps through the garden, and\neven out in the high road they ran a little to get away from Mrs. Dow's\nneighbourhood.\n\n\"Well!\" said Maria, \"what do you think now, Tilly? I hope you have got\nenough for once of this kind of thing. I promise you I have.\"\n\n\"Hush!\" said Matilda. \"Some one is calling.\"\n\nThey stopped and turned. A shout was certainly sent after them from the\ngate they had quitted--\"Girls, hollo!--Sunday-School girls, hollo!\"\n\n\"Do you hear?\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Sunday-School girls!--come back!\"\n\n\"What can they want?\" said Maria.\n\n\"We must go see,\" said Matilda.\n\nSo they went towards the gate again. By the gate they could soon see\nthe shock head of Alexander; he had got rid of the wash-tub and his\nmother and his sister--all three; and he was waiting there to speak to\nthem. The girls hurried up again till they confronted his grinning face\non the other side of the gate.\n\n\"What do you want?\" said Maria. \"What do you call us back for?\"\n\n\"I didn't call you,\" said the boy.\n\n\"Yes, you did; you called us back; and we have come back all this way.\nWhat do you want to say?\"\n\nAlexander's face was dull, even in his triumph. No sparkle or gleam of\nmischief prepared the girls for his next speech.\n\n\"I say--ain't you green!\"\n\nBut another shout of rude laughter followed it; and another roll and\ntumble, though these last were on the snow. Maria and her sister turned\nand walked away till out of hearing.\n\n\"I never heard of such horrible people!\" said Maria; \"never! And this\nis what you get, Matilda, by your dreadful going after Sunday-scholars\nand such things. I do hope you have got enough of it.\"\n\nBut Matilda only drew deep sighs, one after another, at intervals, and\nmade no reply.\n\n\"Don't you see what a goose you are?\" persisted Maria. \"Don't you see?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Matilda. \"I don't see that.\"\n\n\"Well, you might. Just look at what a time we have had, only because\nyou fancied there were two children at that house.\"\n\n\"Well, there _are_ two children.\"\n\n\"Such children!\" said Maria,\n\n\"I wish Mr. Richmond would go to see them,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"It would be no use for Mr. Richmond or anybody to go and see them,\"\nsaid Maria. \"They are too wicked.\"\n\n\"But you cannot tell beforehand,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"And so I say, Tilly, the only way is to keep out of such places. I\nhope you'll be content now.\"\n\nMatilda was hardly content; for the sighs kept coming every now and\nthen. So they went down the hill again, and over the bridge, past the\nglen and the burnt mill, and began to go up on the other side. Now\nacross the way, at the top of the bank that overhung the dell, there\nstood a house of more than common size and elegance, in the midst of\ngrounds that seemed to be carefully planted. A fine brick wall enclosed\nthese grounds on the roadside, and at the top of the hill an iron gate\ngave entrance to them.\n\n\"O Tilly,\" exclaimed Maria, \"the Lardners' gate is open. Look! Suppose\nwe go in.\"\n\n\"I should not like to go in,\" said the little one.\n\n\"Why not? There's nobody at home; they haven't come yet; and it's such\na good chance. You know, Clarissa says that people have leave to go\ninto people's great places and see them, in England, where she has\nbeen.\"\n\n\"But this is not a great place, and we have not leave,\" urged Matilda.\n\n\"Oh well, I'm going in. Come! we'll just go in for a minute. It's no\nharm. Come just for a minute.\"\n\nMatilda, however, stopped at the gate, and stood there waiting for her\nsister; while Maria stepped in cautiously and made her way as far as\nthe front of the house. Here she turned and beckoned to Matilda to join\nher; but the little one stood fast.\n\n\"What does she want of you?\" a voice asked at her elbow. Matilda\nstarted. Two ladies were there.\n\n\"She beckoned for me to go in where she is,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Well, why don't you go in?\"\n\nThe voice was kindly; the face of the lady was bending towards her\ngraciously; but who it was Matilda did not know.\n\n\"We have no leave to go in,\" she said. \"I do not like to be there.\"\n\n\"I dare say the people would let you come in, if they knew you wished\nit.\"\n\n\"They do not know,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"What a charming child!\" said the lady apart to her companion. \"My\ndear,\" she went on to Matilda, \"will you come in on my invitation? This\nis my house, and you are welcome. I shall be as glad to see you as you\nto see the place. Come!\"\n\nAnd she took Matilda's hand and led her in.\n\nJust at the crown of the bank the house stood, and from here the view\nwas very lovely, even now in winter. Over the wide river, which lay\nfull in view with its ice covering, to the opposite shores and the\nmagnificent range of mountains, which, from Matilda's window at home,\nshe could just see in a little bit. The full range lay here before the\neye, white with snow, coloured and brightened by the sinking sun, which\nthrew wonderful lights across them, and revealed beautiful depths and\nshadows. Still, cold, high, far-off; their calm majesty held Matilda's\neye.\n\n\"Are you looking at the mountains?\" said the lady. \"Yes, now come in\nand you shall look at my flowers. Your sister may come too,\" she added,\nnodding kindly to Maria; but she kept Matilda's hand, and so led her\nfirst upon the piazza, which was a single step above the ground, then\ninto the hall. An octagon hall, paved with marble, and with large white\nstatues holding post around its walls, and a vase of flowers on the\nbalustrade at the foot of the staircase. But those were not the flowers\nthe lady had meant; she passed on to one of the inner rooms, and from\nthat to another, and finally into a pretty greenhouse, with glass\nwindows looking out to the mountains and the river, filled on this side\nof the windows with tropical bloom. While the girls gazed in wonder,\nthe lady stepped back into the room they had left, and threw off her\nwrappings. When she came again to the girls in the greenhouse, they\nhardly knew which to look at, her or the flowers; her dress and whole\nappearance were so unlike anything they had ever seen.\n\n\"Which do you like best?\" she said. \"The roses, you know, of course;\nthese are camellias,--and these--and these red ones too; all camellias.\nThese are myrtle; these are heath; these are geraniums--all those are\ngeraniums. This is Eupatorium--those, yes, those are azaleas, and\nthose,--and all those. Yes, all azaleas. You like them? This is\nbigonia. What do you like best?\"\n\nIt was a long while before Matilda could divide and define her\nadmiration enough to tell what she liked best. Carnations and heath\nwere found at last to have her best favour. The lady cut a bouquet for\nher with plenty of carnations and heath, but a variety of other beauty\ntoo; then led the girls into the other room and offered them some rich\ncake and a glass of what Matilda supposed to be wine. She took the cake\nand refused the cordial.\n\n\"It is very sweet,\" said the lady. \"You will not dislike it; and it\nwill warm you, this cold afternoon.\"\n\n\"I may not drink wine, ma'am, thank you,\" Matilda answered.\n\n\"It is not wine. Does it make you sick, my dear? Are you afraid to try\nit? Your sister is not afraid. I think it will do you good.\"\n\nBeing thus reassured, Matilda put the glass to her lips, but\nimmediately set it down again.\n\n\"You do not like it?\" said the lady.\n\n\"I like it; but--it is strong?\" said Matilda, inquiringly.\n\n\"Why, yes, it would not be good for anything if it were not strong.\nNever mind that--if you like it. The glass does not hold but a\nthimbleful, and a thimbleful will not hurt you. Why, why not, my dear?\"\n\nMatilda looked up, and coloured and hesitated.\n\n\"I have promised not,\" she said.\n\n\"So solemnly?\" said the lady, laughing. \"Is it your mother you have\npromised?\"\n\n\"No, ma'am.\"\n\n\"Not your mother? You have a mother?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, ma'am.\"\n\n\"Would she have any objection?\"\n\n\"No, ma'am--I believe not.\"\n\n\"Then whom have you made your promise to? Is it a religious scruple\nthat some one has taught you?\"\n\n\"I have promised to do all I could for helping temperance work,\"\nMatilda said at last.\n\nShe was answered with a little ringing laugh, not unkindly but amused;\nand then her friend said gravely--\n\n\"Your taking a glass of cordial in this house would not affect anything\nor anybody, little one. It would do _me_ no harm. I drink a glass of\nwine every day with my dinner. I shall go on doing it just the same. It\nwill not make a bit of difference to me, whether you take your cordial\nor not.\"\n\nBut Matilda looked at the lady, and did not look at her glass.\n\n\"Do you think it will?\" said the lady, laughing.\n\n\"No, ma'am.\"\n\n\"Then your promise to help temperance work does not touch the cordial.\"\n\n\"No ma'am, but----\"\n\n\"But?--what 'but'?\"\n\n\"It touches me.\"\n\n\"Does it?\" said the lady. \"That is odd. You think a promise is a\npromise. Here is your sister taking her cordial; she has not made the\nsame promise, I suppose?\"\n\nMaria and Matilda glanced at each other.\n\n\"She has?\" cried the lady. \"Yet you see she does not think as you do\nabout it.\"\n\nThe sisters did not look into each other's eyes again. Their friend\nwatched them both.\n\n\"I should like to know whom you have made such a promise to,\" she said\ncoaxingly to Matilda. \"Somebody that you love well enough to make you\nkeep it. Won't you tell me? It is not your mother, you said. To whom\ndid you make that promise, dear?\"\n\nMatilda hesitated and looked up into the lady's face again.\n\n\"I promised--the Lord Jesus,\" she said.\n\n\"Good patience! she's religious!\" the lady exclaimed, with a change\ncoming over her face; Matilda could not tell what it was, only it did\nnot look like displeasure. But she was graver than before, and she\npressed the cordial no more; and at parting she told Matilda she must\ncertainly come and see her again, and she should always have a bunch of\nflowers to pay her. So the girls went home, saying nothing at all to\neach other by the way.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nIt was tea-time at home by the time they got there. All during the\nmeal, Maria held forth upon the adventures of the afternoon, especially\nthe last.\n\n\"Mamma, those people are somebody,\" she concluded.\n\n\"I hope I am somebody,\" said Mrs. Englefield.\n\n\"Oh but you know what I mean, mamma.\"\n\n\"I am not clear that I do.\"\n\n\"And I, Maria,--am I not somebody?\" her aunt asked.\n\n\"Well, we're all _somebody_, of course, in one sense. Of course we're\nnot _nobody_.\"\n\n\"I am not so sure what you think about it,\" said Mrs. Candy. \"I think\nthat in your language, who isn't somebody is nobody.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, we're _somebody_,\" said Maria. \"But if you could see the\nsplendid bunch of jewels that hung at Mrs. Laval's breast, you would\nknow I say the truth.\"\n\n\"Now we are getting at Maria's meaning,\" observed Clarissa.\n\n\"I have no bunch of jewels hanging at my breast,\" said Mrs. Englefield;\n\"if _that_ is what she means by 'somebody.'\"\n\n\"How large a bunch was it, Maria?\" her aunt asked.\n\n\"And is it certain that Maria's eyes could tell the true from the\nfalse, in such a matter as a bunch of jewellery?\" suggested Clarissa.\n\"They have not had a great deal of experience.\"\n\nMaria fired up. \"I just wish you could see them for yourself!\" she\nsaid. \"False jewels, indeed! They sparkle like flashes of lightning.\nAll glittering and flashing, red and white. I never saw anything so\nbeautiful in all my life. And if you saw the rest of the dress, you\nwould know that they couldn't be false jewels.\"\n\n\"What sort of a face had she?\"\n\n\"I don't know,--handsome.\"\n\n\"The bunch of jewels dazzled Maria's eyes,\" said Clarissa, sipping her\ntea.\n\n\"No, not handsome, Maria,\" Matilda said.\n\n\"Well, not handsome exactly, but pleasant. She had curls, and lightish\nhair; but her dress was so handsome, it made her look handsome. She\ntook a _terrible_ fancy to Matilda.\"\n\n\"Matilda is the youngest,\" said her mother.\n\n\"It was thanks to Matilda we got into the house at all; and Matilda had\nthe flowers. Nobody spoke of giving me any flowers.\"\n\n\"Well, you know you do not care for them,\" interposed Matilda.\n\n\"Mamma, those people are somebody--I can tell you!\"\n\n\"You speak as if there were nobody else in Shadywalk, Maria, that is\nanybody.\"\n\n\"Well, Aunt Candy, I don't know any people like these.\"\n\n\"Maria, you talk nonsense,\" said her mother.\n\n\"Mamma, it is just what Aunt Erminia would say herself, if she knew the\npeople.\"\n\n\"What makes anybody 'somebody,' I should like to know? and what do you\nmean by it? Am I nobody, because I cannot wear red and white jewels at\nmy throat?\"\n\n\"It wasn't at her throat at all, mamma; it was just here--on her waist.\"\n\n\"A _bouquet de corsage_,\" said Clarissa. \"The _waist_, as you call it,\nis at the belt.\"\n\n\"Well, I am not a mantua-maker,\" said Maria.\n\n\"No more than we are somebody,\" said Mrs. Candy.\n\n\"Well, you know what I mean,\" said Maria; \"and you all think exactly\nthe same. There is nobody else in Shadywalk that dresses so, or that\nhas such flowers, or that has such a house.\"\n\n\"Who are they, these people that she talks of?\" Mrs. Candy asked.\n\n\"They have lately bought the place. I know nothing about them. They\nwere here for a little while in the summer; but only to turn everything\nupside down in the house and grounds, and make changes. I cannot\nimagine what has brought them here, to the country, in the depth of\nwinter. They had nothing to do with anybody in Shadywalk, that I know\nof. Perhaps they will, now they have got in order. I believe they have\nlived out of America a good deal.\"\n\n\"Is that what you mean by 'somebody,' Maria?\" her aunt asked. \"Perhaps\nI am 'somebody,' according to that.\"\n\nMaria's thoughts would not bear to be spoken, it seemed, for she did\nnot speak them; and it must be a strong reason that kept Maria's\nopinions to herself. However, the family found something else to talk\nabout, and Mrs. Laval was not mentioned again till Maria and Matilda\nwent up to bed. Then Matilda had something to say.\n\n\"Maria,\" she began with judicial gravity, \"what was that Mrs. Laval\ngave us to drink?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Maria; \"but it was the best thing I ever tasted in\nall my life. It was some sort of wine, I guess; it was strong enough.\nBut it was sweet; oh, it was nice!\"\n\n\"And you drank it!\"\n\n\"I guess I did! I only wished there was more of it.\"\n\n\"But, Maria!----\"\n\n\"Well, what, 'Maria'?\"\n\n\"You promised, Maria, that you would do all you could for temperance\nwork.\"\n\n\"What then? I could not do anything for temperance there, child. As\nMrs. Laval said.\"\n\n\"You needn't have drunk the wine.\"\n\n\"Why shouldn't I? Mrs. Laval gave it to me; I couldn't be rude.\"\n\n\"But that is not keeping your promise.\"\n\n\"I made no promise about it. I could do nothing in the world for\ntemperance _there_, Tilly. What would Mrs. Laval care for anything _I_\nshould say?\"\n\n\"But, Maria!\" said her little sister, looking puzzled and troubled at\nonce--\"you cannot drink wine in one place, and try to hinder people\nfrom drinking it in another place.\"\n\n\"Why can't I? It all depends on the place, Tilly, and the people.\"\n\n\"And the wine, I suppose,\" said Matilda, severely.\n\n\"Yes!\" said Maria, boldly, \"I dare say, if all wine was like that, Mr.\nRichmond would have no objection to it.\"\n\n\"I don't see, Maria,\" said her sister, \"what you made those promises\nfor the other night. I think you ought not to have got up at all; it\nwas the same as speaking; and if you do not mean to keep promises, you\nshould not make them.\"\n\n\"And what have you got to do with it?\" said Maria in her turn. \"You did\nnot stand up with the rest of us; you have no business to lecture other\npeople that are better than yourself. I am going to keep all the\npromises I ever made; but I did not engage to go poking into Mrs. Dow's\nwash kitchen, nor to be rude to Mrs. Laval; and I don't mean to do the\none or the other, I give you notice.\"\n\nMatilda drew another of the long breaths that had come so many times\nthat afternoon, and presently remarked that she was glad the next\nmeeting of the Band would come in a few days.\n\nMaria sharply inquired, \"Why?\"\n\n\"Because,\" said Matilda, \"I hope Mr. Richmond will talk to us. I don't\nunderstand about things.\"\n\n\"Of course you don't!\" said Maria; \"and if I were you I would not be so\nwise, till I did 'understand.'\"\n\nMatilda got into bed, and Maria sat down to finish putting the braid on\nher dress.\n\n\"Tilly, what are you going to get with your twenty-five dollars?\"\n\n\"I don't know yet.\"\n\n\"I don't know whether I shall get a watch, or a dress, like Anne; or\nsomething else. What would you?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"What _are_ you going to get with your money, Matilda?\"\n\n\"I can't tell, Maria. I know what I am going to do with part; but I\ndon't know what I am going to do with the other part.\"\n\nMaria could get no more from her.\n\nNothing new happened in the family before the evening came for what\nMaria called the \"Band meeting.\" Matilda went about between home and\nthe school extremely quiet and demure, and reserved rather more than\nordinary; but reserve was Matilda's way. Only Maria knew, and it\nirritated her, that her little sister was careful to lock herself up\nalone with her Bible, or rather with somebody else's Bible, for Matilda\nhad none of her own, for a good long time every morning and evening.\nMaria thought sometimes she knew of her doing the same thing at the\nnoon recess. She said nothing, but she watched. And her watching made\nher certain of it. Matilda unlocked her door and came out always with a\nface of quiet seriousness and a spirit in armour. Maria could not\nprovoke her (and she tried); nor could any other temptations or\ndifficulties, that she could see, shake a certain steady gentleness\nwith which Matilda went through them. Matilda was never a passionate\nchild, but she had been pleasure-loving and wayward. That was changing\nnow; and Matilda was giving earnest care to her school-work.\n\nThe desired evening for the \"Band meeting\" came, and the young people\nall went duly to the lecture-room; though Maria reminded her sisters\nthat they did not belong there. Letitia and Anne chose to go in spite\nof that fact. The room, though not full, was filled towards the upper\nend; so the party were divided, and it happened that Matilda placed\nherself apart from her sisters, in the front, at the end of a seat near\nto Mr. Richmond. He was there already, standing by the little desk.\n\nAfter the prayer and singing, Mr. Richmond declared that they were come\ntogether for a talk; and he meant to make it a talk. He should ask\nquestions when he chose, and everybody else might exercise the same\nliberty.\n\n\"We are going to try to understand things,\" he said; \"and by that\nsomewhat vague expression I mean things connected with our covenant\nthat we have made, and the work we have undertaken. Our covenant begins\nwith the words, 'We are the servants of Christ.' Let us know exactly\nwhat we mean. What is it to be a servant of Christ? What is a servant,\nin the first place?\"\n\nThere was hesitation; then an answer from somewhere,--\"He is somebody\nwho does what he is told.\"\n\n\"That would be a good servant,\" said Mr. Richmond, smiling; \"but it\nwill do. He is one who acts under the will of another, doing the work\nof another. A servant of Christ--what does he do?--and how does he do\nit?\"\n\nThere was no answer this time.\n\n\"Let us look,\" said Mr. Richmond. \"In the first verse of the first\nchapter of his Epistle to the Romans, Paul calls himself a servant of\nJesus Christ; and in the ninth verse he says that he serves 'with his\nspirit.' Here is a mark. The service of Christ, you see, is in the\nfirst instance, not outward but inward. Not hand work, nor lip work,\nnor money giving; but service _in the spirit_. What is that?\n\n\"It is having your will the same with God's will.\n\n\"So now look and see. We all pledged ourselves the other night to do a\ngreat many sorts of outward service; good in themselves, and right and\nneedful to do. But the first question is, Are we ourselves the servants\nof Christ? Do we in heart love and obey and agree to His will? If we\nare not doing that, or trying to do it, our other service is no service\nat all. It is a lie, and no service at all. Or it is service of\nourselves.\"\n\nMr. Richmond paused a little.\n\n\"I have no reason to think that any of you did not mean true service,\nwhen the pledge was given the other night. So now let us see how this\ntrue service shows itself.\n\n\"Jesus said, you remember, 'If any man serve me, let him follow me.'\nAll we have to ask is, How did the Lord himself walk, that we should\nfollow Him? I recommend you to study the story of His life very\ncarefully and very constantly, and be continually getting new lessons\nfrom it. But now let us look just at one or two points.\n\n\"Jesus said, 'As long as I am in the world, I am the Light of the\nworld.' Has he commanded us to be anything like that?\"\n\nOne of the boys answered, \"Let your light so shine before men, that\nthey may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in\nheaven.\"\n\n\"How can our light shine?\"\n\n\"Doing good,\" another boy answered.\n\n\"Being good,\" said one of the girls.\n\n\"Very well; but what is there in doing and being good which has any\nresemblance to light? What does light do?\"\n\n\"It shows things,\" a boy said.\n\n\"There's no darkness where the light comes,\" said a little girl.\n\n\"Quite true; but how does our doing good and being good, 'show things'?\nWhat does it show?\"\n\nAfter a little hesitation a voice replied, \"It shows what is right.\"\n\n\"It shows what people ought to do,\" a boy said.\n\n\"It shows what is the will of God about us,\" said Mr. Richmond; \"and\nthe more exactly we are obedient to that will and conformed to it, the\nmore brightly do we give light. And do you see? our light-giving\ndepends on what we _are_. We give no light, except just so far as we\nare ourselves what God wills us to be. And then it shines out in all\nsorts of ways. I knew a little girl whose eyes were like two pure\nlamps, always; they were so loving and clear and true. I have known\nseveral people whose voices gave light as much as harmony; they were so\nsweet with the tones of a glad heart and a conscience at peace. I have\nseen faces that shone, almost like angel faces, with the love of God\nand the joy of heaven and the love of their fellow-men. Now this is the\nfirst thing the Lord calls us to be in His service--His light-bearers.\nThe light comes from Him; we must get it from Him; and then we must\nshine! And of course our actions give light too, if they are obedient\nto the will of God. A boy who keeps the Sabbath holy is almost as good\nas a sermon to a boy who doesn't. One who refuses to touch the offered\nglass of wine, shows the light to another who drinks it. A loving\nanswer shames a harsh spirit; and a child faithful to her duties at\nschool is a beacon of truth to her fellows.\n\n\"There is one thing more; and then I will talk to you no longer this\nevening. Jesus said, 'The Son of man is come to seek and to save that\nwhich is lost.' His servants must follow Him. Now, how much are you\nwilling to do,--how far are you willing to go,--to accomplish what He\ncame, and lived, and died for? and how will you set about it?\"\n\nThere was a long silence here; until Mr. Richmond urged that an answer\nshould be given. Then at last somebody suggested--\n\n\"Bringing new scholars to school?\"\n\n\"That is one thing to be done, certainly; and a very good thing. What\nelse can we attempt? Remember,--it is to seek and to save the _lost!_\"\n\n\"We might carry tracts,\" another suggested.\n\n\"You might; and if they are good tracts, and given with a kind word,\nand followed with a loving prayer, they will not be carried in vain.\nBut to whom will you take them, Frank?\"\n\n\"Might take them to the boys in the school,\" Frank thought.\n\n\"Where else?\"\n\n\"Might drop 'era around the corner,\" Mrs. Rice said.\n\n\"Don't _drop_ them anywhere, where it is possible to give them,\" Mr.\nRichmond replied. \"Do not ever be, or seem, ashamed of your wares. Give\nlovingly to almost anybody, and the gift will not be refused, if you\nchoose the time and place wisely. Take people when they are alone, as\nmuch as you can. But the _lost_, remember. Who are the lost?\"\n\nSilence; then a voice spoke--\n\n\"People who don't come to church.\"\n\n\"It is a bad sign when people do not come to church,\" said Mr.\nRichmond. \"Still we may not make that an absolute test. Some people are\nsick and unable to come; some are deaf and unable to hear if they did\ncome; some are so poor they have not decent clothes. Some live where\nthere are no churches. Who are the _lost?_\"\n\n\"People who are not going to heaven,\" one little girl answered.\n\n\"People who are not good,\" another said.\n\n\"People who swear,\" said a boy.\n\n\"Those people who do not love Jesus Christ,\" was the answer of the\nfourth.\n\n\"That sums it all up,\" said Mr. Richmond. \"Those who do not know the\nLord Jesus. They are out of the way to heaven; they have never trusted\nin His blood for forgiveness; they are not good, for they have not got\nHis help to make them good; and if they do not swear and do other\ndreadful things, it is only because the temptation is wanting. They are\nthe lost. Now, does not every one of you know some friend or\nacquaintance who is a lost one? some brother or sister perhaps; or\nmother or father, or cousin or neighbour, who does not love Jesus the\nLord? Those are the very first people for us to seek. Then, outside of\nthose nearest ones, there is a whole world lost. Let us go after all,\nbut especially those who have few to look after them.\"\n\n\"It is harder to speak to those you know, than to those you don't\nknow,\" Mrs. Trembleton said.\n\n\"No matter. Jesus said, 'He that taketh not his cross and followeth\nafter me, cannot be my disciple.' Let us go to the hardest cases.\"\n\n\"Are not tracts best to use with them?\" Mrs. Swan asked.\n\n\"Use tracts or not, according to circumstances. Your own voice is often\nbetter than a tract, if it has the right ring to it. When\n\n  ''Tis joy, not duty,\n  To speak His beauty.'\n\nSpeak _that_ as often and wherever you can. And 'whatsoever thy hand\nfindeth to do, do it with thy might.' Now I have done asking questions,\nand you may ask me whatever you like. It is your turn.\"\n\nMr. Richmond sat down.\n\nBut the silence was unbroken.\n\n\"I am here to answer questions, remember. Has no one anything to ask?\nHas no one found any difficulty to be met, and he does not know just\nhow to meet it? Has no one found something to be done, and he does not\nknow just who is to do it? Speak, and tell everything. Now is the time.\"\n\nSilence again, and then a little boy said--\n\n\"I have found a feller that would like, I guess, to come to\nSunday-School; but his toes is out o' his shoes.\"\n\n\"Cannot he get another pair?\" Mr. Richmond asked gravely.\n\n\"I guess not, sir.\"\n\n\"Then it is a case for the 'Aid and Comfort' committee,\" said Mr.\nRichmond. \"Who is the head of your department? Who is chief of those\nwho are looking up new scholars?\"\n\n\"John Depeyster.\"\n\n\"Very well. Tell John Depeyster all about your little boy and his toes,\nand John will go to the head of the relief committee--that is, Miss\nForshew--and she will see about it. Very well, Everett; you have made a\ngood beginning. Who is next?\"\n\n\"I would like to know,\" said Miss Forshew, in a small voice, \"where the\nrelief committee are to get supplies from? If new shoes are to be\nbought, there must be funds.\"\n\n\"That is the very thing the relief committee undertook, I thought,\"\nsaid Mr. Richmond. \"Must there be some scheme to relieve _them_ first?\nYour business abilities can manage that, Miss Forshew, or I am mistaken\nin them. But, dear friends, we are not going to serve Christ with that\nwhich costs us nothing--are we?\"\n\n\"Mr. Richmond,\" said Ailie Swan, \"may temperance people drink cider?\"\n\nThe laughter was universal now.\n\n\"Because,\" said Ailie, unabashed, \"I was talking to a boy about\ndrinking it; and he said cider was nothing.\"\n\n\"I have seen _some_ cider which was more than negative in its effects,\"\nsaid Mr. Richmond. \"I think you were right Ailie. Cider is only the\njuice of apples, to be sure; but it gets so unlike itself once in a\nwhile, that it is quite safe to have nothing to do with it.\"\n\n\"Mr. Richmond,\" said another girl, \"what are you to do if people are\nrude?\"\n\n\"The Bible says, 'A soft answer turneth away wrath,' Mary.\"\n\n\"But suppose they will not listen to you?\"\n\n\"Be patient. People did not always listen to the Master, you remember.\"\n\n\"But would you try again?\"\n\n\"If I had the least chance. We must not be afraid of 'taking the wind\non our face,' as an old writer says. I would try again; and I would\npray more for them. Did you try that, Mary?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Don't ever hope to do anything without prayer. Indeed, we must look to\nGod to do all. _We_ are nothing. If anything is to be accomplished for\nthe service of Christ by our hands, it must be by God's grace working\nthrough us and with us; no other way. The power is His, always. So\nwhatever you do, pray, and hope in God, not in yourself.\"\n\n\"Mr. Richmond,\" said Frances Barth, \"I do not understand about\n'carrying the message.' What does it mean?\"\n\n\"You know what the message is? We are commanded to preach the gospel to\nevery creature.\"\n\n\"But how can we do it?--people who are not ministers?\"\n\n\"It is not necessary to get up into a pulpit to preach the gospel.\"\n\n\"No, sir; but--any way, how is one to 'carry the message'?\"\n\n\"First, I would say, be sure that you have a message to carry.\"\n\n\"I thought you just said, Mr. Richmond, that the gospel is the\nmessage?\" said Mrs. Trembleton.\n\n\"It is the material of the message; but you know it must be very\ndifferently presented to different people.\"\n\n\"I know; but how can you tell?\"\n\n\"As I said, be sure that you have a message to carry. Let your heart be\nfull of some thought, or some truth, which you long to tell to another\nperson, or long that another person should know. Then ask the Lord to\ngive you the right word for that person; and ask Him to let His power\ngo along with it.\"\n\n\"Then one's own heart must be full first,\" said another lady, Mrs.\nBarth, thoughtfully.\n\n\"It should be. And it may be.\"\n\n\"One has so little time to give to these things,\" said Mrs. Trembleton.\n\n\"Shall we serve the Lord with that which costs us nothing?\" again said\nMr. Richmond. But he did not prolong the conversation after that. He\ngave out a hymn and dismissed the assembly.\n\nMatilda being quite in the front, was some distance behind her sisters\nin coming out. As she passed slowly down the aisle, she came near two\nof her little acquaintances in one of the seats, who were busily\ntalking.\n\n\"It would be so nice!\" she heard the one say to the other.\n\n\"Where shall we do it?\"\n\n\"There's no place at our house.\"\n\n\"No more there isn't at mine. There are so many people about all over.\nWhere can we go?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you. Mr. Ulshoeffer has this place nice and warm long before\nSunday-School time, on Sundays; let us come here. We could come awhile\nbefore the time, you know; and it would be so nice. Nobody would\ninterrupt us. Oh, there's Matilda Englefield--Matilda, won't you come\ntoo? Oh, I forgot; you are not one of the Band.\"\n\n\"Yes, I am,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Why, you didn't rise the other night when we all rose. I looked over\nat you to see.\"\n\n\"I gave Mr. Richmond my name afterwards.\"\n\n\"Oh, did you! oh, that's good. Now, Matilda, wouldn't you like to come\nwith Mary and me?\"\n\n\"What are you going to do?\"\n\n\"Why, Mary said she would like to begin and read the Life of Jesus, you\nknow, to see how He did live; if we are to follow Him, you know; and I\nsaid I would like it too; and we're going to do it together. And we're\ncoming here Sundays, before time for Sunday-School, to have a good\nquiet place where nobody can trouble us. Don't you want to come too,\nMatilda?\"\n\n\"Yes. But other people will find it out and come too.\"\n\n\"We'll lock the door; till it is time for the people to come to\nSunday-School, you know.\"\n\n\"But I don't believe _we_ can get in, Ailie,\" said Mary Edwards. \"I\nguess Mr. Ulshoeffer keeps the door locked himself.\"\n\n\"I know he does; but I know Regina Ulshoeffer, and she'll get leave for\nus and get the key. I know she will. Then we'll come, won't we?\nGood-night! Bring your Testament, Tilly!\"\n\nThe little group scattered at the lecture-room door, and Matilda ran\nafter her party. They were far ahead; and when she caught up with them\nthey were deep in eager talk, which was almost altercation. Matilda\nfell behind and kept out of it and out of hearing of it, till they got\nhome.\n\n\"Well!\" said Mrs. Candy, as they entered the parlour, \"what now? You do\nnot look harmonious, considering. What have you had to-night?\"\n\n\"An impossible sort of enthusiasm, mamma,\" said Clarissa, as she drew\noff her handsome furs.\n\n\"Impossible enthusiasm!\" repeated Mrs. Candy.\n\n\"What has Mr. Richmond been talking about?\" asked Mrs. Englefield.\n\n\"Why, mamma,\" said Letitia, \"we are all to spend our lives in feeding\nsick people, and clothing lazy people, and running after the society of\nwicked people, as far as I can make out; and our money of course goes\non the same plan. I advise you to look after Maria and Matilda, for\nthey are just wise enough to think it's all right; and they will be\ncarrying it into practice before you know where you are.\"\n\n\"It is not so at all!\" began Maria, indignantly. \"It is nothing like\nthat, mamma. You know Mr. Richmond better.\"\n\n\"I think I know you better, too. Look where your study books were\nthrown down to-day when you came from school. Take them away, before\nyou do anything else or say anything more.\"\n\nMaria obeyed with a gloomy face.\n\n\"Do you approve of Mr. Richmond, Aunt Marianne?\" Clarissa asked. \"If\nso, I will say no more; but I was astonished to-night. I thought he was\na man of sense.\"\n\n\"He _is_ a man of sense,\" said Mrs. Englefield; \"but I always thought\nhe carried his notions rather far.\"\n\n\"Why, aunt, he would make missionaries and colporteurs and sisters of\ncharity of us all. Sisters of charity are a magnificent institution, of\ncourse; but what would become of the world if we were _all_ sisters of\ncharity? And the idea! that everybody is to spend his whole time and\nall his means in looking up vagrants and nursing fever cases! I never\nheard anything like it in my life. That, and doing the work of\ntravelling Methodists!\"\n\n\"I wonder what the ministry is good for,\" said Mrs. Candy, \"if\neverybody is to do the same work.\"\n\n\"I do not understand it,\" said Mrs. Englefield. \"I was not brought up\nto these extreme theories myself; and I do not intend that my children\nshall be.\"\n\n\"But, mamma,\" said Maria, re-entering, \"Mr. Richmond does not go into\nextreme theories.\"\n\n\"Did you eat an apple after dinner?\" said her mother.\n\n\"Yes, ma'am.\"\n\n\"You ate it up here, instead of in the dining-room?\"\n\n\"Why, mamma, you know we often----\"\n\n\"Answer me. You ate it up here?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What did you do with the core and the peel?\"\n\n\"Mamma, I--you know I had no knife----\"\n\n\"What did you do with it?\"\n\nNo answer, except that Maria's cheeks grew bright.\n\n\"You know what you did with it, I suppose. Now bring it to me, Maria.\"\n\nColouring angrily as well as confusedly, Maria went to the mantelpiece\nwhere stood two little china vases, and took down one of them.\n\n\"Carry it to your Aunt Candy,\" said her mother. \"Look at it, Erminia.\nNow bring it here. Take this vase away, and empty it, and wash it, and\nput it in its place again; and never use it to put apple peels in, as\nlong as you live.\"\n\nMaria burst into tears and went away with the vase.\n\n\"Just a little careless,\" said her aunt.\n\n\"Heedless--always was,\" said her mother. \"Now Matilda is not so; and\nAnne and Letitia were neither of them so. It is a mystery to me, what\nmakes one child so different from another child?\"\n\n\"Matilda is a little piece of thoughtfulness,\" said her aunt, drawing\nthe child to her side and kissing her. \"Don't you think a little too\nmuch, Tilly?\"\n\nMatilda wondered whether her aunt thought quite enough.\n\n\"Now, Maria,\" Mrs. Englefield went on as her other daughter came in,\n\"are you purposing to enter into all Mr. Richmond's plans that Clarissa\nhas been talking about?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am, of course,\" Maria said.\n\n\"Well, I want you to take notice, that I expect in the first place that\nall your home and school duties shall be perfectly performed. Religion,\nif it is good for anything, makes people do their duties. Your lessons\nmust be perfect; your drawers kept in order; your clothes mended; you\nmust be punctual at school and orderly at home; do you hear? And if all\nthis is not done, I shall take all your pretended religion for nothing\nbut a sham, and shall pay no respect to it at all. Now go to bed and\nact religion for a month before I hear you talk another word about it.\"\n\nMaria went silently up-stairs, accompanied by her little sister; but\nonce in their room, she broke out--\n\n\"Mamma is real cross to-night! It is just Clarissa's doing.\"\n\n\"I'll tell you what it is, Maria,\" her sister said; \"she is not cross;\nshe is worried. I know she is worried.\"\n\n\"About Mr. Richmond?\" said Maria.\n\n\"I don't know about what. No, I guess she was worried before we came\nback.\"\n\n\"She was cross anyhow!\" said Maria. \"How can one do everything\n_perfectly?_\"\n\n\"But that is just what Mr. Richmond said,\" Matilda urged gently.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"That we should be light-bearers, you know. That is the way to be a\nlight-bearer; to do everything perfectly.\"\n\n\"Well, you may, if you can,\" said Maria. \"I can't.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\n\"Tilly, that money burns my pocket,\" Maria said the next morning.\n\n\"Then you had better put it somewhere else.\"\n\n\"I suppose you think that is smart,\" said Maria, \"but it isn't; for\nthat is just what I mean to do. I mean to spend it, somehow.\"\n\n\"What for?\"\n\n\"That's just what I don't know. There are so many things I want; and I\ndo not know what I want most. I have a good mind to buy a writing-desk,\nfor one thing.\"\n\n\"Why, you have got one already.\"\n\n\"I mean a handsome one--a real beauty, large, you know, and with\neverything in it. That lock of mine isn't good. Anybody could open it.\"\n\n\"But there is nobody to do that,\" said Matilda. \"Nobody comes here but\nyou and me.\"\n\n\"That don't make any difference!\" said Maria, impatiently. \"Don't be so\nstupid. I would like to have a nice thing, anyhow. Then sometimes I\nthink I would rather have a gold chain--like Clarissa's.\"\n\n\"You could not get that for twenty-five dollars,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"Hers cost three or four times as much as that.\"\n\n\"Did it?--Well, then I guess I will have the desk, or a whole lot of\nhandsome summer dresses. I guess I will have that.\"\n\n\"Maria,\" said her little sister, facing round upon her, \"how much are\nyou going to give to the Missionary Fund?\"\n\n\"The Missionary Fund?\" said Maria.\n\n\"Yes. You promised to help that, you know.\"\n\n\"Not with my twenty-five dollars!\" said Maria, energetically. \"I think\nyou are crazy, Matilda.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because! To ask me such a question as that. Aunt Candy's present!\"\n\n\"Didn't you promise?\"\n\n\"I did not promise to give my money any more than I usually give. I put\na penny in every Sunday.\"\n\n\"Then I don't see how you are going to help the Fund,\" said Matilda. \"I\ndon't see why you promised, either.\"\n\n\"I promised, because I wanted to join the Band; and I am going to do\neverything I ought to do. I think I am just as good as you, Matilda.\"\n\nMatilda let the matter drop.\n\nIt did not appear what _she_ was going to do with her money. She always\nsaid she had not decided. Only, one day soon after the last meeting\nrecorded, Matilda was seen in one of the small bookstores of Shadywalk.\nThere was not reading enough in the village to support a bookstore\nproper; so the books crept into one corner of the apothecaries' shops,\nwith supplies of stationery to form a connecting link between them and\nthe toilet articles on the opposite counter. To one of these modest\nretreats of literature, Matilda came this day and requested to look at\nBibles. She chose one and paid for it; but she took a long time to make\nher choice; was excessively particular about the goodness of the\nbinding and the clearness of the type; detecting an incipient loose\nleaf in one that was given her to examine; and finally going away\nperfectly satisfied. She said nothing about it at home; but of course\nMaria saw the new purchase immediately.\n\n\"So you have been to get a Bible!\" she said. \"Did you get it with part\nof your twenty-five dollars?\"\n\n\"Yes. I had no other money, Maria, to get it with.\"\n\n\"I think you are very foolish. What do you want a Bible for?\"\n\n\"I had none.\"\n\n\"You could always read mine.\"\n\n\"Not always. And Maria, you know, if we are to follow Jesus, we want to\nknow very well, indeed, how He went and what He did and what He wants\nus to do; and we cannot know all that without a _great deal_ of study.\"\n\n\"I have studying enough to do already, for my part,\" said Maria.\n\n\"But you must study this.\"\n\n\"I haven't a minute of time, Matilda--not a minute.\"\n\n\"Then how will you know what to do?\"\n\n\"Just as well as you will, perhaps. I've got my map of South America to\ndo all over, from the beginning.\"\n\n\"And all the rest of the class?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then you are no worse off than the others. And Ailie Swan reads her\nBible, I know.\"\n\n\"I think I am just as good as Ailie Swan,\" said Maria, with a toss of\nher head.\n\n\"But, Maria,\" said Maria's little sister, leaning her elbows on the\ntable and looking earnestly up at her.\n\n\"Well, what?\"\n\n\"Is that the right way to talk?\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"I don't see what Ailie has to do with your being good.\"\n\n\"Nor I, I am sure,\" said Maria. \"It was you brought her up.\"\n\n\"Because, if she has time, I thought you might have time.\"\n\n\"Well, I haven't time,\" said Maria. \"It is as much as I can do, to\nstudy my lesson for Sunday-School.\"\n\n\"Then, Maria, how _can_ you know how to be good?\"\n\n\"It is no part of goodness to go preaching to other people, I would\nhave you know,\" said Maria.\n\nMatilda turned over the leaves of her new Bible lovingly, and said no\nmore. But her sister failing her, she was all the more driven to seek\nthe little meetings in the corner of the Sunday-School-room; and they\ngrew to be more and more pleasant. At home nothing seemed to be right.\nMrs. Englefield was not like herself. Anne and Letitia were gloomy and\nsilent. The air was heavy. Even Clarissa's beautiful eyes, when they\nwere slowly lifted up to look at somebody, according to her custom,\nseemed cold and distant as they were not at first. Clarissa visited\nseveral sick people and carried them nourishing things; but she looked\ncalm disapproval when Maria proclaimed that Tilly had been all up Lilac\nLane to look for a stray Sunday-School scholar. Mrs. Englefield laughed\nand did not interfere.\n\n\"I would never let a child of mine go there alone,\" said Mrs. Candy.\n\n\"There is no danger in Shadywalk,\" said Mrs. Englefield.\n\n\"You will be sorry for it, sister.\"\n\n\"Well; I am sorry for most things, sooner or later,\" said Mrs.\nEnglefield.\n\nSo weeks went by; until it came to be the end of winter, and something\nof spring was already stealing into the sunlight and softening the air;\nthat wonderful nameless \"something,\" which is nothing but a far-off\nkiss from Spring's fingers. One Sunday Mrs. Englefield had gone to bed\nwith a headache; and hastening away from the dinner-table, Matilda went\noff to her appointment. Mr. Ulshoeffer had been propitious; he let the\nlittle girls have the key on the inside of the schoolroom door; and an\nhour before it was time for the classes of the school to be gathering,\nthe three friends met at the gate and went in. They always sat in a\nfar-off corner of one of the transepts, to be as cozy as possible. They\nwere all punctual to-day, Ailie having the key of the door.\n\n\"Girls, don't you get confused sometimes, with the things you hear\npeople say?\" she asked, as she unlocked the door. \"I do; and then\nsometimes I get real worried.\"\n\n\"So do I get worried!\" Mary Edwards assented. \"And I don't know what to\nsay--that's the worst of it.\"\n\n\"Now only to-day,\" Ailie went on, as they walked up the matted aisle\nwith a delicious sense of being free and alone and confidential, \"I\nheard some one say it was no use for children to be Christians; he said\nthey didn't know their own minds, and don't know what they want, and by\nand by it will all be smoke. And when I hear such things, it affects me\ndifferently. Sometimes I get mad; and then sometimes it takes the\nstrength all out of me.\"\n\n\"But if we have the right sort of strength,\" said Matilda, \"people\ncan't take it from us, Ailie.\"\n\n\"Well, mine seems to go,\" said Ailie. \"And then I feel bad.\"\n\n\"We know what we want,\" said Mary, \"if we are children.\"\n\n\"We know our own minds,\" said Matilda. \"We _know_ we do. It is no\nmatter what people say.\"\n\n\"I wish they wouldn't say it,\" said Ailie. \"Or I wish I needn't hear\nit. But it is good to come here and read, isn't it? And I think our\ntalk helps us; don't you?\"\n\n\"It helps me,\" said Mary Edwards. \"I've got nobody at home to talk to.\"\n\n\"Let us begin, girls, or we shall not have time,\" said Matilda. \"It's\nthe fourteenth chapter.\"\n\n\"Of Luke?\" said Ailie. \"Here it is. But I don't like Luke so well as\nMatthew; do you? Well, begin.\"\n\nThey began and read on, verse by verse, until fourteen verses were\nread. There they paused.\n\n\"What does this mean?\" said Matilda, knitting her small brows.\n\n\"Isn't it right to ask our friends to tea or anything? Why, Jesus went\nto dine with this Pharisee,\" said Mary, looking up.\n\n\"Yes; but that is another thing,\" said Matilda. \"You see, we must ask\nthe people who have no friends.\"\n\n\"But why not our friends too?\"\n\n\"Perhaps it would cost too much to ask _everybody_,\" said Ailie. \"One\nwould be giving parties all the time; and they cost, I can tell you.\"\n\n\"But some people are rich enough,\" said Mary.\n\n\"Those people don't make parties for the poor, though,\" said Ailie.\n\"Catch them!\"\n\n\"But then, _can_ it mean that it is wrong to have our friends come and\nsee us?\" said Matilda.\n\n\"It cannot be wrong. Don't you remember, Martha and Mary used to have\nJesus come to their house? and they used to make suppers for Him.\"\n\n\"But _He_ was poor,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"That is different, too, from having a party, and making a great fuss,\"\nsaid Ailie.\n\n\"And _that_ is done just to pay one's debts,\" said Matilda, \"for I have\nheard mother say so. People ask her, and so she must ask people. And\nthat is what it means, girls, I guess. See, 'lest they also bid thee\nagain, and a recompense be made thee.' That isn't making a feast for\npeople that you love.\"\n\n\"Then it is wicked to ask people just that they may ask you,\" said Mary\nEdwards.\n\n\"Instead of that, we must ask people who _cannot_ ask us,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"But how queer we should be!\" said Ailie Swan. \"Just think; we should\nnot be like anybody else. And what should we do if people asked us?\"\n\n\"I don't care,\" said Matilda. \"See, girls;--'thou shalt be recompensed\nat the resurrection of the just.'\"\n\n\"And is that what it means in the next verse?\" said Mary Edwards. \"But\nI don't understand that. 'Blessed is he that shall eat bread in the\nkingdom of God.' Do they eat bread there? I thought they didn't.\"\n\n\"It is like what we read a little way back,\" said Matilda, flirting\nover one or two leaves, \"yes, here in the 12th chapter--'Blessed are\nthose servants whom the Lord when He cometh shall find watching; verily\nI say unto you, that He shall gird Himself, and make them to sit down\nto meat, and will come forth and serve them.'\"\n\n\"That means Jesus,\" said Mary Edwards. \"He will make them to sit down\nto meat!--and will serve them. What does it mean, I wonder?\"\n\n\"It means, that Jesus will give them good things,\" said Ailie.\n\n\"I guess they will be blessed, then, that eat when He feeds them,\" said\nthe other little girl. \"I would like to be there.\"\n\n\"There is a verse or two that my Bible turns to,\" said Matilda. \"In the\nRevelation. 'And he saith unto me, Write, Blessed are they which are\ncalled unto the marriage supper of the Lamb.' Oh, don't you like to\nread in the Revelation? But we are all called; aren't we?\"\n\n\"And here, in our chapter,\" said Mary, \"it goes on to tell of the\npeople who were called and wouldn't come. So I suppose everybody is\ncalled; and some won't come.\"\n\n\"Some don't get the invitation,\" said Matilda, looking up.\n\n\"A good many don't, I guess,\" said Ailie. \"Who do you think gets it in\nLilac Lane?\"\n\n\"Nobody, hardly, I guess,\" said Mary Edwards; \"there don't many people\ncome to church out of Lilac Lane.\"\n\n\"But then, girls,\" said Matilda, \"don't you think we ought to take it\nthere? the invitation, I mean?\"\n\n\"How can we? Why, there are lots of people in Lilac Lane that I would\nbe afraid to speak to.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't be afraid,\" said Matilda. \"They wouldn't do us any harm.\"\n\n\"But what would you say to them, Tilly?\"\n\n\"I would just ask them to come, Ailie. I would take the message to\nthem. Just think, Ailie, of that time, of that supper--when Jesus will\ngive good things with His own hand;--and how many people would come if\nthey knew. I would tell everybody. Don't you think we ought to?\"\n\n\"I don't like to speak to people much,\" said Ailie. \"They would think I\nwas setting myself up.\"\n\n\"It is only carrying the message,\" said Matilda. \"And that is what\nJesus was doing _all the time_, you know; and He has told us to follow\nHim.\"\n\n\"Then must we be telling it all the time too?\" asked Ailie. \"We should\ndo nothing else.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, we should. That would not hinder,\" said Matilda. \"It doesn't\ntake so very long to say a word. Here is another verse, girls; this is\nin the Revelation too; listen. This must be what those other verses\nmean: 'They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither\nshall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the\nmidst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living\nfountains of waters; and God shall wipe away all tears from their\neyes.'\"\n\nAs if a thrill from some chord of an angel's harp had reached them, the\nchildren were still for a moment.\n\n\"I don't believe the people are happy in Lilac Lane,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Maybe they are,\" said Ailie. \"But I guess they can't be. People that\nare not good can't be happy.\"\n\n\"And Jesus has given us the message to take to everybody,\" said\nMatilda; \"and when we come up there to that supper, and He asks us if\nwe took the message to the people in the lane, what shall we say? I\nknow what I would like to say.\"\n\n\"But there are other people, besides in the lane,\" said Ailie.\n\n\"We must take it to them too,\" said Mary Edwards.\n\n\"We _can't_ take it to everybody.\"\n\n\"No; only to _everybody that we can_,\" said Matilda. \"Just think how\nglad some of those people will be, when they hear it. What should we do\nif Mr. Richmond had never told it to us?\"\n\nAilie bit her lip. Whether by design or not, Mary Edwards turned to her\nTestament and read the next words that followed in course.\n\n\"And there went great multitudes with Him: and He turned, and said unto\nthem, If any man come unto me, and hate not his father, and mother, and\nwife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life\nalso, he cannot be my disciple.\"\n\nAnd seeing Mr. Ulshoeffer coming to open the door, the little conclave\nbroke up. The children and teachers came pouring in for the\nSunday-School.\n\nGoing out after it was over, Matilda noticed a face she had not seen; a\nboy older than herself, but not very old, standing near the door,\nlooking at the small crowd that trooped along the aisle. The thought\ncame to Matilda that he was a new scholar, and if so, somebody ought to\nwelcome him; but nobody did, that she could see. He stood alone,\nlooking at the people as if they were strange to him; with a good,\nbright, wide-awake face, handsome and bold. Matilda did not want to\ntake the welcoming upon herself, but she thought somebody should do it;\nand the next minute she had paused in front of the stranger.\n\n\"Is this the first time you have been here?\" she asked, with a kind of\nshy grace. The boy's bright eyes came down to her with a look of\nsurprise as he assented.\n\n\"I am very glad to see you in our Sunday-School,\" she went on. \"I hope\nit was pleasant.\"\n\n\"It was pleasant enough,\" said the stranger. \"There is a jolly fellow\nover there asked me to come--Ben Barth; are you his sister?\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" said Matilda. \"Ben has his own sisters. I am not one of them.\"\n\n\"I thought maybe he told you to speak to me.\"\n\n\"Nobody told me,\" said Matilda. By this time they had followed the\ncrowd out at the door, and were taking their way down the street.\n\n\"What did you speak to me then, for?\" said the boy, with a roguish look\nat her.\n\n\"I thought you were a stranger.\"\n\n\"And what if I was?\"\n\n\"I think, if you are a stranger anywhere, it is pleasant to have\nsomebody speak to you.\"\n\n\"You're a brick!\" was the stranger's conclusion.\n\n\"Am I?\" said Matilda. \"Why am I?\"\n\n\"You're a girl, I suppose, and don't understand things,\" said her\ncompanion. \"Boys know what a brick is--when they see it.\"\n\n\"Why, so do I,\" said Matilda, \"don't I?\"\n\nBut the boy only laughed; and then asked Matilda where she lived, and\nif she had any brothers, and where she went to school.\n\n\"I go to the other school, you see,\" said he; \"that's how I've never\nseen you before. I wish you went to my school; and I'd give you a ride\non my sled.\"\n\n\"But you'll come to our Sunday-School, won't you?\" Matilda asked.\n\n\"To be sure I will; but you see, I can't take you on my sled on Sunday.\nThey'd have all the ministers out after me.\"\n\n\"Oh no!\" said Matilda. \"I was not thinking of the sled; but you are\nvery kind.\"\n\n\"I should like it,\" said the boy. \"Yes, I am coming to the school;\nthough I guess I've got an old fogy of a teacher. But the minister's a\nbrick; isn't he?\"\n\n\"He isn't much like _me_,\" said Matilda, laughing. \"And the sort of\nbricks that I know, one is very much like another.\"\n\nThe boy laughed too, and asked if she didn't want to know his name?\nMatilda glanced again at the frank face and nice dress, and said yes.\n\n\"My name's Norton Laval. What's yours?\"\n\n\"Matilda Englefield. I am going this way.\"\n\n\"Yes, you go that way and I go this way, but we shall see each other\nagain. Good-bye.\"\n\nSo at the corner they parted; and Matilda went home, thinking that in\nthis instance at least the welcoming of strangers had paid well. For\nthis was a pleasant new acquaintance, she was sure. She mounted the\nstairs with happy feet to her room; and there found Maria in a flood of\ntears. Maria had stayed at home from Sunday-School to-day.\n\n\"What is the matter, Maria?\" her little sister inquired. \"How's mamma?\"\n\n\"I don't know! Oh, nothing will ever be well again. O Tilly, what will\nbecome of us!\"\n\nAnd here a storm of sobs and tears came on, in the midst of which\nMatilda's questions could get no attention. Matilda knew her sister,\nhowever, and waited.\n\n\"O Tilly!--it's so dreadful!\"\n\n\"What?\" said Matilda calmly.\n\n\"We haven't got anything to live upon. Anne and Letty have been telling\nme. We haven't. We are going to be as poor as--as poor as anybody. We\nhave got nothing to buy anything with--nothing at all! Anne says so.\"\n\n\"Did mamma say so?\"\n\n\"Mother's sick. No, Aunt Candy told the girls. It's true. Somebody or\nsomething that had mamma's money--to take care of--has gone off, or\nbeen ruined, or something; and we are ruined! There is nothing left at\nall for us to live upon. And that is what has been troubling mamma all\nthese weeks; and now it is certain, and she knows all about it; and I\nguess it is that has made her sick. Oh, what shall we do?\"\n\nThe turn of Matilda's head was inimitable and indescribable. It was not\narrogance or affectation; it was perfectly natural to the child; but to\na bystander it would have signified that she was aware Maria's views\nand statements were not to be relied upon and could not be made the\nbasis of either opinion or action. She took off her things, and without\nanother word made her way to the room of her elder sisters. They were\nboth sitting there gloomily.\n\n\"How is mamma?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I haven't seen her since dinner.\"\n\nIt was with a little of the same half-graceful, half-competent gesture\nof the head that Matilda applied herself to Letitia.\n\n\"What is all this story, Letty, that Maria has been telling me?\"\n\n\"How should I know? Maria tells a great many stories.\"\n\n\"I mean, about what has been troubling mamma.\"\n\n\"Maria had no business to tell you, and so trouble you with it.\"\n\n\"But is it true, Letty? Anne, is it true?\"\n\n\"I suppose it is true--if you mean what she heard from me a little\nwhile ago. That is true.\"\n\n\"And mamma has lost all her money?\"\n\n\"Every cent.\"\n\n\"When did you know it, Anne and Letty?\"\n\n\"We have known it a day or two. It is true. It is all true, Tilly.\"\n\n\"What is mamma going to do, then?\"\n\n\"Get well, I hope. That is the first thing. Aunt Candy says she will\npay for her board and Clarissa's, and mamma and you can live on that.\nLetty and I must go get our living--somehow.\"\n\nAnd here Anne broke down. Matilda wanted to ask about Maria's fate in\nthe general falling to pieces of the family; but her throat felt so\nfull, she was afraid she could not. So she did not try; she turned and\nwent down-stairs to her mother.\n\nMrs. Englefield was dozing, flushed and uneasy; she hardly noticed who\nwas with her; but asked for water, and then for Cologne water. Matilda\nbrought the one and the other, and sat by the bedside wiping her\nmother's brow and cheeks with the Cologne. Nobody came to interrupt or\nrelieve her for some time. The light of the afternoon began to fade,\nand the sunbeams came aslant from the western sky; and still the child\nsat there passing the handkerchief gently over her mother's face. And\nwhile she sat so, Matilda was thinking what possible ways there might\nbe by which she could make money.\n\n\"Tilly, is that you?\" said Mrs. Englefield, faintly, as the sunbeams\nwere just quitting the room.\n\n\"Yes, mamma. Are you better?\"\n\n\"Is there no one else here?\"\n\n\"No, mamma. Aunt Candy is out; and I suppose the girls thought you were\nsleeping. Are you better, mamma? You have had a nice long nap.\"\n\n\"It's been horrid!\" said Mrs. Englefield. \"I have dreamed of every\npossible dreadful thing.\"\n\n\"But you feel better now?\"\n\n\"My head aches--no--oh, my head! Tilly----\"\n\n\"What, mamma?\"\n\n\"I am going to be sick. I shan't be about again for a while, I know. I\nwant you to do just what I tell you.\"\n\n\"Yes, mamma. What?\"\n\n\"Anne and Letty are going away.\"\n\n\"Yes, mamma. I know.\"\n\n\"Do you know why, dear?\"\n\nThe tone of tender, sorrowful sympathy in which this was said, overcame\nthe child. As her mother's eyes with the question languidly sought her\nface, Matilda burst into tears and threw herself upon her neck.\n\n\"No, don't,\" said Mrs. Englefield, faintly,--\"I can't bear it. Don't,\nMatilda! Rise up and listen to me.\"\n\nMatilda did as she was told. She forced back her tears; stopped her\nsobs; dashed away the drops from the corners of her eyes; and sat up\nagain to hear what her mother had to say to her.\n\n\"Give me some more water first. Anne and Letty are going away, Tilly;\nand I cannot be up and see to anything; and I can't hire a woman to do\nwhat's to be done. You tell Maria, from me, she must stay home from\nschool and take care of the house. You will do what you can, Tilly--oh,\nmy head!--you can put rooms in order and such things; and Maria must go\ndown into the kitchen and get the breakfast----\"\n\n\"Must Maria get the dinner too, mamma?\"\n\n\"Yes, the dinner----\"\n\n\"But _can_ she, mamma?\"\n\n\"She _must;_ or else your aunt Candy will hire somebody to do it; and\nthat will come out of what she pays me, and we shall not have enough\nleft. She _must_, Tilly.\"\n\n\"But aunt Candy wouldn't mind, just while you are sick, mamma, would\nshe?\"\n\n\"Yes! I know. Just you do as I tell you; promise me that you will.\"\n\n\"I will, mamma.\"\n\n\"Promise me that Maria will.\"\n\n\"I guess she will, mamma. I'll try and make her. Shall I bring her\nhere, and you tell her yourself?\"\n\n\"No, indeed. Don't bring Maria here. She would make such a row she\nwould kill me. Anne and Letty will see to things, till they go--oh, I\ncan't talk any longer. Give me some more water.\"\n\nShe was presently dozing again; and Matilda, clasping her small hands,\nsat and thought over what was before her. It began to feel like a\nweight on her somewhere--on her shoulders, she thought, and lying on\nher heart too; and the longer she thought about it, the heavier and\nharder it pressed. The family to be broken up; her mother to be\nstraitened for money--Matilda did not know very well what that meant,\nbut it sounded disagreeable; her aunt suddenly presented in new and not\npleasant colours; a general threatening cloud overshadowing all the\nfuture. Matilda began to get, what her strong little heart was not\naccustomed to, a feeling of real discouragement. What could she do? And\nthen a word of the afternoon's lesson in the Sunday-School came freshly\nto mind. It had been quite new to Matilda, and had seemed to her very\nbeautiful; but it took on quite another sort of beauty now,--\"Cast thy\nburden upon the Lord; He shall sustain thee.\"\n\n\"Will He?\" thought Matilda. \"Can He? May I tell Him about all this? and\nwill He help me to bear it, and help me to do all that work, and to\nmake Maria do hers? But He will, _for He has said so_.\"\n\nIt was getting dusk in the room. Matilda knelt down by her chair, and\npoured out all her troubles into the Ear that would heed and could help\nher.\n\n\"Who's here?\" said the voice of Mrs. Candy, coming in. \"Who is that?\nMatilda? How did you come here, Tilly?\"\n\n\"I have been taking care of my mother.\"\n\n\"Have you? How is she? Well, you run down-stairs; I'll take care of her\nnow. It is better for you not to be here. Don't come in again, unless I\ngive you leave. Now you may go.\"\n\n\"I wonder, must I mind her?\" said Matilda to herself. \"I do not see\nwhy. She is not mother; and if mother is sick, that does not give\neverybody else a right to say what I shall do. I think it is very queer\nof Aunt Candy to take that way with me.\"\n\nAnd I am afraid Matilda's head was carried a little with the air which\nwas, to be sure, natural to her, and not unpretty, and yet which spoke\nof a good deal of conscious competency. It is no more than justice to\nMatilda to say that she did not ever put the feeling into any\nill-mannerly form. It hardly appeared at all, except in this turn of\nher head, which all her own family knew, laughed at, admired, and even\nloved. So she went down-stairs to the parlour.\n\n\"How is Aunt Marianne?\" was the question from Clarissa. \"Letty told me\nwhere you were. But, little one, it is not good for you to go into your\nmother's sick-room; you can do nothing, and you are better out. So\nmamma wishes you not to go in there till Aunt Marianne is better--you\nunderstand?\"\n\n\"Clarissa too!\" thought Matilda to herself. But she made no answer. She\ncame by the fire to warm herself; for her mother's room had been cold.\n\n\"You shouldn't go so near the fire; you'll burn your dress,\" Clarissa\nremarked.\n\n\"No,\" said Matilda; and she said but that one word.\n\n\"You will take the colour out, if you do not set it on fire; and that\nis what I meant. That is your best dress, Tilly.\"\n\nIt was true; and, sorely against her will, Matilda stepped a little\nback.\n\n\"You were a great while at Sunday-School to-day,\" Clarissa went on.\n\n\"No,\" said Matilda; \"not longer than usual.\"\n\n\"What do you learn there?\"\n\n\"Why, cousin Issa, what do you teach at _your_ Sunday-School?\" said\nMatilda. For Clarissa had sheered off from Mr. Richmond's church, and\ngone into a neighbouring one which belonged to the denomination in\nwhich she had been brought up.\n\n\"That is not good manners to answer one question with another, little\none.\"\n\n\"I thought one answer might serve for both,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"I am afraid it would not. For in my Sunday-School I teach the\nCatechism.\"\n\n\"Don't the Catechism tell about Jesus?\"\n\n\"Some things,--of course.\"\n\n\"Our lessons tell all things about Him,\" said Matilda; \"and that is\nwhat I learn.\"\n\n\"Do you learn about yourself?\"\n\n\"What about myself?\"\n\n\"How you ought to behave, and how you ought not to behave.\"\n\n\"Why, I think learning about Jesus teaches one _that_,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"I think there is nothing so good as coming home to learn about home,\"\nsaid Clarissa.\n\nThe talk did not run in a way to please Matilda, and she was silent.\nPresently they were called down to tea. Everybody suffering from a fit\nof taciturnity.\n\n\"Maria, sit up straight,\" said Mrs. Candy.\n\n\"I always sit so,\" was the answer.\n\n\"_So_, is not very graceful. Matilda does not sit so.\"\n\n\"Matilda was always straight; it's her way,\" said Maria.\n\n\"Well, make it your way too. Come! straighten up. What shoulders! One\nwould think you were a boy playing at leap-frog.\"\n\n\"I don't know what 'leap-frog' is,\" said Maria, colouring; \"and I don't\nthink anybody would think I was anything but a girl anyhow. I get tired\nsitting up straight.\"\n\n\"When?\" asked Clarissa.\n\nMatilda's head was quite indescribable in the turn it gave at this\nmoment. Her supper was done; she was leaving the table.\n\n\"You are not going into your mother's room?\" said her aunt, catching\nher hand as she passed.\n\n\"You said you wished I would not.\"\n\n\"Yes, my dear, I am going up there immediately. Don't go out either,\nMatilda.\"\n\n\"I am going to church, Aunt Candy.\"\n\n\"I think not. Not to-night. I do not approve of so much church-going\nfor little girls. You can study your lesson, you know, for next Sunday.\nI do not want to have anybody else sick on my hands till your mother is\nwell.\"\n\nMatilda's face expressed none of her disappointment; her head was even\ncarried a little higher than usual as she left the room. But outside\nthe door her steps flagged; and she went slowly up the stairs, asking\nherself if she was bound to mind what her aunt said. She was not clear\nabout it. In the abstract, Matilda was well enough disposed to obey all\nlawful authority; just now a spirit of opposition had risen. Was this\nlawful authority? Mrs. Englefield was sick, to be sure; but did that\ngive Mrs. Candy any right to interfere with what was known to be Mrs.\nEnglefield's will when she was not sick? Matilda thought not. Then, on\nthe other hand, she did not wish to do anything to displease her aunt,\nwho had always been kind to her; she did not wish to change the\nrelations between them. Slowly Matilda mounted stair after stair till\nshe got to her room. There she stood by the window a moment, thinking\nand sorrowing; for if she did not wish to anger her aunt, neither did\nshe wish to lose her evening in church, her sight of Mr. Richmond, and\nhis sermon. And just then, the clear, sweet sound of the church bell\ncame, with its first note, to tell that the service would begin in a\nquarter of an hour. It sounded like a friend's voice calling her. Her\nAunt Candy's church bell joined in, and Mr. Everett's church, and Mr.\nSchoenflocker's church; but that one which Mr. Ulshoeffer rang was the\nloudest of all to Matilda's ear. She could hardly stand it. Then Maria\nburst in.\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Do? Why, I am going to church, of course; and in a hurry.\"\n\n\"And Anne and Letty?\"\n\n\"Certainly; and Issa too.\"\n\nMatilda said no more, but hastily made herself ready, and went down\nwith the rest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nAnne and Letitia were to leave home in the afternoon of Monday; and\nMaria and Matilda went to school that morning as usual. But when the\nnoon hour came, Matilda called her sister into a corner of the emptied\nschoolroom, and sat down with a face of business.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" said Maria. \"We must go home to dinner.\"\n\n\"I should like to speak to you here first.\"\n\n\"About what? Say it and be quick; for I am ever so hungry. Aunt Candy\ncut my breakfast short this morning.\"\n\n\"I wanted to say to you that we had better take home our books.\"\n\n\"What for?\" said Maria, with opening eyes.\n\n\"Because, Maria, mamma was talking to me last night about it. You know\nthere will be no one at home now, after to-day, but you and me.\"\n\n\"Aunt Erminia and Clarissa?\"\n\n\"Nobody to do anything, I mean.\"\n\n\"Can't they do anything? I don't know what you are talking of, Matilda;\nbut I know I want my dinner.\"\n\n\"Who do you think will get dinner to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Well--mother's sick of course; and Anne and Letty are going. I should\nthink Aunt Candy might.\"\n\n\"No, she won't.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"Because mother said so. She won't do anything.\"\n\n\"Then she'll have to get a girl to do things, I suppose.\"\n\n\"But Maria, that is just what mother wants she shouldn't do; because\nshe'd have to pay for it.\"\n\n\"Who would have to pay for it?\"\n\n\"Mamma.\"\n\n\"Why would she?\"\n\n\"She said so.\"\n\n\"I don't see why she would, I am sure. If Aunt Erminia hires a girl,\n_she'll_ pay for her.\"\n\n\"But that will come out of what Aunt Erminia pays to mamma; and what\nAunt Erminia pays to mamma is what we have got to live upon.\"\n\n\"Who said so?\"\n\n\"Mamma said so.\" Matilda answered with her lip trembling; for the\nbringing facts all down to hard detail was difficult to bear.\n\n\"Well, I _do_ think,\" exclaimed Maria, \"if I had a sister sick and not\nable to help herself, I would not be so mean!\"\n\nMatilda sat still and cried and said nothing.\n\n\"Who _is_ going to do all the work then, Tilly?\"\n\nThere would have been something comical, if it had not been sad, in the\nway the little girl looked up and said, \"You and I.\"\n\n\"I guess we will!\" said Maria, with opening eyes. \"You and I! Take care\nof the house, and wash the dishes, and cook the dinner, and everything!\nYou know we couldn't, Matilda; and what's more, _I_ know we won't.\"\n\n\"Yes, mamma wishes it. We must; and so we can, Maria.\"\n\n\"_I_ can't,\" said Maria, taking down her school cloak.\n\n\"But, Maria! we must. Mamma will be more sick if we do not; you heard\nwhat Aunt Candy said at breakfast, that she is fearfully nervous; and\nif she hears that there is a hired girl in the house, it will worry her\ndreadfully.\"\n\n\"It will be Aunt Candy's fault then,\" said Maria, fastening her cloak.\n\"I never heard of anybody so mean in all my life!--never.\"\n\n\"But that don't help anything, Maria. And you and I _must_ do what\nmamma said. You know we shall have little enough to live on, as it is,\nand if you take the pay of a hired girl out of it, there will be so\nlittle left.\"\n\n\"I've got my twenty-five dollars, that I can get summer dresses with; I\nam glad I haven't spent it,\" said Maria. \"Come, Tilly; I'm going home.\"\n\n\"But, Maria, you have not said what you ought to say yet.\"\n\n\"What ought I to say?\"\n\n\"I will help and do my part. We can manage it. Come, Maria, say that\nyou will.\"\n\n\"Your part,\" said Maria. \"What do you suppose your part would come to?\nWhat can such a child as you do?\"\n\n\"Maria, now is the time to show whether you are really one of the Band\nof workers.\"\n\n\"I am, of course. I joined it.\"\n\n\"That would not make you one of them, if you don't do what they\npromised to do.\"\n\n\"When did I ever promise to be Aunt Candy's servant girl?\" said Maria,\nfiercely. \"I should like to know.\"\n\n\"But 'we are the servants of Christ,'\" said Matilda, softly, her eyes\nglistening through.\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"We promised to try to do whatever would honour Him.\"\n\n\"I don't know what all this affair has to do with it,\" said Maria. \"You\nsay _we_ promised;--you didn't?\"\n\n\"Yes, I did.\"\n\n\"You didn't join the Band?\"\n\n\"Yes, I did.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"A few days after you did.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you tell me? Did you tell Mr. Richmond?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I think it is mean, that you did not tell me.\"\n\n\"I am telling you now. But now, Maria, you know what you promised.\"\n\n\"I did not promise this sort of thing at all, Tilly.\"\n\n\"Yes, don't you know? 'we stand ready to do His will.' That's in the\ncovenant.\"\n\n\"But _this_ is not His will,\" insisted Maria. \"This is Aunt Erminia's\nmeanness.\"\n\n\"But it certainly is His will that we should do what mamma says, and\nplease her; and this is the work He has given us to do.\"\n\nMaria's answer this time was to sit down and cry for her part. Matilda\ndid not join her, but stood by, patiently waiting. Maria cried and\nsobbed for several minutes; then she started up and set off homewards\nat a furious rate. Matilda gathered together her books and followed her\nsister; trying to comfort herself with the thought that this _was_\ncertainly the work given them to do, and that she would try and make\nthe best of it.\n\nThe dinner was sorrowful enough. Maria, indeed, ate it as if\nremembering it was the last dinner for some time to come that she would\nfind ready prepared for her. But Anne and Letty were broken down with\ngrief; and Mrs. Candy's endeavours to comfort them were either not the\nright sort, or fell upon unready ears. Clarissa was composed as usual.\n\n\"You were late from school, Maria and Matilda,\" their aunt remarked,\nfinding Anne and Letty unmanageable. \"What was the reason?\"\n\n\"Tilly was talking to me,\" Maria said.\n\n\"You could talk on the way home, I should think. I dislike to have\ndinner eaten by stages; first one set coming, and then another. I am\ngoing to ask you to be punctual for the future. Do not be in a hurry,\nMaria; there is time enough, now you are here, to eat moderately.\"\n\n\"I am hungry. I don't want to eat moderately, Aunt Erminia.\"\n\n\"As much as you wish; but you can be moderate in manner, cannot you,\neven if not in quantity?\"\n\n\"Nobody ever told me I eat too much, before,\" said Maria.\n\n\"There are a great many things that you have never been told, I\nsuppose?\" said Clarissa, lifting her handsome eyes quietly.\n\n\"I don't care about your telling me either,\" said Maria.\n\n\"My dear, that is not polite,\" interposed her aunt. \"I am sorry to hear\nyou speak so. Would you not like to have Issa, or any one, tell you\nthings that you would be the better for. You would not wish to remain\njust as you are, to the end of your days?\"\n\n\"It don't hurt anybody but me,\" said Maria.\n\n\"I beg your pardon. Everything that is not graceful and well-mannered,\non the part of people in whose company we are, hurts me and Clarissa.\nIt hurts me to have you bolt down your food as you were doing just\nnow--if I am sitting at the same table with you. And it hurts me to\nhave you speak rudely. I hope you will mend in all these things.\"\n\n\"It will not hurt you to have us say good-bye,\" said Anne, rising. \"I\nwill do that now, if you please. Letty, I will leave you to take care\nof these things, and I will finish the packing. We must be quick, too.\"\n\nThe farewell greetings with her aunt and cousin were soon spoken; and\nMaria and Matilda tore up-stairs after their sister, to pour out tears\nand complaints together during the remaining moments of her being at\nhome. Matilda's tears, however, were quiet and her words very few.\n\n\"Ain't she too bad!\" exclaimed Maria.\n\n\"You must try and hold your own the best you can,\" said Anne, \"until\nmamma gets up again. Poor children! I am afraid she will be too much\nfor you.\"\n\n\"But, Anne, did you think Aunt Candy was like that?\" said Maria. \"She\nwasn't like that at first.\"\n\n\"I guess she was. All she wanted was a chance. Now she's got it. Try\nand bear it the best you can till mamma is well. She cannot be worried\nnow.\"\n\n\"Is mamma very sick, Anne?\" Matilda ventured.\n\n\"N-o,\" said Anne, \"but she might be, Tilly, if she was worried. The\ndoctor says she is very nervous, and must be kept quiet. She has been\nworrying so long, you see. So you must try and not do anything to fret\nher.\"\n\nThe prospect was sad. When the omnibus came to take Anne and Letty to\nthe station, and when the last kisses and hugs were over, and the\nomnibus bounced away, carrying with it all they had at the moment, the\ntwo girls left at home felt forlorn enough. The only thing to be done\nwas to rush up-stairs to their room and cry their hearts out. And that\nwas done thoroughly.\n\nBut by and by, Matilda's thoughts, in their very extreme need of\ncomfort, began to take up the words again which she had once found so\ngood: \"Cast thy burden upon the Lord; He shall sustain thee.\" She left\nher sobbing, dried her eyes, sat down by the window, and found the\nplace in her Bible, that her eyes might have the comfort of seeing and\nreading the words there. The Lord's words: Tilly knew they were true.\nBut Maria sobbed on. At last her little sister called her.\n\n\"What is it?\" said she.\n\n\"Come here,--and I will show you something good.\"\n\n\"Good?--what?\" said Maria, approaching the window. \"Oh, words in the\nBible!\"\n\n\"Read, Maria.\"\n\n\"I have read them before,\" said the other, sullenly, after she had\nglanced at the place.\n\n\"But they are true, Maria.\"\n\n\"Well; they don't help me.\"\n\n\"But they help _me_,\" said Matilda. \"It's Jesus' promise to help.\"\n\n\"I don't believe it is for such things as this.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" said Matilda, a sudden chill coming over her heart. \"It says\njust, 'Cast thy burden'--it might be any burden; it does not signify\nwhat it is, Maria.\"\n\n\"Yes, it does; it is not for such little things,\" said Maria. \"It is\nfor great religious people and their affairs. Oh dear! oh dear!\"\n\nSorely troubled now at having her supports knocked away from under her,\nMatilda eagerly sought further, if perchance she might find something\nthat Maria could not question. Her Bible had a few references in the\nmargin; consulting these, she presently found what she had need of; but\na feeling of want of sympathy between them forbade her to show the new\nwords to her sister. Matilda pored over them with great rest of heart;\ngave thanks for them; and might have used with truth David's\nlanguage--\"Thy words were found, and I did eat them.\" The words were\nthese:--\n\n\"Be careful for nothing; but in everything, by prayer and supplication\nwith thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto God. And the\npeace of God that passeth understanding shall keep your hearts and\nminds through Christ Jesus.\"\n\nMatilda's eyes were dry and her voice was clear, when she reminded her\nsister that it was time to get tea. Maria was accustomed to do this\nfrequently, and made no objection now. So the two went down together.\nPassing the parlour door, however, it opened, and Mrs. Candy called\nMatilda in.\n\n\"I want to speak a word to you, Tilly,\" she said. \"Did you go out last\nevening?\"\n\n\"Yes; I did, aunt Erminia.\"\n\n\"You went to church?\"\n\nMatilda assented; but though she had bowed her head, it seemed to be\nmore erect than before.\n\n\"And I had told you not to go, had I not? You understood that?\"\n\nA silent assent was again all that the child gave.\n\n\"I am accustomed to be obeyed,\" said Mrs. Candy. \"That is my way. It\nmay not be your mother's way; but all the same, I am mistress here\nwhile she is sick; mistress over you as well as the rest. You must obey\nme like all the rest. Will you?\"\n\nWhat was meant by \"all the rest\" Matilda marvelled, seeing that nobody\nelse but Maria and her own daughter were left in the house. This time\nshe gave no sign of answering; she only stood and listened.\n\n\"Will you obey me, Tilly?\"\n\nMatilda was not sure whether she would. In her mind it depended on\ncircumstances. She would obey, conditionally. But she would not\ncompromise her dignity by words about it. She was silent.\n\n\"I must be obeyed,\" Mrs. Candy went on, with mild tones, although a\ndispleased face. \"If not willingly, then unwillingly. I shall punish\nyou, Matilda, if you disobey me; and so severely that you will find it\nbest not to do it again. But I should be very sorry to have you drive\nme to such disagreeable doings. We should both be sorry together. It is\nmuch best not to let things come to such extremity.\"\n\nMatilda coloured high, but except that and the slight gesture of her\nhead, she yet gave no reply.\n\n\"That is enough upon that subject,\" the lady went on. \"Only, I should\nbe glad to have you tell me that you will try to please me.\"\n\n\"I wish to please everybody--as far as I can,\" Matilda said at last.\n\n\"Then you will please me?\"\n\n\"I hope so.\"\n\n\"She hopes so, Issa,\" said Mrs. Candy, turning her head round towards\nwhere her daughter sat.\n\n\"American children, mamma,\" was Clarissa's comment.\n\n\"There is another thing, Matilda,\" Mrs. Candy resumed after a slight\npause. \"Your mother has told me that Maria is competent to do the work\nof the house until she gets well. Is she? and will Maria, do you think,\ntry to please me as much as you do?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am. I think she can--she and I. We will do it,\" Matilda\nanswered more readily.\n\n\"She and you! What can you do?\"\n\n\"I can help a little.\"\n\n\"Well then, that is settled; and I need not look out for a girl?\"\n\n\"Oh no, aunt Candy. She and I can do it.\"\n\n\"But mind, I must have things in order, and well done. It is my\nsister's choice, that Maria should do it. But it is not mine unless I\ncan have everything in good order. You may tell Maria so, and let her\nunderstand what it is she is undertaking. I am to have no dusty stairs,\nand no half-set tables. If she wants instruction in anything, I am\nwilling to give it; but I cannot have disorder. Now you may go and tell\nher; and tell her to have tea ready in half an hour.\"\n\n\"What did she want of you?\" Maria asked, when Matilda rejoined her\ndown-stairs.\n\n\"She wanted to talk to me about my going out last evening.\"\n\n\"Oh! was she in a great fuss about it?\"\n\n\"And Maria, she wants tea to be ready in half an hour.\"\n\n\"I'll have it ready sooner than that,\" said Maria, bustling about.\n\n\"But you must not. She wants it in half an hour; you must not have it\nready before.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" said Maria, stopping short.\n\n\"Why, she wants it _then_. She has a right to have tea when she likes.\"\n\nBut Matilda sighed as she spoke, for her aunt's likings were becoming a\nheavy burden to her, in the present and in the future. The two girls\nwent gently round, setting the table, cutting the bread, putting out\nthe sweetmeat, getting the teapot ready for the tea; then they stood\ntogether over the stove, waiting for the time to make it.\n\n\"There's one comfort,\" Matilda said with another sigh;--\"we can do it\nall for Christ.\"\n\n\"What?\" said Maria, starting.\n\n\"It is work He has given us to do, you know, Maria; and we have\npromised to do everything we can to please Him. So we can do this to\nplease Him.\"\n\n\"I don't see how,\" said Maria. \"_This_ isn't Band work;--do you think\nit is?\"\n\n\"It isn't Sunday-School work; but, Maria, you know, 'we are the\nservants of Christ.' Now He has given us this work to do.\"\n\n\"That's just talking nonsense,\" said Maria. \"There is no religion in\npots and kettles.\"\n\nMatilda had to think her way out of that statement.\n\n\"Maria, in the covenant, you know, we say 'we stand ready to do His\nwill;' and you _know_ it is His will that we should have these things\nto do.\"\n\n\"I don't!\" said Maria; \"that's a fact.\"\n\n\"Then how comes it that we have them?\"\n\n\"Just because mamma is sick, and Aunt Erminia is too mean to live!\"\n\n\"You should not speak so,\" said Matilda. \"How comes mamma to be sick?\nand how comes it that we have got no money to hire a girl?\"\n\n\"Because that man in New York was wicked, and ran away with mamma's\nmoney.\"\n\n\"Maria,\" said Matilda, solemnly, \"I don't see what you meant by joining\nthe Band.\"\n\n\"I meant more than you did!\" said Maria, flaming out. \"Such children as\nyou are too young to join it.\"\n\n\"We are not too young to be Christians.\"\n\n\"You are too young to join the Church and be baptized.\"\n\n\"Why?\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Oh, you are too young to _understand_. Anybody that knows will tell\nyou so. And if you are not fit to be baptized and join the Church, you\nare not fit to join the Band. Now I can make the tea.\"\n\nMatilda looked hard at the teapot, as it stood on the stove while the\ntea was brewing; but she let her sister alone after that. When the meal\nwas over, and the dishes washed and everything done, she and Maria went\nup to their own room, and Maria at once went to bed. Her little sister\nopened her Bible, and read, over and over, the words that had comforted\nher. They were words from God; promises and commands straight from\nheaven. Matilda took them so, and studied earnestly how she might do\nwhat they bade her. \"Cast her burden on the Lord\"--how was she to do\nthat? Clearly, she was not to keep it on her own heart, she thought;\nshe must trust that the Lord would take care of anything put into His\nhands. The words were very good. And the other words? \"Be careful for\nnothing\"--that was the same thing differently expressed; and Matilda\nfelt very glad it had been written for her in both places and in both\nways; and that she was ordered \"in everything\" to \"make her requests\nknown to God.\" She might not have dared, perhaps, in some little\ntroubles that only concerned a child and were not important to anybody\nelse; but now there could be no doubt--she might, and she must. She was\nvery glad. But, \"with thanksgiving?\"--how could that be always? Now,\nfor instance? Things were more disagreeable and sorrowful than in all\nher life she had ever known them; \"give thanks\"? must she? _now?_ And\nhow could she? Matilda studied over it a good while. Finally took to\npraying over it. Asked to be taught how she could give thanks when she\nwas sorry. And getting quite tired, at last went to bed, where Maria\nwas already fast asleep.\n\nThere is no denying that Matilda was sorry to wake up the next morning.\nBut awake she found herself, and broad awake too; and the light outside\nthe window admonished her she had no time then to lie and think. She\nroused Maria immediately, and herself began dressing without a moment's\ndelay.\n\n\"Oh, what's the hurry!\" said Maria, yawning and stretching herself.\n\"I'm sleepy.\"\n\n\"But it isn't early, Maria.\"\n\n\"Well; I don't want it to be early.\"\n\n\"Yes, you do, Maria; you forget. We have a great deal on our hands.\nMake haste, please, and get up. Do, Maria!\"\n\n\"What have we got to do so much?\" said Maria, with yawn the second.\n\n\"Everything. You are so sleepy, you have forgotten.\"\n\n\"Yes. I have forgotten,\" said Maria, closing her eyes.\n\n\"O Maria, please do get up! I'm almost dressed; and I can't do the\nwhole, you know. Won't you get up?\"\n\n\"What's the matter, Tilly?\" said her sister, rolling over, and opening\nher eyes quietly at Matilda.\n\n\"I am going down, Maria, in two minutes; and I cannot do everything,\nyou know.\"\n\n\"Clarissa'll help.\"\n\n\"If you expect that, Maria, you will be disappointed. I wish you would\ncome right down and make the fire.\"\n\nMaria lay still. Matilda finished her dressing, and then knelt down by\nthe window.\n\nThe burden upon her seemed rather heavy, and she went to her only\nsource of help. Maria lay and looked at the little kneeling figure, so\nstill there by the window; glanced at the growing light outside the\nwindow, then at her scattered articles of clothing, lying where she had\nthrown them or dropped them last night; and at last rolled herself out\nof bed and was dressing in earnest when Matilda rose up to go\ndown-stairs.\n\n\"Oh now, you'll soon be ready!\" she exclaimed. \"Make haste, Maria; and\ncome down to the kitchen. The fire is the first thing.\"\n\nThen the little feet went with a light tread down the stairs, that she\nmight disturb nobody, and paused in the hall. The light struggling in\nthrough the fanlights over the door; the air close; a smell of kerosene\nin the parlour; chairs and table in a state of disarrangement; the\nlitter of Clarissa's work on the carpet; the parlour stove cold. Little\nMatilda wished to herself that some other hands were there, not hers,\nto do all that must be done. But clearly Maria would never get through\nwith it. She stood looking a minute; then plunged into the work. She\nopened the shutters and the curtains, and threw up the windows. Then\npicked up the litter. Then she saw that the services of a broom were\nneeded; and Matilda fetched the broom, and brushed out the parlour and\nthe hall. It tired her arms; she was not used to it. Dusting the\nfurniture was more in her line; and then Matilda came to the conclusion\nthat if a fire was to be kindled in time this morning, it must be done\nby herself; Maria would be fully occupied in the kitchen. So\ndown-stairs she went for billets of wood for kindling. There was Maria,\nin trouble.\n\n\"This stove won't draw, Tilly.\"\n\n\"What is the matter?\"\n\n\"Why _that_. It won't draw. It just smokes.\"\n\n\"It always does draw, Maria.\"\n\n\"Well, it won't to-day.\"\n\n\"Did you put kindling enough in?\"\n\n\"There's nothing but kindling!--and smoke.\"\n\n\"Why, you've got the damper turned,\" said Matilda, coming up to look;\n\"see, that's the matter. It won't light with the damper turned.\"\n\n\"Stupid!\" Maria muttered; and Matilda went off to make her own fire.\nHappily that did not smoke. The parlour and hall were all in nice\norder; the books put in place, and everything ready for the comfort of\npeople when they should come to enjoy it; and Matilda went to join her\nsister in the kitchen. The fire was going there too, and the kitchen\nwarm, and Maria stood with her hands folded, in front of the stove.\n\n\"I don't know what to get for breakfast,\" she said.\n\n\"Is the other room ready?\"\n\n\"I set the table,\" said Maria; \"but what is to go on it, I don't know.\"\n\nMatilda went in to look at the state of things; presently called her\nsister.\n\n\"Maria, you didn't sweep the carpet.\"\n\n\"No. Of course I didn't. Rooms don't want to be swept every day.\"\n\n\"This one does. Look at the muss under the table.\"\n\n\"Only some crumbs,\" said Maria.\n\n\"And a bone. Letty was in a hurry yesterday, I guess. Aunt Candy won't\nlike it, Maria; it won't do.\"\n\n\"I don't care whether she likes it.\"\n\n\"But don't you care whether she scolds? because I do. And the room is\nnot nice, Maria. Mother wouldn't have it so.\"\n\n\"Well, you may sweep it if you like.\"\n\n\"I cannot. I am tired. You must make it nice, Maria, won't you? and\nI'll see about the breakfast.\"\n\n\"The table's all set!\" Maria remonstrated.\n\n\"It won't take long to do it over, Maria. But what have we got for\nbreakfast?\"\n\n\"Nothing--that I know.\"\n\n\"Did you look in the cellar?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Why, where _did_ you look?\" said Matilda, laughing. \"Come; let us go\ndown and see what is there.\"\n\nIn the large, clean, light cellar there were hanging shelves which\nserved the purposes of a larder. The girls peered into the various\nstores collected on them.\n\n\"Here's a dish of cold potatoes,\" said Maria.\n\n\"That will do for one thing,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Cold?\"\n\n\"Why, no! fried, Maria.\"\n\n\"I can't fry potatoes.\"\n\n\"Why, yes, you can, Maria; you have seen mamma do it hundreds of times.\"\n\n\"Here's the cold beefsteak that was left yesterday.\"\n\n\"Cold beefsteak isn't good,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Can't we warm it?\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"I don't know; might put it in the oven; it would get hot there.\nThere's a good oven.\"\n\n\"I don't think mamma ever warms cold beefsteak,\" said Matilda, looking\npuzzled.\n\n\"What does she do with it? she don't throw it away. How do you know she\ndoesn't warm it? you wouldn't know, when you saw it on the table,\nwhether it was just fresh cooked, or only warmed up. How could you\ntell?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Matilda, dubiously, \"you can try. I wish I could ask\nsomebody.\"\n\n\"I shall not ask anybody up-stairs,\" said Maria. \"Come--you take the\npotatoes and I will carry the beefsteak. Then we will make 'the coffee\nand have breakfast. I'm as hungry as I can be.\"\n\n\"So am I,\" said Matilda. And she sighed a little, for she was tired as\nwell as hungry. Maria set the dish of beefsteak in the oven to get hot,\nand Matilda made the coffee. She knew quite well how to do that. Then\nshe came to the table where Maria was preparing the potatoes to fry.\nMaria's knife was going chop, chop, very fast.\n\n\"O Maria! you should have peeled them,\" Matilda exclaimed, in dismay.\n\n\"Peeled!\" said Maria, stopping short.\n\n\"Certainly. Why, you knew that, Maria. Potatoe parings are not good to\neat.\"\n\n\"It takes ages to peel such little potatoes,\" said Maria.\n\n\"But you cannot eat them without being peeled,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Yes, you can; it won't make any difference. I will fry them so brown,\nnobody will know whether they have skins on or not.\"\n\nMatilda doubted very much the feasibility of this plan; but she left\nMaria and went off to make sure that the fires in the other rooms were\nburning right and everything in proper trim. Then she sat down in a\nrocking-chair in the eating-room to rest; wishing very earnestly that\nthere was somebody to help who knew more about business than either she\nor Maria. How were they to get along? And she had promised her mother.\nAnd yet more, Matilda felt sure that just this work had been given to\nher and Maria to do by the Lord himself. Therefore they could do it for\nHim. Therefore, all the more, Matilda wanted to do it in the very\nnicest and best way possible. She wished she had attended when she had\nseen her mother cooking different things; now she might have known\nexactly how to manage. And that reminded her, Maria's beef and potatoes\nmust be done. She ran into the kitchen.\n\n\"There!\" said Maria. \"Can you see the skins now?\"\n\n\"They are brown enough,\" said Matilda. \"But, Maria, they'll be very\nhard!\"\n\n\"Never you mind!\" said Maria, complacently.\n\n\"Have you looked at your beefsteak?\"\n\n\"No; but it must be hot before now.\"\n\nMaria opened the oven door; and then, with an exclamation, seized a\ncloth and drew out the dish of meat. The dish took their attention\nfirst. It was as brown as Maria's potatoes. It had gone into the oven\nwhite.\n\n\"It is spoiled,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Who would have thought the oven was so hot!\" said Maria. \"Won't it\ncome all right with washing?\"\n\n\"You might as well wash your beefsteak,\" said Matilda, turning away.\n\nIf the dish had gone in white, the meat had also gone in juicy; and if\nthe one was brown the other was a chip.\n\n\"This will not do for breakfast,\" said Maria, lugubriously.\n\n\"It is like your potatoes,\" said Matilda, with the ineffable little\nturn of her head.\n\n\"Don't, Matilda! What shall we do? the coffee is ready.\"\n\n\"We shall have a brown breakfast,\" said Matilda. \"The coffee will be\nthe lightest coloured thing on the table.\" And the two girls relieved\nthemselves with laughing.\n\n\"But, Matilda! what shall we _do?_ We must have something to eat.\"\n\n\"We can boil some eggs,\" said Matilda. \"Aunt Erminia likes eggs; and\nthe coffee will be good, and the bread. And the potatoes will do to\nlook at.\"\n\nSo it was arranged; and the bell was rung for breakfast only five\nminutes after the time. And all was in order.\n\nEven Mrs. Candy's good eyes found no fault. And breakfast went forward\nbetter than Matilda had dared to hope.\n\n\"You have done your potatoes too much, Maria,\" Mrs. Candy remarked.\n\n\"Yes, ma'am,\" Maria said, meekly.\n\n\"They want no more but a light colouring. And they should be cut\nthinner. These are so hard you can't eat them. And, Maria, in future I\nwill tell you what to get for breakfast. I did not know when you went\nto bed last night, or I should have told you then. You are not old\nenough to arrange things. Now there was some beef left from dinner\nyesterday, that would have made a nice hash.\"\n\nMaria ate bread and butter, and spoke not.\n\n\"It will keep very well, and you can make it into hash for to-morrow\nmorning. Chop it as fine as you can, and twice as much potato; and warm\nit with a little butter and milk and pepper and salt, till it is nice\nand hot; and poach a few eggs, to lay round it. Can you poach eggs,\nMaria?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am. But there is no beef, Aunt Erminia.\"\n\n\"No beef? You are mistaken. There was a large piece that we did not eat\nyesterday.\"\n\n\"There is none now,\" said Maria.\n\n\"It must be down-stairs in the cellar.\"\n\n\"I am sure it is not, aunt Erminia. I have been poking into every\ncorner there; and there is no beef, I know.\"\n\n\"Maria, that is a very inelegant way of speaking. Where did you get it?\"\n\n\"I don't know, ma'am, I'm sure. Out of the truth, I suppose. That's\nwhat I _did_.\"\n\n\"It is a very inelegant way of doing, as well as of speaking. _Poking_\ninto every thing! What did you poke? your finger? or your hand?\"\n\n\"My nose, I suppose,\" said Maria, hardily.\n\n\"I think I need not tell you that _that_ is a very vulgar expression,\"\nsaid Mrs. Candy, with a lofty air; while Clarissa's shoulders gave a\nlittle shrug, as much as to say her mother was wasting time. \"Don't you\nknow any better, Maria?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am.\"\n\n\"Then I hope you will speak properly next time.\"\n\n\"One gets so tired of speaking properly!\" said Maria.\n\n\"_You?_\" said Clarissa, with a gentle intonation.\n\n\"I don't care!\" said Maria, desperately. \"People are as they are\nbrought up. My mother don't care for such fidgety notions. I speak to\nplease her, and that is enough.\"\n\n\"No, Maria, it is not enough,\" resumed  Mrs. Candy. \"Your mother loves\nyou, and so she is willing to overlook little things in you that she\n_can_ overlook because you are her child; but when you are grown up,\nyou would wish to be liked by other nice people, wouldn't you? people\nof education, and taste, and elegant habits; and they do not like to\nhave anything to do with people who 'poke their noses' into things, or\nwho say that they do.\"\n\n\"I'll keep in the kitchen then,\" said Maria, hastily.\n\nThe breakfast may be said to have ended here; for though a few more\nmouthfuls were eaten, no more words were said. Mrs. Candy and her\ndaughter left the room and went up-stairs. Maria and Matilda began the\nwork of clearing the table.\n\n\"Ain't she too much!\" Maria exclaimed.\n\n\"But, Maria,\" said her little sister, \"I wish you _wouldn't_ say such\nthings.\"\n\n\"If I am going to be a kitchen maid,\" said Maria, \"I may as well talk\nkitchen maid.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't think so, Maria!\"\n\n\"I don't care!\" said Maria. \"I would rather vex aunt Candy than not;\nand she _was_ vexed this morning. She kept it in pretty well; but she\nwas vexed.\"\n\n\"But, Maria, that isn't right, is it?\"\n\n\"Nothing is right,\" said Maria; \"and nothing is going to be, I guess,\nwhile they are here.\"\n\n\"Then think, what would mamma do if they went away?\"\n\n\"I wish I could go away, then!\" said Maria, beginning to cry. \"I can't\nbear to live so! 'Why do you do so,' and 'why do you do _so;_' and\nClarissa sitting by with that little smile on her mouth, and lifting up\nher eyes to look at you--it just makes me _mad_. There! It is a pity\nAunt Candy wasn't here to be shocked at American children.\"\n\n\"But, Maria,\" said Matilda with her eyes swimming too, \"you know the\nLord Jesus has given us this work.\"\n\n\"No, I don't!\" said Maria; \"and what if He did?\"\n\n\"Why, then, it would please Him--you know, Maria, it would please\nHim--to have us do it just nicely and beautifully, and not like kitchen\nmaids, but like His children. You know we said we were ready to do any\nwork that he would give us.\"\n\n\"I didn't,\" said Maria, half crying, half pouting. \"I didn't promise to\ndo _this_ sort of thing.\"\n\n\"But we mustn't choose,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"But we _did_ choose,\" said Maria. \"I said what I would do, and other\npeople said what they would do; and nobody said anything about washing\ndishes and peeling potatoes. We were not talking of _that_.\"\n\n\"The covenant says, 'we stand ready to do His will.' Don't you know?\"\n\n\"I believe you know that covenant by heart,\" said Maria. \"I don't. And\nI don't care. Matilda, I wish you would run down cellar with the\nbutter, and the cream, and the bread--will you?\"\n\nMatilda did not run, but she made journey after journey down the cellar\nstairs, with feet that grew weary; and then she dried the china while\nher sister washed it. Then they brushed up the kitchen and made up the\nfires. Then Maria seated herself on the kitchen table and looked at\nMatilda.\n\n\"I'm tired now, Tilly.\"\n\n\"So am I.\"\n\n\"Is there anything else to be done?\"\n\n\"Why, there is the dinner, Maria.\"\n\n\"It isn't near dinner time. It is only ten o'clock.\"\n\n\"How long will it take the potatoes to boil?\"\n\n\"Oh, not long. It is not time to put them on for a great while.\"\n\n\"But they are not ready, are they?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"And what else, Maria?\"\n\nHere came a call from the stair head. Maria went to the foot of the\nstairs to hear what the business was, and came back with her mood\nnowise sweetened; to judge by the way she went about; filled an iron\npot with water and set it on the stove, and dashed things round\ngenerally. Matilda looked on without saying a word.\n\n\"I've got my day's work cut out for me now,\" said Maria at last.\n\"There's that leg of mutton to boil, and turnips to be mashed; besides\nthe potatoes. And the turnips have got to be peeled. Come and help me,\nTilly, or I shall never get through. Won't you?\"\n\n\n\nNow Matilda had her own notions about things she liked and things she\ndid not like to do; and one of the things she did not like to do was to\nroughen or soil her hands. To put her little hands into the pan of\nwater, and handle and pare the coarse roots with the soil hanging to\nthem, was very distasteful to her nicety. She looked a little dismayed.\nBut there were the roots all to be pared and washed, and Maria would\nhave her hands full; and was not this also work given to Matilda to do?\nAt any rate, she felt that she could not refuse without losing\ninfluence over Maria, and that she could not afford. So Matilda's hands\nand her knife went into the pan. She thought it was very disagreeable,\nbut she did it. After the potatoes and turnips were ready for the pot,\nMaria demanded her help about other things; she must clean the knives,\nand set the table, and prepare the celery and rub the apples; while\nMaria kept up the fire, and attended to the cookery. Matilda did one\nthing after another; her weary little feet travelled out and in, from\none room to the other room, and got things in order for dinner in both\nplaces.\n\nIt was a pretty satisfactory dinner, on the whole. The mutton was well\ncooked and the vegetables were not bad, Mrs. Candy said; but Matilda\nthought with dismay of the after dinner dishes. However, dinner gives\ncourage sometimes; and both she and Maria were stronger-hearted when\nthey rose from table than when they had sat down. Dishes, and pots, and\nkettles, and knives, and endless details beside, were in course of time\ngot rid of; and then Matilda put on her hat and cloak, and set forth on\nan errand she had been meditating.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nIt was a soft pleasant day late in March. The snow had all gone for the\npresent. Doubtless it might come back again; no one could tell; in\nShadywalk snow was not an unknown visitor even in April; but for the\npresent no such reminder of winter was anywhere to be seen. The air was\nstill and gentle; even the brown tree stems looked softer and less bare\nthan a few weeks ago, though no bursting buds yet were there to make\nany real change. The note of a bird might be heard now and then;\nMatilda had twice seen the glorious colour of a blue bird's wings as\nthey spread themselves in the light. It was quite refreshing to get out\nof the house and the kitchen work, and smell the fresh, pure air, and\nsee the sky, and feel that all the world was not between four walls\nanywhere. Matilda went softly along, enjoying. At the corner she\nturned, and walked up Butternut street--so called, probably, in honour\nof some former tree of that family, for not a shoot of one was known in\nthe street now. On and on she went till her church was passed, and then\nturned down the little lane which led to the parsonage. The snow all\ngone, it was looking pretty here. On one side the old church, the new\nlecture-room on the other, and between them the avenue of elms, arching\ntheir branches over the way and making a vista, at the end of which was\nthe brown door of the parsonage. Always that was a pleasant view to\nMatilda, for she associated the brown door with a great many things;\nhowever, this day she did not seek the old knocker which hung\ntemptingly overhead, but sheered off and went round to the back of the\nhouse; and there entered at once, and without knocking, upon Miss\nRedwood's premises. They were in order; nobody ever saw the parsonage\nkitchen otherwise; and Miss Redwood was sitting in front of the stove,\nknitting.\n\n\"Well, if there ain't Tilly Englefield!\" was her salutation.\n\n\"May I come in, Miss Redwood?--if you are not busy.\"\n\n\"Suppos'n I _was_ busy, I guess you wouldn't do me no harm, child. Come\nright in and sit down, and tell me how's all goin' on at your house.\nHow's your mother, fust thing?\"\n\n\"Aunt Candy says she's not any better.\"\n\n\"What does your mother say herself?\"\n\n\"I have not seen her to-day. Aunt Candy says she is nervous; and she\nwants me not to go into her room.\"\n\n\"Who wants you not to go in? Not your mother?\"\n\n\"No; Aunt Candy.\"\n\n\"I thought so. Well; how do you get along without your sisters, eh?\nHave you got a girl, or are you goin' to do without?\"\n\n\"We are going to do without.\"\n\n\"I don't see how you kin, with your mother sick and wantin' somebody to\ntend her.\"\n\n\"Maria and I do what's to be done. Mamma doesn't want us to get a girl.\"\n\n\"Maria and you!\" said Miss Redwood, straightening up. \"I want to know!\nYou and Maria. Why, I didn't reckon Maria was a hand at them kind o'\nthings. What can she do, eh? I want to know! Things is curious in this\nworld.\"\n\n\"Maria can do a good deal,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"And you can, too, can't ye?\" said Miss Redwood, with a benevolent\nsmile at her little visitor, which meant all love and no criticism.\n\n\"I wish I knew how to do more,\" said Matilda. \"I _could_, if I knew\nhow. That's what I came to ask you, Miss Redwood; won't you tell me?\"\n\n\"Tell you anything on arth,\" said the housekeeper. \"What do you want to\nknow, child?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Matilda, knitting her brow. \"I want to know how to\n_manage_.\"\n\nMiss Redwood's lips twitched, and her knitting needles flew.\n\n\"So there ain't no one but you to manage?\" she said, at length.\n\n\"Aunt Candy tells what is to be for breakfast and dinner. But I want to\nknow how to _do_ things. What can one do with cold beefsteak, Miss\nRedwood?\"\n\n\"'Tain't good for much,\" said the housekeeper. \"Have you got some on\nhand?\"\n\n\"No. We had, though.\"\n\n\"And what _did_ you do with it?\"\n\n\"Maria and I put it in the oven to warm; and it spoiled the dish, and\nthe meat was all dried up; and then I thought I would come and ask you.\nAnd we tried to fry some potatoes this morning, and we didn't know how,\nI think. They were not good.\"\n\n\"And so your breakfast all fell through; and there was a muss, I\nexpect?\"\n\n\"No; we had eggs; nobody knew anything about the beefsteak and the\ndish. But I want to know how to do.\"\n\n\"What ailed your potatoes?\"\n\n\"They were too hard and too brown.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't wonder! I declare, I 'most think I've got into the middle\nof a fairy story somewhere. Did you ever hear about Cinderella, Tilly,\nand her little glass slipper?\"\n\n\"Oh yes.\"\n\n\"Some people's chariots and horses will find themselves turned into\npun'kins some day; that is what _I_ believe.\"\n\n\"But about the potatoes?\" said Matilda, who could not catch the\nconnection of this speech.\n\n\"Well; she let 'em be in too long. That was the trouble. If you want to\nhave things right, you must take 'em out when they are done, honey.\"\n\n\"But how can we tell when they are done?\"\n\n\"Why, you know by just lookin at 'em. There ain't no great trouble\nabout it; anyhow, there ain't about potatoes. You just put some fat in\na pan, and chop up your potatoes, and when the fat is hot clap 'em in,\nand let 'em frizzle round a spell; and then when they're done you take\n'em up. Did you sprinkle salt in?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"You must mind and sprinkle salt in, while they're in the pan; without\nthat they'll taste kind o' flat.\"\n\n\"Aunt Erminia don't like them chopped up. She wants them cut in thin\nslices and browned on both sides.\"\n\n\"Laws a massy! why don't she do 'em so, then? what hinders her?\" said\nthe housekeeper, looking at Matilda. \"I thought she was one o' them\nkind o' folks as don't know nothing handy. Why don't she do her own\npotatoes, and as brown as she likes, Tilly?\"\n\n\"Mamma wants us to take care of things, Miss Redwood.\"\n\n\"Won't let your aunt learn you, nother?\" said Miss Redwood, sticking\none end of her knitting-needle behind her ear, and slowly scratching\nwith it, while she looked at Matilda.\n\n\"Aunt Candy does not like to do anything in the kitchen; and I would\nrather you would teach me, Miss Redwood--if you would.\"\n\n\"And can you learn Maria?\"\n\n\"Oh yes.\"\n\n\"Well, come along; what do you want to know next?\"\n\n\"I wish you'd teach me some time how to make gingerbread. And pies.\"\n\nThe housekeeper glanced at the clock, and then bade Matilda take oft'\nher things.\n\n\"Now?\" said Matilda, hesitating.\n\n\"You can't do nothing any time but now,\" said Miss Redwood, as she put\naway her work in its basket. \"You can _think_ of doing it; but if you\never come to doing it, you will find it is _now_.\"\n\n\"But is it convenient?\"\n\n\"La, child, I don't know what people mean by convenient. You look at it\none way, and there is nothing convenient; and you look at it another\nway, and there is nothing but what is. Hang your things over that\nchair; and I'll put an apron on you.\"\n\n\"But which way does it look this afternoon, Miss Redwood?\"\n\nThe housekeeper laughed, and kissed Tilly, whom she was arraying in a\ngreat check apron, big enough to cover her.\n\n\"It is just how you choose to take it,\" she said. \"I declare I'm sorry\nfor the folks as is tied to convenience; they don't get the right good\nof their life. Why, honey, what isn't my convenience is somebody else's\nconvenience, maybe. I want it to be sunshine very often, so as I kin\ndry my clothes, when the farmers want it to be rain to make their corn\nand cabbages grow. It is sure to be convenient for somebody.\"\n\n\"But I want it to be convenient for you, this afternoon,\" said Matilda,\nwistfully.\n\n\"Well, 'tis,\" said the housekeeper. \"There--wash your hands in that\nbowl, dear; and here's a clean towel for you. A body as wants to have\nthings convenient, had better not be a minister's housekeeper. No, the\nplace is nice enough,\" she went on, as she saw Matilda's eye glance\naround the kitchen; \"'tain't that; but I always think convenient means\nhaving your own way; and _that_ nobody need expect to do at the\nparsonage. Just so sure as I make pot pie, Mr. Richmond'll hev to go to\na funeral, and it's spiled or lost, for he's no time to eat it; and I\nnever cleaned up that hall and steps yet, but an army of boots and\nshoes came tramping over it out of the dirt; when if it _wants_\ncleaning, it'll get leave to be without a foot crossing it all the\nafternoon. And if it's bakin' day, I have visitors, and have to run\nbetween them and the oven, till I don't know which end is the parlour;\nand that's the way, Tilly; and I don't know no better way but to\nconclude that somebody else's convenience is yourn--and then you'll\nlive in clover. The minister had to preach to me a good while before I\ncould see it, though. Now, honey, sift your flour;--here it is. Kin you\ndo it?\"\n\nMatilda essayed to do it, and the housekeeper looked on.\n\n\"The damper is turned,\" she said; \"we'll have the oven hot by the time\nthe cake is ready. Now, dear, what's going into it?\"\n\n\"Will that be enough?\" said Matilda, lifting her floury hand out of the\npan.\n\n\"_I_ want a piece,\" said the housekeeper; \"so there had better go\nanother bowlful. And the minister--_he_ likes a bite of hot\ngingerbread, when he can get it. So shake it in, dear. That will do.\nNow, what are you going to put in it, Tilly, besides flour?\"\n\n\"Why, _I_ don't know,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Well, guess. What do you think goes into gingerbread?\"\n\n\"Molasses?\"\n\n\"Yes; but that goes one of the last things. Ain't you going to put no\nshortening in?\"\n\n\"Shortening? what is that?\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Well, it's whatever you've got. Butter'll do, if it's nice and\nsweet--like this is--or sweet drippings'll do, or a little sweet lard,\nmaybe. We'll take the butter to-day, for this is going to do you and me\ncredit. Now think--what else? Put the butter right there, in the\nmiddle, and rub it into the flour with the flat of your hand, so. Rub\nhard, dear; get the butter all in the flour, so you can't see it. What\nis to go in next?\"\n\n\"Spice? I think mamma puts spice.\"\n\n\"If you like it. What spice will you choose?\"\n\n\"I don't know, Miss Redwood.\"\n\n\"Well, it'd be queer gingerbread without ginger, wouldn't it?\"\n\n\"Oh yes. I forgot the ginger, to be sure. How much?\"\n\n\"That's 'cordin' as you like it. _That_ won't hardly taste, dear;\n'tain't just like red pepper; take a good cupful. Now just a little bit\nof cloves!\"\n\n\"And cinnamon?\"\n\n\"It'll be spice gingerbread, sure enough,\" said the housekeeper. \"And\nsalt, Tilly.\"\n\n\"Salt? Must salt go in?\" said Matilda, who had got very eager now in\nher work.\n\n\"Salt's univarsal,\" said Miss Redwood. \"'Cept sweetmeats, it goes into\neverything. That's what makes all the rest good. I never could see what\nwas the use o' salt, till one day the minister, he preached a sermon on\n'Ye are the salt of the earth,' and ever since that it seems to kind o'\nput me in mind. And then I asked Mr. Richmond if _everything_ meant\nsomething.\"\n\n\"But what does that mean, that you said?\" said Matilda. \"Good people\ndon't make the rest of the world good.\"\n\n\"They give all the taste there is to it, though,\" said the housekeeper.\n\"And I asked that very question myself of the minister; and what do you\nthink he told me.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"He said it was because the salt warn't of as good quality as it had\nought to be. And _that_ makes me think, too. But la! look at your\ngingerbread standing still. Now see, dear here's a bowl o' buttermilk\nfor you; it's as rich as cream, a'most; and I take and put in a\nspoonful of--you know what this is?\"\n\n\"Salaeratus?\"\n\n\"That's it.\"\n\n\"We use soda at our house.\"\n\n\"Salaeratus is good enough for me,\" said Miss Redwood; \"and I know what\nit'll do; so I'm never put out in my calculations. Now when it foams\nup--see,--now mix your cake, dear, as quick as you like.\nStop--wait--let's get the molasses in. Now, go on. I declare, having\ntwo pair o' hands kind o' puts one out. Stir it up; don't be afraid.\"\n\nMatilda was not afraid, and was very much in earnest. The gingerbread\nwas quickly mixed, and for a few minutes there was busy work, buttering\nthe pans and putting the mixture in them, and setting the pans in the\noven. Then Matilda washed her hands; the housekeeper put the flour and\nspices away; and the two sat down to watch the baking.\n\n\"It'll be good,\" said the housekeeper.\n\n\"I hope it will,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"I know 'twill,\" said Miss Redwood. \"You do your part right; and these\nsort o' things--flour, and butter, and meat, and potatoes, and\nthat--don't never disapint you. That's one thing that is satisfactory\nin this world.\"\n\n\"But mamma has her cake spoiled in the oven sometimes.\"\n\n\"'Twarn't the oven's fault,\" said Miss Redwood. \"Did ye think it was?\nOvens don't do that for me, never.\"\n\n\"But sometimes the oven was too hot,\" said Matilda; \"and other times\nshe said it was not hot enough.\"\n\n\"Of course!\" said the housekeeper; \"and then again other times she\nforgot to look at it, maybe, and left her cake in too long. The cake\ncouldn't knock at the door of the oven to be let out; that'd be too\nmuch to ask. Now look at yourn, dear.\"\n\nMatilda opened the oven door and shut it again.\n\n\"What's the appearance of it?\"\n\n\"It is coming up beautifully. But it isn't up in the middle yet.\"\n\n\"The fire's just right,\" said the housekeeper.\n\n\"But how can you _tell_, Miss Redwood?\" said Matilda, standing by the\nstove with a most careful set of wrinkles on her little brow.\n\n\"Tell?\" said the housekeeper; \"just as you tell anything else; after\nyou've seen it fifty times, you know.\"\n\nMatilda began a painful calculation of how often she could make\nsomething to bake, and how long it would be till fifty times had made\nher wise in the matter; when an inner door opened, and the minister\nhimself came upon the scene. Matilda coloured, and looked a little\nabashed; the housekeeper smiled.\n\n\"I am very glad to see you here, Tilly,\" Mr. Richmond said, heartily.\n\"What are you and Miss Redwood doing here?\"\n\n\"We are getting ready for the business of life,\" said the housekeeper.\n\"The minister knows there are different ways of doin' that.\"\n\n\"Just what way are you taking now?\" said Mr. Richmond, laughing. \"It\nseems to me, you think the business of life is eating--if I may judge\nby the smell of the preparation.\"\n\n\"It is time you looked at your cake, Tilly,\" said Miss Redwood; and she\ndid not offer to help her; so, blushing more and more, Matilda was\nobliged to open the oven door again, and show that she was acting\nbaker. The eyes of the two older persons met in a way that was pleasant\nto see.\n\n\"What's here, Tilly?\" said the minister, coming nearer and stooping to\nlook in himself.\n\n\"Miss Redwood has been teaching me how to make gingerbread. O Miss\nRedwood, it is beginning to get brown at the end.\"\n\n\"Turn the pans round then. It ain't done yet.\"\n\n\"No, it isn't done, for it is not quite up in the middle. There is a\nsort of hollow place.\"\n\n\"Shut up your oven, child, and it will be all right in a few minutes.\"\n\n\"Then I think this is the night when you are going to stay and take tea\nwith me,\" said Mr. Richmond. \"I promised you a roast apple, I remember.\nAre there any more apples that will do for roasting, Miss Redwood?\"\n\n\"O Mr. Richmond, I do not care for the apple!\" Matilda cried.\n\n\"But if I don't have it, you will stay and take tea with me?\"\n\nMatilda looked wistful, and hesitated. Her mother would not miss her;\nbut could Maria get the tea without her?--\n\n\"And I dare say you want to talk to me about something; isn't it so?\"\nthe minister continued.\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Richmond; I do.\"\n\n\"That settles it. She will stay, Miss Redwood. I shall have some\ngingerbread, I hope. And when you are ready, Tilly, you can come to me\nin my room.\"\n\nThe minister quitted the kitchen in good time, for now the cakes were\nalmost done and needed care. A little watchful waiting, and then the\nplumped up, brown, glossy loaves of gingerbread said to even an\ninexperienced eye that it was time for them to come out of the oven.\nMiss Redwood showed Matilda how to arrange them on a sieve, where they\nwould not get steamy and moist; and Matilda's eye surveyed them there\nwith very great satisfaction.\n\n\"That's as nice as if I had made it myself,\" said the housekeeper. \"Now\ndon't you want to get the minister's tea?\"\n\n\"What shall I do, Miss Redwood?\"\n\n\"I thought maybe you'd like to learn how to manage something else. He's\nhad no dinner to-day--to speak of; and if eatin' ain't the business of\nlife--which it ain't, I guess, with him--yet stoppin' eatin' would stop\nbusiness, he'd find; and I'm goin' to frizzle some beef for his supper,\nand put an egg in. Now I'll cut the beef, and you can stir it, if you\nlike.\"\n\nMatilda liked very much. She watched the careful shaving of the beef in\npaper-like fragments; then at the housekeeper's direction she put some\nbutter in a pan on the fire, and when it was hot threw the beef in and\nstirred it back and forward with a knife, so as not to let it burn, and\nso as to bring all the shavings of beef in contact with the hot pan\nbottom, and into the influence of the boiling butter. At the moment of\nits being done, the housekeeper broke an egg or two into the pan; and\nthen in another moment bade Matilda take it from the fire and turn it\nout. Meanwhile Miss Redwood had cut bread and made the tea.\n\n\"Now you can go and call the minister,\" she said.\n\nMatilda thought she was having the rarest of pleasant times, as she\ncrossed the little dining-room and the square yard of hall that came\nnext, and went into the study. Fire Was burning in the wide chimney\nthere as usual; the room was very sweet and still; Mr Richmond sat\nbefore the fire with a book.\n\n\"I thought you were coming to talk to me, Tilly?\" he said, stretching\nout his hand to draw her up to him.\n\n\"Miss Redwood was showing me how to do things, Mr. Richmond.\"\n\n\"Then you _do_ want to talk to me?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, sir. But, Mr. Richmond, tea is ready.\"\n\n\"We'll eat first then, and talk afterward. What is the talk to be\nabout, Tilly? just to give me an idea.\"\n\n\"It is about--I do not know what is right about something, Mr.\nRichmond. I do not know what I ought to do.\"\n\n\"Have you looked in the Bible to find out?\"\n\n\"No, sir. I didn't know where to look, Mr. Richmond.\"\n\n\"Have you prayed about it?\"\n\nMatilda hesitated, but finally said again, \"No.\"\n\n\"That is another thing you can always do. The Lord understands your\ndifficulties better than any one else can, and knows just what answer\nto give you.\"\n\n\"But--an answer? will He give it always?\"\n\n\"Always provided you are perfectly willing to take it, whatever it may\nbe; and provided you do your part.\"\n\n\"What is my part?\"\n\n\"If I sent you to find your way along a road you did not know, where\nthere were guide posts set up; what would be your part to do?\"\n\n\"To mind the guide posts?\"\n\n\"Yes, and go on as they bade you. That is not to prevent your asking\nsomebody you meet on the road, if you are going right? Now Miss Redwood\nhas rung her bell, and you and I must obey it.\"\n\n\"But, what are the guide posts, Mr. Richmond?\"\n\n\"We will see about that after tea. Come.\"\n\nMatilda gave one wondering thought to the question how Maria and tea\nwould get along without her at home; and then she let all that go, and\nresolved to enjoy the present while she had it. Certainly it was very\npleasant to take tea with Mr. Richmond. He was so very kind, and\nattentive to her wants; and so amusing in his talk; and the new\ngingerbread looked so very handsome, piled up in the cake basket; and\nMiss Redwood was such a variety after Mrs. Candy. Matilda let care go.\nAnd when it came to eating the gingerbread, it was found to be\nexcellent. Mr. Richmond said he wished she would come often and make\nsome for him.\n\n\"Do you know there is a meeting of the Band this evening?\"\n\n\"I had forgotten about it, Mr. Richmond; I have been so busy.\"\n\n\"It is lucky you came to take tea with me, then,\" said he. \"Perhaps you\nwould have forgotten it altogether. What is Maria doing?\"\n\n\"She is busy at home, Mr. Richmond.\"\n\n\"I am sorry for that. To-night is the night for questions; I am\nprepared to receive questions from everybody. Have you got yours ready?\"\n\n\"About Band work, Mr. Richmond?\"\n\n\"Yes, about Band work. Though you know that is only another name for\nthe Lord's work, whatever it may be that He gives us to do. Now we will\ngo to my study and attend to the business we were talking about.\"\n\nSo they left Miss Redwood to her tea-table; and the minister and his\nlittle guest found themselves alone again.\n\n\"Now, Tilly, what is it?\" he said, as he shut the door.\n\n\"Mr. Richmond,\" said Matilda, anxiously, \"I want to know if I must mind\nwhat Aunt Erminia says?\"\n\n\"Mrs. Candy?\" said Mr. Richmond, looking surprised.\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"The question is, whether you must obey her?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"I should say, if you doubt about any of her commands, you had better\nask your mother, Tilly.\"\n\n\"But I cannot see my mother, Mr. Richmond; that is one of the things.\nMamma is sick, and aunt Candy has forbidden me to go into her room.\nMust I stay out?\"\n\n\"Is your mother so ill?\"\n\n\"No, sir, I do not think she is; I don't know; but Aunt Candy says she\nis nervous; and I must not go in there without leave.\" And Matilda\nraised appealing eyes to the minister.\n\n\"That is hard, Tilly. I am very sorry to hear it. But I am of opinion\nthat the authority of nurses must not be disputed. I think if Mrs.\nCandy says stay out, you had better stay out.\"\n\n\"And everything else?\" said Matilda. \"Must I mind what she says in\neverything else?\"\n\n\"Are you under her orders, Matilda?\"\n\n\"That is what I want to know, Mr. Richmond. She says so. She told me\nnot to go out to church last Sunday night; and all the others were\ngoing, and I went too; and she scolded about it and said I must mind\nher. Must I? in everything? I can't ask mamma.\"\n\nMr. Richmond turned a paper-weight over and over two or three times\nwithout speaking.\n\n\"You know what the fifth commandment is, Tilly.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Richmond. But she is not my mother.\"\n\n\"Don't you think she is in your mother's place just now? Would not your\nmother wish that your obedience should be given to your aunt for the\npresent?\"\n\nMatilda looked grave, not to say gloomy.\n\n\"I can tell you what will make it easy,\" said Mr. Richmond. \"Do it for\nthe sake of the Lord Jesus. He set us an example of obedience to all\nlawful authorities; He has commanded us to live in peace with everybody\nas far as we possibly can; and to submit ourselves to one another in\nthe fear of God. Besides that, I must think, Tilly, the command to obey\nour parents means also that we should obey whoever happens to stand in\nour parents' place to us. Will it not make it easy to obey your aunt,\nif you think that you are doing it to please God?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Richmond,\" Matilda said, thoughtfully.\n\n\"I always feel that God's command sweetens anything,\" the minister went\non. \"Do you feel so?\"\n\n\"I think I do,\" the little girl answered.\n\n\"So if you stay at home for Mrs. Candy's command, you may reflect that\nit is for Jesus' sake; and that will please Him a great deal better\nthan your going to church to please yourself.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Richmond,\" Matilda said, cheerfully.\n\n\"Was that all you had to talk to me about?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; all except about Band work.\"\n\n\"We will talk about that in the meeting. If you have a question to ask,\nwrite it here; and I will take it in and answer it.\"\n\nHe gave Matilda paper and pen, and himself put on his overcoat. Then\ntaking her little slip of a question, the two went together into the\nlecture-room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\nThree was a good little gathering of the workers, many of whom were\nquite young persons. Among them Matilda was not a little surprised to\nsee Maria. But she warily sheered off from comments and questions, and\ntook a seat in another part of the room.\n\n\"We are here for a good talk to-night,\" said the minister, after they\nhad sung and prayed. \"I stand ready to meet difficulties and answer\nquestions. All who have any more little notes to lay on the desk,\nplease bring or send them up, or ask their questions by word of mouth.\nI will take the first of these that comes to hand.\"\n\nMr. Richmond unfolded a paper and read it over to himself, in the midst\nof a hush of expectation. Then he read it aloud.\n\n\"If a member of the Relief Committee visits a sick person in want of\nhelp, and finds another member of some other committee giving the help\nand doing the work of the Relief Committee, which of them should take\ncare of the case?\"\n\n\"It is almost as puzzling,\" said Mr. Richmond, \"as that other question,\nwhat husband the woman should have in the other world who had had seven\nin this. But as we are not just like the angels in heaven yet, I should\nsay in this and similar cases, that the one who first found and\nundertook the case should continue her care--or his care--if he or she\nbe so minded. The old rule of 'first come, first served,' is a good\none, I think. The Relief Committee has no monopoly of the joy of\nhelping others. Let us see what comes next.\n\n\"'There are four people, I know, who go to read the Bible to one blind\nperson--and I know of at least two who are sick and unable to read,\nthat nobody goes to.'\n\n\"Want of system,\" said Mr. Richmond, looking up. \"The head of the\nBible-reading Committee should be told of these facts.\"\n\n\"She has been told,\" said a lady in the company.\n\n\"Then doubtless the irregularity will be set to rights.\"\n\n\"No, it is not so certain; for the blind person lives where it is easy\nto attend her; and the sick people are in Lilac Lane--out of the way,\nand in a disagreeable place.\"\n\n\"Does the head of the Bible-reading Committee decline these cases,\nhaving nobody that she can send to them?\"\n\n\"She says she does not know whom to send.\"\n\n\"I will thank you for the names of those two cases by and by, Mrs.\nNorris; I think I can get them supplied. The question of theory I will\nhandle presently, before we separate.\"\n\n\"Here is another request,\" said Mr. Richmond, who knew Matilda's\nhandwriting,--\"from a dear child, who asks to know 'what we shall do,\nwhen people will not hear the message we carry?' Why, try again. Go and\ntell them again; and never mind rebuffs if you get them. People did not\nlisten to our Master; it is no matter of wonder if they refuse to hear\nus. But He did not stop His labours for that; neither must we. 'Let us\nnot be weary in well-doing; for in due season we shall reap, if we\nfaint not.' I give her that for her watchword;--' _If we faint not_,\nremember.\n\n\"The next question in my hand is, 'what we are to do about welcoming\nstrangers?' The writer states, that six new scholars have lately come\nto the school, and, to her certain knowledge, only two of them have\nreceived any welcome.\n\n\"Well,\" said Mr. Richmond, thoughtfully, \"I must come to the words I\nhad chosen to talk to you about. They answer a great many things. You\nall remember a verse in the Epistle to the Ephesians which speaks of\n'redeeming the time, because the days are evil.'\n\n\"I dare say it has puzzled some of you, as it used once to puzzle me.\nHow are we to 'redeem the time'? Another translation of the passage\nwill perhaps be clearer and help us to understand. '_Buying' up\nopportunities_.' The words are so rendered by a late great authority. I\ndon't know but you will at first think it just as hard to comprehend.\nHow are we to 'buy up opportunities'?\"\n\n\"I am sure I don't know,\" said Mrs. Swan, Ailie's mother. \"I always\nthought opportunities were given.\"\n\n\"So they are. But the privilege of using them, we often must buy.\"\n\n\"I don't see how.\"\n\n\"Let us come to facts, Mrs. Swan. Here are four opportunities in the\nschool, in the shape of new members added to it. How comes it these\nopportunities have not been used? There are two other grand\nopportunities in Lilac Lane.\"\n\n\"Are we to buy them?\" said Mrs. Trembleton.\n\n\"I do not see how else the difficulty can be met. They are worth\nbuying. But the next question is, What will you pay?\"\n\nThere was a long silence, which nobody seemed inclined to break.\n\n\"I think you see, my dear friends, what I mean. For welcoming those\nfour strangers, somebody must give up his ease for a moment--must make\na little sacrifice of comfort. It will be very little indeed, for these\nthings pay as we go; we get our return promptly. The opportunities in\nLilac Lane must be bought, perhaps, with some giving up of time; of\npleasure, perhaps; perhaps we must pay some annoyance. It is so with\nmost of our opportunities, dear friends. He who serves God with what\ncosts him nothing, will do very little service, you may depend on it.\nChrist did not so; who, 'though He was rich, yet for our sakes He\nbecame poor, that we through His poverty might be rich.' He 'pleased\nnot Himself.' And we, if we are His servants, must be ready to give\n_everything_, if need be, even our lives also, to the work He calls us\nto do. We must buy up opportunities with all our might, paying not only\ntime and money, but love, and patience, and self-denial, and\nself-abasement, and labour, and pains-taking. We cannot be right\nservants of God or happy servants, and keep back anything. 'Let a man\nso account of us, as ministers of Christ, and stewards of the mysteries\nof God;' and let us see that all the grace He gives us we use to the\nvery uttermost for His glory, in 'works, and love, and service, and\nfaith, and patience, and works.' My dear friends, if we have only\n_love_ in our hearts, love will buy up opportunities as fast as they\ncome; and always have the right money.\"\n\nMr. Richmond said no more, but after another hymn and a prayer\ndismissed the assembly. Maria and Matilda presently found themselves\nside by side in the street.\n\n\"Maria,\" said the younger one, \"don't you think you and I will go and\nread to those two poor people in the lane?\"\n\n\"I guess I will!\" said Maria, \"when I get done being chief cook and\nbottle-washer to Mrs. Minny Candy.\"\n\n\"But before that, Maria?\"\n\n\"When shall I go?\" said Maria, sharply. \"When it is time to get\nbreakfast? or when the potatoes are on for dinner? or when I am taking\nthe orders for tea? Don't be a goose, Matilda, if you can help it.\"\n\n\"We haven't much time,\" said Matilda, sighing.\n\n\"And I am not going to Lilac Lane, if I had it. There are enough other\npeople to do that.\"\n\n\"O Maria!\"\n\n\"Well, 'O Maria,'--there are.\"\n\n\"But they do not go.\"\n\n\"That's their look out.\"\n\n\"And, Maria, you see what Mr. Richmond thinks about the Dows.\"\n\n\"I don't see any such thing.\"\n\n\"You heard him to-night.\"\n\n\"He didn't say a word about the Dows.\"\n\n\"But about trying again, he did. O Maria, I've thought a great many\ntimes of that Dows' house.\"\n\n\"So have I,\" said Maria; \"what fools we were.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Why, because it was no use.\"\n\n\"Mr. Richmond doesn't think so.\"\n\n\"He's welcome to go and try for himself. _I_ am not going again.\"\n\n\"What is the matter, Maria?\"\n\n\"Nothing is the matter.\"\n\n\"But, Maria, ever since you joined the Band, I cannot remember once\nseeing you 'buy up opportunities.' If you loved Jesus, I think you\nwould.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't preach,\" said Maria. \"That is one thing I wouldn't do. If I\nwas better than my neighbours, I'd let them be the ones to find it out.\"\n\nMatilda was silent till they reached home.\n\n\"Where have you been, Matilda?\" said her aunt, opening the parlour door.\n\n\"To see Miss Redwood, aunt Candy.\"\n\n\"Ask me, next time, before going anywhere. Here has Maria had\neverything to do since five hours ago,--all alone.\"\n\nMatilda shut her lips firmly,--if her head took a more upright set on\nher shoulders she did not know it,--and went up-stairs after her sister.\n\n\"How is mamma, Maria?\" she asked, when she got there.\n\n\"I don't know. Just the same.\"\n\nThe little girl sighed.\n\n\"What is to be for breakfast?\"\n\n\"Fish balls.\"\n\n\"You do not know how to make them.\"\n\n\"Aunt Erminia told me. But I shall want your help, Tilly, for the fish\nhas to be carefully picked all to pieces; and if we leave a bit as big\nas a sixpence, there'll be a row.\"\n\n\"But the fish isn't soaked, Maria.\"\n\n\"It is in hot water on the stove now. It will be done by morning.\"\n\nMatilda sighed again deeply, and knelt down before the table where her\nBible was open. \"Buying up opportunities\" floated through her head;\nwith \"works, and love, and service, and faith, and patience, and\nworks\"* [*Alford's translation.]--\"Christ pleased not Himself\"--and the\nlittle girl's head went down upon the open page. How much love she must\nhave, to meet all the needs for it! to do all the works, have all the\npatience, buy up all the opportunities! Tilly's one prayer was that she\nmight be full of love, first to God and then to everybody.\n\nSuch prayers are apt to be answered; and the next morning saw her go\nthrough all the details of its affairs with a quiet patience and\nreadiness which must have had a deep spring somewhere. She helped Maria\nin the tedious picking out of the fish; she roasted her cheeks in\nfrying the balls, while her sister was making porridge; she attended to\nthe coffee; and she met her aunt and cousin at breakfast with an\nunruffled quiet sweetness of temper. It was just the drop of oil needed\nto keep things going smoothly; for Maria was tired and out of humour,\nand Mrs. Candy disposed to be ill-pleased with both the girls for their\nbeing out at the Band meeting. She did not approve of the whole thing,\nshe said. However, the sunshine scattered the clouds away. And when,\nafter a busy morning and a pretty well got-up dinner, Matilda asked\nleave to go out and take a walk, she had her reward. Mrs. Candy gave\npermission.\n\n\"Won't you come too, Maria?\" she asked, when they went to their own\nroom.\n\n\"There's no fun in walking,\" Maria answered, disconsolately.\n\n\"I am going to Lilac Lane.\"\n\n\"I hope you don't think there is any fun in _that_.\"\n\n\"But, Maria!----\"\n\n\"Well, what?\"\n\n\"I think there is something a great deal better than fun.\"\n\n\"You may have it all then, for me.\"\n\n\"Maria,\" said her little sister, gently, \"I wish you wouldn't mind.\nMamma will get well by and by, and this will be all over; and we are\ngetting along so nicely. Aunt Candy was quite pleased with the dinner.\"\n\n\"There's another dinner to get to-morrow,\" said Maria; \"and I don't\nknow what you mean by this being 'all over' when mamma gets well. What\ndifference will her getting well make? She will help, to be sure; but\nwe should have the same things to do--just the same.\"\n\nMatilda had not reckoned on that, for she looked sober a minute or two.\n\n\"Well, Maria,\" she said then, clearing up, \"I don't care. If Jesus has\ngiven us this to do, you know, I _like_ to do it; because He has given\nit to us to do.\"\n\nMaria turned away impatiently.\n\n\"Maria,\" said her little sister, drawing nearer and speaking solemnly,\n\"do you intend to ask Mr. Richmond to baptize you the next time he has\nthe baptismal service?\"\n\n\"If I do,\" said Maria, \"_you_ need not trouble yourself about it.\"\n\nAnd Matilda thought she had better let the subject and her sister both\nalone for the present. She had got herself ready, and now taking her\nBible she went out. It was but a little way to the corner. There she\nturned in the opposite direction from the one which would have taken\nher to church, and crossed the main street. In that direction, farther\non, lay the way to Lilac Lane; but at the other corner of the street\nMatilda found an interruption. Somebody stopped her, whom she knew the\nnext instant to be Norton Laval.\n\n\"Why, it is Matilda Englefield!\" he said. \"You are just the one I want\nto see.\"\n\n\"Am I?\" said Matilda.\n\n\"I should think so. Come along; our house lies that way; don't you\nrecollect?\"\n\n\"Oh, but I am not going that way now,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Oh yes, but you are! Mamma says contradicting is very rude, but I\ncan't help it sometimes. Can you help it, Matilda?\"\n\n\"People ought to be contradicted sometimes,\" Matilda said, with an arch\nbridling of her head, which, to be sure, the child was quite\nunconscious of.\n\n\"Not I,\" said Norton. \"Come!\"\n\n\"Oh, but I cannot, Norton. I wish I could. Not this time.\"\n\n\"Where are you going?\"\n\n\"Up that way.\"\n\n\"Nobody lives up that way.\"\n\n\"Nobody? Just look at the houses.\"\n\n\"Nobody lives in those houses,\" said Norton.\n\n\"Oh, very well; then I am going to see nobody.\"\n\n\"No, Matilda; you are coming to see mamma. And I have something to show\nyou; a new beautiful game, which mamma has got for me; we are going to\nplay it on the lawn, when the grass is in order, by and by; and I want\nyou to come and see it now, and learn how to play. Come, Matilda, I\nwant to show it to you.\"\n\nMatilda hesitated. It did not seem very easy to get rid of Norton; but\nwhat would become of the poor people in Lilac Lane? Would another time\ndo for them? Here was Norton waiting for her; and a little play would\nbe so pleasant. As she stood irresolute, Norton, putting his arm round\nher affectionately, and applying a little good-humoured force, gave her\nshoulders without much difficulty the turn he wished them to take. The\ntwo began to move down the street towards Norton's home. But as soon as\nthis was done, Matilda began to have qualms about her dress. Norton was\nin a brown suit that fitted him, fresh and handsome; his cap sat\njauntily on his thick, wavy hair; he was nice from head to foot. And\nMatilda had come out in the home dress she had worn while she and Maria\nhad been washing up the dinner dittoes. Looking down she could see a\nlittle wet spot on the skirt now. That would dry. But then her boots\nwere her everyday boots, and they were a little rusty; and she had on\nher common school hat. The only thing new and bright about her was her\nBible under her arm. As her eye fell upon it, so did her companion's\neye.\n\n\"What book have you got there?\" he asked, and then put out his hand to\ntake it. \"A Bible! Where were you going with this, Matilda?\"\n\n\"It is my Bible,\" said the little girl.\n\n\"Yes; but you do not take your Bible out to walk with you, do you, as\nbabies do their dolls?\"\n\n\"Of course not.\"\n\n\"Then what for, Matilda?\"\n\n\"Business.\"\n\n\"What sort of business?\"\n\n\"Why do you want to know, Norton? It was private business.\"\n\n\"I like that,\" said Norton. \"Why do I want to know? Because you are\nMatilda Englefield, and I like to know all about you.\"\n\n\"You do not know much yet,\" said Matilda, looking with a pleased look,\nhowever, up into her companion's face. It was smiling at her, with a\ncomplacent look to match.\n\n\"I shan't know _much_ when I know all,\" he said. \"How old are you? You\ncan't make much history in ten years.\"\n\n\"No, not much,\" said Matilda. \"But still--it may not be history to\nother people, but I think it is to one's self.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Oh, one's life, you know.\"\n\n\"But ten years is not a life,\" said Norton.\n\n\"It is, if one hasn't lived any longer.\"\n\n\"I would like my life to be history to other people,\" said Norton.\n\"Something worth while.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't like other people to know my life, though,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Then could not help it, if it was something worth while,\" said Norton.\n\n\"Why, yes, Norton; one's life is what one thinks and feels; what nobody\nknows. Not the things that everybody knows.\"\n\n\"It is what one _does_,\" said Norton; \"and if you do anything worth\nwhile, people will know it. I wonder what there will be to tell of you\nand me fifty years from now?\"\n\n\"Fifty years! Why, then I should be sixty-one,\" said Matilda; \"and you\nwould be a good deal more than that. But perhaps we shall not live to\nbe so old.\"\n\n\"Yes, we shall,\" said Norton. \"_I_ shall; and you must, too.\"\n\n\"Why, Norton, we can't _make_ ourselves live,\" said Matilda, in great\nastonishment at this language.\n\n\"We shall live to be old, though,\" said Norton. \"I know it. And I wish\nthere may be something to be said of _me_. I don't think women ought to\nbe talked of.\"\n\n\"I do not see what good it would do anybody to be talked of, after he\nhas gone away out of the world,\" said Matilda. \"Except to be talked of\nin heaven. That would be good.\"\n\n\"In heaven!\" said Norton. \"Talked of in heaven! Where did you get that?\"\n\n\"I don't mean that exactly,\" said Matilda. \"But some people will.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Why, a great many people, Norton. Abraham and Noah, and David, and\nDaniel, and the woman that put all she had into the Lord's treasury,\nand the woman that anointed the head of Jesus--the woman who, He said,\nhad done what she could. I would like to have _that_ said of me, if it\nwas Jesus that said it.\"\n\nNorton took hold of Matilda and gave her a little good-humoured shake.\n\"Stop that!\" he said; \"and tell me, is that why you are carrying a\nBible out here in the streets?\"\n\n\"Oh, I haven't any use for it here, Norton.\"\n\n\"Then what have you got it here for?\"\n\n\"Norton, there are some people in the village who are sick, or cannot\nread; and I was going to read to them.\"\n\n\"Where are they?\"\n\n\"In Lilac Lane.\"\n\n\"Where is that?\"\n\n\"You go up past the corner a good way, and just by Mr. Barth's foundry\nyou turn down a few steps, and turn again at the baker's. Then, a\nlittle way further on, you strike into the lane.\"\n\n\"That's it, is it? I know. But do you know what sort of people live up\nthat way?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, there's another thing you _don't_ know, and that's the mud.\nYou'd never have got out again, if you had gone to Lilac Lane to-day.\nIt is three feet deep; and it weighs twenty pounds a foot. After you\nset your shoe in it, you want a windlass to get it out again.\"\n\n\"What is a windlass?\" Matilda asked.\n\n\"Don't you know? Well, you _are_ a girl; but you are a brick. I'll\nteach you about a windlass, and lots of things.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't think you would want to teach me, _because_ I am a girl,\"\nsaid Matilda.\n\nThey had reached the iron gate of Mrs. Laval's domain, walking fast as\nthey had talked; and in answer to Matilda's last remark, Norton opened\nthe gate for her, and took off his cap with an air as he held it for\nher to pass in. Matilda looked, smiled, and stepped past him.\n\n\"You are not like any boy I ever saw,\" she remarked, when he had\nrecovered his cap and his place beside her.\n\n\"I hope you like me better than any one you ever saw?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Matilda, \"I do.\"\n\nThe boy's answer was to do what most boys are too shy or too proud for.\nHe put his arms round Matilda and gave her a hearty kiss. Matilda was\ngreatly surprised, and bridled a little, as if she thought Norton had\ntaken a liberty; but on the whole seemed to recognise the fact that\nthey were very good friends, and took this as a seal of it. Norton led\nher into the house, got his croquet box, and brought her and it out\nagain to the little lawn before the door. Nobody else was visible. The\nday was still, dry, and sunny, and though the grass was hardly green\nyet and not shaven nor rolled nor anything that a croquet lawn ought to\nbe, still it would do, as Norton said, to look at. Matilda stood by and\nlistened intently, while he planted his hoops and showed his mallets,\nand explained to her the initial mysteries of the game. They even tried\nhow it would go; and there was no doubt of one thing, the time went\nalmost as fast as the croquet balls.\n\n\"I must run home, Norton,\" Matilda said at last.\n\n\"Why? I don't think so.\"\n\n\"I know I must.\"\n\n\"Well, do you like it?\" He meant the game.\n\n\"Oh, it's delightful!\" was Matilda's honest exclamation. Norton pushed\nback his cap and looked at her, pleased on his part. It came into\nMatilda's head that she ought to tell him something. Their two faces\nhad grown to be so friendly to each other.\n\n\"Norton,\" she said, gravely, \"I want you to know something about me.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Norton. \"I want to know it.\"\n\n\"You don't know what it is.\"\n\n\"That's the very thing. I _want_ to know it.\"\n\n\"Norton, did you ever see anybody baptized?\"\n\n\"Babies,\" said Norton, after a moment's recollection.\n\n\"Well, if you would like to see me baptized, come to our church Sunday\nafter next.\"\n\n\"You?\" said Norton. \"Haven't you been baptized?\"\n\n\"Not yet.\"\n\n\"I thought everybody was. Then if you have not been yet, why do you?\nWhose notion is that?\"\n\n\"It is mine.\"\n\n\"_Your_ notion?\" said Norton, examining her. \"What do you mean by that,\nMatilda?\"\n\n\"I mean, I want to be baptized; and Mr. Richmond is going to do it for\nme.\"\n\n\"What's it for? what's the use? I wouldn't if I were you.\"\n\n\"It is joining the church. Don't you understand, Norton?\"\n\n\"Not a bit. That is something I never did understand. Do you understand\nit?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, certainly.\"\n\n\"Let's hear, then,\" said Norton, putting up his croquet balls.\n\n\"Mr. Richmond has explained it so much, you know, I couldn't help but\nunderstand.\"\n\n\"Oh, it's Mr. Richmond, is it?\"\n\n\"No; it's the Bible.\"\n\n\"Let's hear, then,\" said Norton. \"Go on.\"\n\nMatilda hesitated. She found a difficulty in saying all her mind to\nhim; she did not know whether it was best; and with that she had a\nsuspicion that perhaps she ought to do it. She glanced at him, and\nlooked away, and glanced again; and tried to make up her mind. Norton\nwas busy putting up his croquet hoops and mallets; but his face looked\nso energetic and wide awake, and his eye was so quick and strong, that\nshe was half afraid to say something that might bring an expression of\ndoubt or ridicule upon it. Then Norton looked up at her again, a keen\nlook enough, but so full of pleasure in her that Matilda's doubts were\nresolved. He would not be unkind; she would venture it.\n\n\"I want you to know about me, Norton,\" she began again.\n\n\"Well,\" said Norton, \"so do I; but it seems difficult, somehow.\"\n\n\"You do not think that, for you are laughing.\"\n\nNorton gave her another look, laughing rather more; and then he came\nand stood close beside her.\n\n\"What is it, Matilda?\" he asked.\n\n\"I don't want you to think that I am good,\" she said, looking up\nearnestly and timidly, \"for I am not; but I want to be; and being\nbaptized is a sign of belonging to the Lord Jesus, so I want to be\nbaptized.\"\n\n\"It isn't a sign of anything good,\" said Norton. \"Lots of people are\nbaptized, that aren't anything else, I know. Lots of them, Matilda.\nThat don't change them.\"\n\n\"No, that don't change them, Norton; but when they _are_ changed, then\nthe Bible says they must be baptized.\"\n\n\"What for?\"\n\n\"It is just telling everybody what they believe, and what they are.\nIt's a _sign_.\"\n\n\"Then when you are baptized, as you mean to be, that will be telling\neverybody what _you_ believe and what you are?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"It would not tell me,\" said Norton, \"be-cause I should not understand\nthe sign. I wish you would tell me now in words, Matilda.\"\n\n\"I don't know if I can, but I'll try. You know water makes things\nclean, Norton?\"\n\n\"Sometimes.\"\n\n\"Well, if it is used it does,\" said Matilda. \"The water is a sign that\nI believe the Lord Jesus will take away my sins, and make me clean and\ngood, if I trust Him; that He will wash my heart, and that He has begun\nto do it. And it will be a sign that I am His servant, because that is\nwhat He has commanded His servants.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"That; to be baptized, and join the church.\"\n\n\"Matilda, a great many people are baptized, and keep all their sins\njust the same.\"\n\n\"Oh, but those are make-believe people.\"\n\n\"No, they are not; they are real people.\"\n\n\"I mean, they are make-believe Christians.\"\n\n\"How do you know but you are?\"\n\n\"I _think_ I know,\" said Matilda, looking down.\n\n\"But other people won't know. Your being baptized will not mean\nanything to them, only that somebody has coaxed you into it.\"\n\n\"It will mean all that, Norton; and if I am true they will _see_ it\nmeans all that.\"\n\n\"They might see it all the same without your being baptized. What\ndifference would that make?\"\n\n\"It is _obedience_,\" said Matilda, firmly. \"And not to do it would be\ndisobedience. And it is profession of faith; and not to do it, would be\nto say that I don't believe.\"\n\nNorton looked amused, and pleased, and a little puzzled.\n\n\"You have not told me anything about you, after all,\" he said; \"for I\nknew it all before.\"\n\n\"How did you know it?\"\n\n\"Not this about your being baptized, you know, but about _you_.\"\n\n\"What about me?\"\n\n\"I say, Matilda, when will you come and play croquet again?\"\n\n\"I don't know. But, O Norton, I must go now. I forgot all about it. And\nthere was something else I wanted to say. I wish you would be a servant\nof Jesus too?\"\n\nMatilda gave this utterance a little timidly. But Norton only looked at\nher and smiled, and finally closed the question by taking her in his\narms and giving her two kisses this time. It was done without a bit of\nshamefacedness on his part, and with the energy and the tenderness too\nof affection. Matilda was extremely astonished and somewhat\ndiscomposed; but the evident kindness excused the freedom, and on the\nwhole she found nothing to object. Norton opened the iron gate for her,\nand she hurried off homewards without another word.\n\nIn a dream of pleasure she hurried along, feeling that Norton Laval was\na great gain to her, and that croquet was the most delightful of\namusements, and that all the weariness of the day's work was taken out\nof her heart. She only regretted, as she went, that those poor people\nin Lilac Lane had heard no reading; but she resolved she would go to\nthem to-morrow.\n\nThere is one time, however, for doing everything that ought to be done;\nand if that time is lost, no human calculation can make sure a second\nopportunity. Matilda was to find this in the case of Lilac Lane. The\nnext day weather kept her at home. The second day she was too busy to\ngo on such an expedition. The third was Sunday. And when Monday came,\nall thoughts of what she had intended to do were put out of her head by\nher mother's condition. Mrs. Englefield was declared to be seriously\nill.\n\nThe doctor was summoned. Her fever had taken a bad turn, he said. It\nwas a very bad turn; for after a few days it was found to be carrying\nher swiftly to death's door. She was unable to see her children, or at\nleast unable to recognise and speak to them, until the very last day;\nand then too feeble. And the Sunday when Matilda had expected to be\nbaptized, saw her mother's funeral instead.\n\nAnne and Letitia came up from New York, but were obliged to return\nthither immediately after the funeral; and the two younger girls were\nleft to their grief. It was well for them now that they, had plenty of\nbusiness, plenty of active work on hand. It was a help to Maria; after\na little it diverted her thoughts and took her out of the strain of\nsorrow. And it was a help to Matilda, but in a more negative way. It\nkept the child from grieving herself ill, or doing herself a mischief\nwith violent sorrow; it was no relief. In every unoccupied moment,\nwhenever the demands of household business left her free to do what she\nwould, the little girl bent beneath her burden of sorrow. Kneeling\nbefore her open Bible, her tears flowed incessantly every moment when\nthe luxury of indulgence could be allowed them. Mrs. Candy did not see\nthe whole of this; she was rarely in the girls' room; yet she saw\nenough to become uneasy, and tried all that she knew to remedy it.\nClarissa was kind, to her utmost power of kindness. Even Maria was\nstirred to try some soothing for her little sister. But Matilda could\nnot be soothed. Maria's instances and persuasions did, however, at last\nurge her to the point of showing a part of her thoughts and disclosing\nthe thorn that pressed sharpest on her mind. It was, that she had not\npleased her mother by doing her best in the studies she had pursued at\nschool. Matilda had always been a little self-indulgent; did not\ntrouble herself with study; made no effort to reach or keep a good\nplace in her classes. Mrs. Englefield had urged and commanded her in\nvain. Not obstinately, but with a sort of gay carelessness, Matilda had\nlet these exhortations slip; had studied when she was interested, and\nlagged behind her companions in the pursuits she found dry. And now,\nshe could not forgive herself nor cease her sorrowing on account of\nthis failure.\n\nMaria in despair at last took Mrs. Candy into her confidence, and\nbesought her to comfort Matilda, which Mrs. Candy tried her best to do.\nShe represented that Matilda had always been a good child; had loved\nand honoured her mother, and constantly enjoyed her favour. Matilda\nheard, but answered with sobs.\n\n\"I am sure, my dear,\" her aunt said, \"you have nothing to reproach\nyourself with. We are none of us perfect.\"\n\n\"I didn't do what I could, aunt Candy!\" was Matilda's answer.\n\n\"My dear, hardly anybody--the best of us--does all he might do.\"\n\n\"I will,\" said Matilda.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n\nThis could not last always, and the days as they passed, after a while,\nbrought their usual soothing.\n\nThe quiet routine of the early spring began to come in again. Mrs.\nCandy was looking for a girl, she said, but had not found one yet;\nMaria and Matilda were not ready to go to school; they were better\ngetting the breakfast and washing up the dishes than doing nothing. No\ndoubt that was true.\n\n\"Tilly,\" said Maria, one of these days, when the coffee cups were\ngetting put in order, going out of Maria's tub of hot water into\nMatilda's hands and napkin,--\"Tilly! you know next Sunday there is to\nbe a baptism in the church?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Matilda.\n\nIt was weeks after that other Sunday, when the rite had not been\nadministered. Spring had come forward rapidly since then. Trees were in\nfull leaf; dandelions in the grass; flowers were in the woods, though\nthe two sisters had not gone to see them this year; the apple orchards\naround Shadywalk were in a cloud of pink blossoms; and the sun was warm\nupon flower and leaf everywhere.\n\n\"Who is going to be baptized?\" Maria went on.\n\n\"I don't know. At least, I don't know all.\"\n\n\"Ailie Swan is,\" remarked Maria.\n\n\"Yes, I know Ailie Swan is.\"\n\n\"And Frances Barth.\"\n\nMatilda was silent.\n\n\"And Esther Trembleton, and George Rice, and Mary and Willie Edwards.\"\n\n\"I suppose so,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"You are not, are you?\"\n\n\"You know I _was_ going to be,\" said Matilda. \"I am now.\"\n\n\"Tilly, it would be no harm if you waited till another time.\"\n\n\"Why should I wait?\"\n\n\"_I_ am going to wait,\" said Maria.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Why, because I don't feel like it. Not now.\"\n\n\"I do not want to wait,\" said Matilda. And probably she was going to\nsay more, but her lip trembled and she stopped.\n\n\"It would be no harm, Tilly, if you waited. Nobody would expect it of\nus now. _Nobody_ would expect it, Tilly.\"\n\n\"I think One would,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Jesus.\"\n\n\"But, Tilly,\" said Maria, uneasily, \"I don't think so. It could not be\npleasant for you and me, you know, to go forward and be baptized _now_.\nWe might wait till another time; and then it would be more easy,\nwouldn't it?\"\n\n\"It is not hard now,\" said Matilda. \"It is pleasant now. I do not wish\nto put it off.\"\n\n\"Pleasant?\" repeated Maria.\n\n\"Yes,\" said her little sister, quietly, lifting her eyes to Maria's\nface so steadily and gravely that the other changed her ground.\n\n\"But at least it is not duty, Matilda.\"\n\nMatilda had dried all the cups, and she threw her napkin down and\ncovered her face.\n\n\"Oh yes!\" she said; \"it is duty and pleasure too. I'll do what I can.\"\n\n\"But what does it signify, your doing it?\" said Maria. \"It isn't\nanything. And it will look so odd if you do and I don't.\"\n\nMatilda took up her napkin again, and went to work at the plates.\n\n\"Matilda, I wish you would wait. I am not ready to go now.\"\n\n\"But I am ready, Maria.\"\n\n\"If I was to tell Aunt Candy, I believe she would put a stop to it,\"\nsaid Maria, sulkily. \"I know she does not think much of such young\npeople doing such things.\"\n\n\"But Jesus said, Let them come.\"\n\nMaria tossed her head. However she did not speak to Mrs. Candy.\n\nSo it was with no notion of Matilda's intention that her aunt that\nSunday took her seat in Mr. Richmond's church. She had heard that a\nnumber of people, most of them young people, were to be baptized in the\nevening; she had been to her own church duly in the morning, and\nthought she might gratify her curiosity now in seeing how these things\nare managed in a different communion. She and Clarissa went alone, not\nsupposing that the younger ones of the family were at that same moment\ngetting ready to follow.\n\n\"How are you going to dress yourself, Matilda?\" her sister inquired.\n\n\"To dress myself!\" said Matilda, turning her eyes upon her sister in\nastonished fashion.\n\n\"Why, yes, child! you will go out there in sight of everybody, you\nknow. Aren't you going to put on a white frock? Clarissa says they\nalways do in 'her church.'\"\n\nMatilda looked down at her own black dress and burst into tears; only\nby a vigorous effort she kept the tears from falling, after the first\none or two, and hurriedly and silently began to get herself ready.\n\n\"But, Matilda! why don't you speak?\" said her sister. \"Are you going\njust so? and why don't you speak to me? There is no harm in a white\nfrock.\"\n\n\"I don't want a white frock,\" said Matilda. \"Do _you_ mean to stay at\nhome?\"\n\n\"I suppose I am going,\" said Maria, beginning slowly her own\npreparations. \"People would think odd if I didn't go. Where are you\ngoing to sit?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Why, you are very stupid. I mean, where are you going to sit?\"\n\n\"Where we always do, I suppose.\"\n\n\"But then you would have so far to walk.\"\n\n\"To walk?\" Matilda repeated, bewildered.\n\n\"Why, yes, child! When you are called to go up with the rest, you know;\nyou would have so far to go.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Matilda. \"What of it?\"\n\n\"Don't you care?\"\n\n\"Why, no. It don't make any difference.\"\n\n\"Well, I'd have a white frock if I were you,\" said Maria. \"Being in\nblack is no objection to that; for people do just the same, Matilda,\nfor a baptism.\"\n\n\"You will be late, Maria,\" was all the answer her little sister made.\n\nAnd they were late. Matilda was ready and waiting, before Maria's slow\npreparations were made. They walked quick; but service had begun in the\nchurch before they got there. They paused in the vestibule till a\nprayer should be ended. And here Matilda was seized upon.\n\n\"I thought you were not coming,\" said an earnest whisper. \"What made\nyou come so late?\" It was Norton Laval.\n\n\"I couldn't help it,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"And when you came, I all but missed you. They said all of you--you\nknow--would be in white dresses; and I was looking out for white.\nAren't you going to be baptized, after all?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, Norton.\"\n\n\"Well, here's some flowers for you,\" said the boy, putting a bunch of\nwhite heath and lilies into Matilda's hand. \"Mamma is here; up in the\nDawsons' pew; it was sold with the place, so we've got it. Come there,\nMatilda, it will be a good place for you; yours is farther back, you\nknow. Mamma told me to bring you.\"\n\nMaria had gone in, after an impatient whisper to her sister. And\nMatilda yielded to a secret inclination, and followed Norton.\n\nThe service of baptism was not entered into until the close of the\nevening. During one of the intervals of the usual service, which\npreceded the other, Matilda questioned with herself if she really would\nhave done better to put on a white dress? Everybody seemed to expect\nit. She could not, from the Daweon pew, which was a corner front one,\nsee how her companions were dressed. But she presently recollected that\nthe \"fine linen,\" which Mr. Richmond had talked to them about, \"is the\nrighteousness of saints;\" and she quieted herself with the assurance\nthat the real attire of fitness is inward and not outward. And when the\ncandidates for baptism were called to come forward, she quietly left\nher bunch of lilies with her hat on the cushion of the pew.\n\n\"Is that Matilda!\" whispered Clarissa to her mother.\n\n\"I never heard a word of it!\" said Mrs. Candy.\n\n\"You cannot stop her now.\"\n\n\"No; if I could I would,\" answered Mrs. Candy. \"This ought not to be.\nSuch a child!--does not know what she is doing. What a way!\"\n\nBut Matilda knew what she was doing; and when the candidates were asked\nrespecting their faith and profession, there was no voice among them\nall that answered more clear and free; none that promised with more\ncalm distinctness to \"keep God's holy will and commandments, and walk\nin the same all the days of her life.\" And it was a meek little face,\nwithout a cloud or a doubt upon it, that was raised towards Mr.\nRichmond when her turn came.\n\nThere was a long line of candidates for baptism, reaching nearly from\none end to the other of the communion rails. Mr. Richmond stood near\none end, by the font, and did not change his place; so each one, as he\nor she received the rite, passed to one side, while the place was\nfilled by another. Without breaking the rank this was done; one set\nslowly edging along from left to right, while from right to left, one\nby one, the others came to take their turn. It was a pretty sight. So\nsome thought; but there were varieties of opinion.\n\nOne variety Matilda had to encounter that night before she slept. Going\nback to Mrs. Laval's pew to get her hat and flowers, naturally she\nwalked home with her and Norton, and had no annoyance until she got\nthere. As she went through the hall the parlour door opened and she was\ncalled in.\n\n\"I want to speak to you, Matilda,\" said Mrs. Candy; \"and I think it is\nproper to do it at once. I want to know about this. How long have you\nbeen preparing for this step you have taken to-night?\"\n\n\"Ma'am?\" said Matilda.\n\n\"How long have you been thinking of doing this?\"\n\n\"Oh, a long while, Aunt Candy.\"\n\n\"Why did you not consult me?\"\n\nHer mother would have been the one to speak to about it, and her mother\nhad been too ill. Remembering this, Matilda stood silent and her eyes\nfilled.\n\n\"You have been intending it for these two months past?\"\n\n\"Yes, Aunt Candy; and before.\"\n\n\"Well, then, why did you not speak to me?\"\n\n\"I spoke to Mr. Richmond.\"\n\n\"Mr. Richmond might have had the courtesy, himself.\" (Which Mr.\nRichmond had meant to do, but various pressing matters had prevented.)\n\"But _you_ ought to have spoken to me, Matilda. You are too young a\nchild to take such responsibility.\"\n\nMatilda did not think of anything to say to this.\n\n\"I do not think you understand what you have been doing.\"\n\n\"I think I do, Aunt Candy.\"\n\n\"What did you want to be baptized for?\"\n\n\"Because Jesus says we must.\"\n\n\"Yes, properly; but not improperly, without knowing what you do. What\ndo you think it means, Matilda?\"\n\n\"To be baptized, Aunt Erminia?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"It means,\" said the child steadily, and with the clear utterance of\npleasure, \"that I belong to the Lord Jesus Christ.\"\n\n\"There!\" said Clarissa, appealing to her mother.\n\n\"I thought so,\" said Mrs. Candy. \"That is not what it means, Matilda.\"\n\n\"It is what I mean, Aunt Candy.\"\n\n\"It means a great deal more, my dear, which you cannot understand. And\nyou ought to have had a white dress on.\"\n\n\"I don't think God cares,\" said Matilda.\n\n\"Did you ever hear such dreadful teaching as these people have?\" said\nthe mother, appealing to the daughter. \"My dear, there is a propriety\nin things. And not one of the candidates this evening was dressed in\nwhite.\"\n\n\"But the water means a clean heart,\" said Matilda; \"and if we have\nthat, God will think we are dressed in white.\"\n\n\"So you think you have a clean heart?\"\n\n\"I think Jesus has begun to make it clean.\"\n\n\"And what does it mean to renounce the devil and all his works?\"\n\n\"It means,\" said Matilda, sighing, \"to have nothing to do with anything\nthat is wrong.\"\n\n\"How is such a child as you to know what is wrong?\"\n\n\"Why, the Bible, Aunt Candy.\"\n\n\"What is the vain pomp and glory of the world?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Matilda. \"_All_ the glory, I suppose, except what\nGod gives.\"\n\n\"What does _He_ give, child?\" said Mrs. Candy, with an odd expression\non her face.\n\n\"Why, you know, Aunt Erminia,\" said Matilda, a little wearily.\n\n\"I should like to hear you tell.\"\n\n\"I can't tell,\" said Matilda. \"I think it was glory, when He said of\nthat poor woman, 'She hath done what she could.'\"\n\n\"My dear,\" said Mrs. Candy, after a pause, \"I am very sorry you have\ntaken this step without consulting me. Your answers show that you have\nnot the discrimination necessary for making such vows. However, it is\ntoo late now. You may go to bed.\"\n\nWhich Matilda did, and speedily forgot all that had troubled her in her\naunt's words. For she went to sleep making a pillow to her head of\nthose other words--\n\n\"And white robes were given to every one of them.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nTypographical errors silently corrected:\n\nChapter 3: =been doing to day= replaced by =been doing to-day=\n\nChapter 3: =than other folks= replaced by =than other folks'=\n\nChapter 5: =Richmond?'\"= replaced by =Richmond'?\"=\n\nChapter 6: =But?--what 'but?'\"= replaced by =But?--what 'but'?\"=\n\nChapter 7: =one to 'carry the message?'\"= replaced by =one to 'carry\nthe message'?\"=\n\nChapter 8: =spend it somehow= replaced by =spend it, somehow=\n\nChapter 8: =Only one day= replaced by =Only, one day=\n\nChapter 8: =Well what?= replaced by =Well, what?=\n\nChapter 9: =band of workers= replaced by =Band of workers=\n\nChapter 9: =to do His will?= replaced by =to do His will.=\n\nChapter 9: =give thanks?\"= replaced by give thanks\"?=\n\nChapter 11: =redeem the time?'= replaced by =redeem the time'?=\n\nChapter 11: =up opportunities?'\"= replaced by =up opportunities'?\"=\n\nChapter 11: =no fun in walking.= replaced by =no fun in walking.\"=","title":"What She Could","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":50983}