[A]A fact.
[A]A fact.
“Oh, what a dear creature!” Matilda exclaimed; “I do think no cat in the whole world can be so delightful as Selina. What a comfort that you did not hurt her. I was wishing so for a stick when you were telling it, I would have dashed her to pieces in a moment; and even if I had not had one, I think I would have trailed her out from below the sofa in some way or other. What a dreadful thing it would have been if I had killed her. But you see, Cousin Leila, we are a little like in some things, we both wished for sticks.”
“Yes, indeed, that is quite true; and I am sure you need never call me good. Only the day before yesterday I almost lost my life, because I was foolish and vain, and yesterday I might have killed a cat.”
“But you did not.”
“No, I did not; but I made papa very grieved, and he spoke to me a great deal about it, and said that when these fits of anger were not restrained in youth, they often led to the most dreadful crimes. He put me in mind of how I snatched my work out of Nurse’s hands, and danced upon it; and he said it grieved him to see that the same spirit of anger often possessed me, that though I was so much older now——”
“Well, don’t let us talk about that,” Matilda said. “Did Mrs. Roberts read to you any thing interesting about cats, any thing worth telling? Selina, you have such a good memory, I daresay you can remember something worth telling me.”
“Yes, she read us several anecdotes that I think you would have liked. She read to us about a favourite cat that belonged to a Madame Helvetius. It never touched the birds which she kept, almost constantly lay at her feet, and seemed to be always watching over her, and would never take any food but what she gave it. When Madame Helvetius died, the poor cat was removed from her chamber, but it made its way there next morning, got upon her bed, then upon her chair, slowly and mournfully passed over her toilet, and cried most piteously,as if lamenting her poor mistress; it refused all food, and after the funeral it was found stretched out on the grave quite dead.”
“Oh, dear, what a melancholy story; I don’t think I would have cared much to hear that. Did Mrs. Roberts read you nothing better than that? nothing merry about cats?”
“She read us also an anecdote which we thought interesting. A lady went to visit a friend in the country, and this friend had a favourite cat and dog; they were very fond of each other, ate together from the same plate, and slept on the same rug. Puss had kittens while the lady was staying with her friend, and Pincher went regularly every day to visit the kittens, whose nursery was at the top of the house. One morning there was a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning; Pincher was in the drawing-room, and the cat was watching her little family in the garret. Pincher seemed quite frightened by the bright flashes of lightning, and trembled all over; and just as he had crept close to the visitor, and laid himself down at her feet, (as if for protection,) some one came into the drawing-room, followed by puss, who walked in with a most disturbed air, and mewing with all her might, came up to Pincher, rubbed her face against his cheek, touched him gently with her paw, and then walked to thedoor, stopped, looked back, mewed again, and seemed to say, as plainly as words could have done, ‘Do come with me, Pincher;’ but Pincher was too much frightened himself to give any comfort to poor puss, and took not the least notice of her invitation. She came back and renewed her request with increased mewing. But the hard-hearted Pincher was immovable, though he seemed perfectly to understand her meaning, for he turned away his head with a conscious guilty look, and crept still closer to the lady; and pussy, finding all her entreaties useless, left the room. But soon after her mewing became so very piteous, that the lady could no longer resist going to see what was the matter. She met the cat at the top of the stairs, close to her bed-room; she ran to her, rubbed herself against her, and then went into the room, and crept under the wardrobe. A mewing was then heard as if from two voices, and the lady discovered that she had brought down one of her kittens and hidden it there for safety; but her mind being in an unhappy state of anxiety for the kittens above, and this little one below, she had wished Pincher to have the kindness to watch by this one while she went for the others. She seemed to trust, however, to having now found a better friend, for she came out from below the wardrobe and hastily left the room.The lady followed, carrying with her the kitten, placed it with the others, and moved their little bed further from the window, through which the lightning had flashed so brightly as to alarm poor pussy, who then lay down beside them quite happy, and the lady remained in the room till the sun shone out again, and all was quite calm. Next morning, to the lady’s surprise, she found pussy waiting for her at the door of her bed-room; she went down with her, sat by her, and caressed her in every possible way. Before that she had always been in the habit of going down to breakfast with the lady of the house, but on this morning she had resisted all her coaxing, and would not move a step with her. As soon as breakfast was over, she returned to her family in the garret; and she never did this again. She seemed to think she had shown her gratitude and done her duty. But for a long time after she took very little notice of Pincher, and always looked distant and huffy when he came near her.”
“Well,” Matilda said, “this anecdote is interesting; I should have liked very much to hear Mrs. Roberts read it. But I am glad it is only about animals that she is reading to you now, for it interests me much more to hear about men and women, and, above all, about children, especially when they get into scrapes.”
IT was a beautiful morning; Selina and Matilda had been allowed to breakfast at Woodlands, and were to return to Elmgrove with Leila after a visit to Peggy Dobie’s cottage, for the old gardener had promised to be there by ten o’clock with the bee-hive, and he was faithful to his word, for, as they reached the cottage, they found Peggy opening the little wicket-gate leading to the garden, to admit him and his precious burden; the hive was safely placed in a sunny, sheltered corner, close to the green turf seat which Leila had erected for Peggy, and to witness her joy with the whole arrangement was delightful. She placed herself on the turf seat, and with her hands clasped firmly together on her knees, she kept gazing on the hive in a perfect ecstasy of delight.
“Weel, my bairns,” she exclaimed, “you hae surely entered into a compact to spoil the auld woman all thegither. If there was a wish in my heart, amang all the grand things, and the wonderfu’ blessings that surround me, it was for a bee’s skep; it is no’ to be told the love I hae for thae creatures, they will be friends to me, and company to me, and example too, for they are a weel principled, upright set, never leaving their ain house, but for the useful work o’ the day; and sae blythe and contented, for a constant singing that bonnie sang amang the flowers, that’s just music to my ears. Can ony mortal man, or woman either, hae a pleasanter employment than just to sit down afore a bee’s skep, and tak observation o’ their wonderfu’ ways? and is there nae honourable mention made o’ the work o’ their hands in the very Bible itsel’, Deuteronomy thirty-second chapter, thirteenth verse: ‘He made him ride on the high places of the earth, that he might eat the incense of the fields, and he made him to suck honey out of the rock.’ And in the eighty-second Psalm, sixteenth verse: ‘He should have fed them also with the finest of wheat, and with honey out of the rock should I have satisfied thee.’ Na, na, it’s no thae jams and jellies, and sic articles o’ man’s contrivance, that ye hear tell o’ them, but it’s the handiwork o’ thae wonderfu’ creatures that’s had in honour; and I maun just end, as I began, and say to you, my dear bairns, that you could na hae given me a greater compliment than this bonnie bee’s skep.”
“But, Peggy,” Matilda observed, “we did not give it you, it was Cousin Leila; she saved up her money to buy it for you; we only came to see your joy.”
“Oh, but it is a dear bairn,” Peggy said, looking fondly at Leila, “and sae generous, and sae thoughtfu’ for her years. Weel, I am no just the woman I was, for my head’s often unco confused now, and my memory’s no o’ the best since that fearfu’ journey; but surely I’ll forget my ainsel, afore I forget all she has done for me.”
“Don’t say that,” Leila said anxiously, “don’t say you are not just the same; you are looking as well as you ever did now, and you must be quite happy and cheery,—I don’t like to see you look grave. We have never been grave since you came back, every day as merry and cheery as can be; and you have never told us yet if you saw all your friends in comfort before you came away from Scotland, and if you enjoyed yourself with them very much.”
“And did I no’, Miss Leila? ’Deed, ’tis no possible to say the pleasant tea drinkings I had afore I came away; but the very pleasantest of all was the last night but ane afore I got into the awfu’ ship. It was at my cousin, Mrs Brown’s, and nae strangers but my ain kith and kind. There was, forby hersel, just four o’us. There was mysel, that’s ane; and there was the twa Dobies, that’s twa; and there was Johnny, man, that’s three; tuts, but there was four o’ us. There was Johnny, man, that’s ane; and there was the twa Dobies, that’s twa; and there was mysel, that’s three,—but therewasfour o’ us; weel, I’ll begin wi’ mysel this time. There was mysel, that’s ane; and the twa Dobies, that’s twa; and Johnny, man, that’s three; preserve me, for I am clean stupid all thegither! There was Johnny, man, that’s ane; and there was the twa Dobies, that’s twa; and there was mysel, that’s three,—and if I am no at mysel again. Weel, and I maun gie it up all thegither; but I am morally certain there was just four of us.”
The young people were in such fits of laughter that they could give Peggy no assistance whatever in this mysterious calculation; and Peggy herself joined heartily in the laugh, only remarking that they might see now that sometimes she was no just sae clear as she used to be, but that ony way it was a most pleasant party, and that therewas just four o’ them.
They could have remained for ever talking with her, and, as Matilda observed, had received most useful instruction in arithmetic, a far better way of adding up than she had been taught; but there were other lessons to be attendedto, and most unwillingly they bid good-bye to Peggy, and proceeded on their way home. Leila, however, observed that it would be almost as near to return by the village; she wished, so much, she said, to ask Dame Burton how Lizzy was going on, and it was so pleasant to see the little things running to meet them; besides, she added, as they had a half holiday, they would still be home in time—so to the village they went. By the time they reached Dame Burton’s cottage they had quite a little troop of rosy, laughing children following them, quite eager to be talked to and noticed; but Lizzy was not among them, nor did they see her with her mother on entering the house. Leila inquired for her, and hoped she had been going on well. Dame Burton shook her head. “Oh, Miss Howard,” she said, “Lizzy gives me much vexation of spirit, and I don’t know what course to take with that child. I have a kind neighbour, who did much for me in a long illness, and it’s well my part to be kind to her now; she has an old mother, who is not able to get up very early, and at times, when this friend of mine has any work to do which takes her out of her house, I send in Lizzy to help the old woman on with her clothes, and to be company to her; I will not say that she is a very kindly old woman, she may give a sharpenough answer now and then to the children, but is that an excuse for what Lizzy did, and for the sight I saw?”
“But what did you see?” Matilda eagerly inquired. “You have not told us.”
“What did I see, miss? I saw the poor old woman sitting shaking on her chair with indignation and rage, her flannel petticoat tied round her neck, she neither able to stir hand or foot, and Lizzy off to her play!”
They all felt this act to be of a most atrocious nature, but the picture of the old woman tied up, as it were, in a flannel bag was too much, and the difficulty of restraining their laughter was very great; Leila struggled hard for composure: “It was very dreadful,” she said; “but where is Lizzy now?”
“She is not far off,” Dame Burton answered, in a loud tone, as if she wished to be overheard by some one; “not far off, young ladies, and she is experiencing (as you shall see) a little of what she made other people suffer; but she is young, I tell her, and better able to bear it.” She threw open the door of the adjoining room, and there sat little Lizzy, propped up on a high stool in the middle of the floor, her little flannel petticoat tied round her neck, and her little face no longer dimpled with its accustomed smiles, but swelled with weeping; her look of shameand helpless distress, when she saw them enter, was too much; Leila could not stand it, she covered her face with her hands.
Selina spoke aside for a few minutes to Dame Burton; “You will not forget to send her to Elmgrove,” they heard her say.
“No, Miss Stanley; and I hope you may be able to make more impression on her than I can,” was her answer. Selina, then turning round to where the little culprit sat, undid the string of the little flannel petticoat, took it off, wiped Lizzy’s eyes gently with her pocket-handkerchief, and lifting her down from the high stool, led her to her mother. The poor child was weeping bitterly. She appeared most penitent, and as it seemed better that she should at that moment be left alone with her mother, the young people quitted the cottage.
In giving her old nurse an account of her day, which was Leila’s general custom, she mentioned what had taken place with regard to Lizzy, and Amy, who was present, almost started off her chair with astonishment and indignation. “And is it possible,” she said, “that she could treat an old woman in that way? Oh, how very dreadful!”
“Yes,” Nurse answered, “you may well be surprised and shocked, Amy, for it would be long before you would act in such a manner.You have always had a becoming respect for your elders, and shown a quietness and discretion above your years. And now, Miss Leila, this should be an awful warning to you; you see to what the love of play may lead, and must understand now why I always tried to root the evil out of your heart, and to settle you down to your work with serious reflection; and you are far from what I could wish yet, you still give me many an anxious thought. There it was but the other day, when I gave you that collar to trim; any well brought up young lady would have taken an interest in having such a beautiful edging to sew on, and would have arranged it properly in quarters, and pinned it before her hand, but there were you rumpling it on as if it were a rag, putting all the fulness in the middle, not a thought of how you were to turn the corners. Did it ever strike you thatthatcollar never could have been ironed? Oh, Miss Leila, try to think more deeply of those things, before it is too late.”
“But, Nurse,” Leila said, in a deprecating tone of voice, “though I am not very fond of work, I am sure I never would have tied you up in a flannelbag!”
Nurse drew up her little fat round figure in a dignified manner. “Look at me, Miss Leila, am I the sort of person to be tied up in a flannel bag?”
Leila thought it would be difficult.
Nurse continued,—“No, Miss Leila, I have always brought you up in proper habits of respect; but it was not of flannel bags we were talking, but of that want of serious reflection when you take a piece of work into your hands; there, about thatverycollar, you had been quiet for a time, and I thought had settled down to it, when you suddenly broke out with—‘Oh, Nurse! look at those clouds; did you ever see any thing so beautiful? they are like magnificent mountains, bathed in golden light.’ What sort of nonsense was that, Miss Leila, to be seeing mountains in the clouds, instead of the work that was before you; and do you remember when I made you turn your back to the window, and sit with your face opposite to me, how you kept tapping your foot on the ground with anger and indignation? but I am not wishing to vex you at this moment, for I am sure the awful lesson of this day will make a proper impression; so sit down and let me see how quickly and how nicely you will stitch round this pocket that I have cut out for you, for you know I have no opinion of the new fangled way of bringing up young ladies not to wear pockets, and with every thing belonging to them to be hunted for all over the house.”
“Yes, Nurse,” Leila answered, “give it me,and you shall see how nicely I will do it; but when I told Lydia Mildmay that to wear a pocket was highly respectable, she laughed at me very much.”
“And did she really, Miss Leila? then I am sure she is a most improper and dangerous companion for you; and, indeed, I thought as much that day I saw her sailing about, sweeping all the carpets with those long flounces of hers. Now here is your work; sit down, and let me see how busy you can be.”
Leila seated herself. After a few minutes’ silence, she said, rather doubtingly,—“But, Nurse, would not bags be better?”
“Bags!” Nurse repeated in a displeased tone; “bags, Miss Leila, seem to run strangely in your head to-day. And why should bags be better?”
“Because,” Leila answered, “long ago they made use of bags.”
“They?of whom are you speaking.Whomade use of bags?”
“The people of Nineveh. I saw them—they were little square bags; it was more than three thousand years ago.”
Nurse looked up with a startled expression. “Saw the people of Nineveh! three thousand years ago! Oh, Miss Leila! speak to me again; what are you talking of? Do you feel any thing particular? what is the matter with you?”
Leila burst into a fit of laughter. “Why should I feel any thing particular because I saw the people of Nineveh and they had bags? I saw them on the bas reliefs.”
“Bas leaf!” Nurse repeated, still more frightened. “Oh, Amy! she is not speaking English! What has come over the dear child?”
Leila struggled hard to regain her composure, for she saw her good old nurse was really getting seriously alarmed. “Nurse,” she said, “don’t be frightened; I know quite well what I am saying. I saw the figures of the people of Nineveh, carved on stones, at the British Museum. You know papa took me there, and he told me these stones had lain in the earth more than three thousand years. You know Nineveh was overthrown. Do you remember the prophecy in the Bible? it says, ‘Nineveh is laid waste, who will bemoan her?’ And it was laid waste—it was overthrown—they are digging it up again now.”
“Well, Miss Leila, I may not be a good judge of such matters, but I think they had better let that alone, and not be bringing their evil deeds to light again. You know the Bible also says,—‘Woe to the bloody city, it is full of lies and robbery;’ and we are told to flee from it.”
“Then I am afraid you will not like to gothere and see those wonderful things, and I asked papa if you might take Amy there.”
“No, Miss Leila, I would rather not; and I can’t help thinking that the less she knows of the people of Nineveh the better; she can learn no good lesson from them.”
“But, Nurse, there are a great many other things to be seen at the Museum besides—I am sure you would like to see the wild beasts and the birds. Oh! the birds are so beautiful; how Amy would admire the little humming-birds—they are scarcely bigger than the wild bees we had in the island; they have such lovely feathers, purple, and green, and scarlet, and all beautiful bright colours. Papa says that when they are flitting about amongst the flowers, they are quite splendid and dazzling to the eye; and they shoot those dear little birds with little guns loaded with water; the water does not injure their feathers by wounding them, it only frightens them, and then they fall down and die. There were no humming-birds in the island. I wish there had been—I would not have shot them, even with water, but I would have tried to catch them in some way without hurting them, and would have tamed them as I did my other birds; I do hope you will go to the Museum, Nurse, and take Amy, she will be so surprised, for I don’t think there is a bird in thewhole world that is not there; and I am sure you would like to see the owls, for you like wise birds, and they look so wise; there were large owls, and little owls, and every kind, and one little owl near the corner of the glass case had such a pretty face. Then there were beautiful pheasants—and the argus-pheasant with its thousand eyes; oh! you must go; Amy, would not you like it so much?”
“Yes, Miss Leila, I would like it; but a bird with a thousand eyes, I think it would frighten me.”
“No, it would not,” Leila answered, smiling; “for it has not really a thousand eyes, it has only spots on its feathers; but it is a poetical way of speaking that——”
Nurse looked very grave. “How often have I told you, Miss Leila, that I do not like a poetical way of speaking, and now you see the bad effects of it; from my experience, I knew that no bird had a thousand eyes, but Amy did not; you should speak to her in a way she can understand; but you do run on so. Is there no possibility of making you think of what you are about? I see clearly that pocket never will be finished.”
Leila was silent for a moment, then jumping up from her seat, she held the pocket up in the air in a triumphant manner, exclaiming,—“Now, Nurse, look if I cannot both talk and stitch; see, it is quite finished, and beautifully done; and now I must go and sing to papa.”
“She is a dear child,” Nurse observed, as she looked up for a moment from her work and followed Leila’s light steps with affectionate interest; “and she is far from being a bad needle-woman either, though I should like well to see her more steady, and taking a greater interest in it; but, Amy, though Miss Leila in most things sets you a most superior example, you must never talk as she does sometimes—you must never be what she calls poetical. I would rather that she were not so either; but that is a matter for her papa to decide, not me.”
WEEKS and months glided on. Spring, with its soft, tender, green, and many blossoms, was spreading life and gladness over the earth, and Leila thought Woodlands a second Eden. The conservatory bloomed with plants of the richest fragrance, and the balcony was gay with flowers of the brightest hue; various beautiful creepers, with the sweet-scented honeysuckle, forming arches over head; and Leila herself looked as fresh and blooming as the flowers, and as joyful as the skylark, as it soared with its glad song into the blue vault of Heaven. She was never weary of admiring the beautiful scenery by which she was surrounded, for early habit had made the beauties of nature to her as a continual feast. Several of her birds were now in full song, and she spent many of her spare minutes in the conservatory. The precious seeds had come up all but one, and she had now three thriving plants of Clara’s flower. Charles had not returned atEaster to mark their progress—he had gone into a distant country to visit an uncle, a brother of Mr. Herbert’s, but by Midsummer he would surely visit home, and she hoped they would be in full flower by that time, which would be for him a still greater pleasure. Leila had, besides all this, other interests to occupy her. She frequently visited the school with her Aunt Stanley and her cousins, and assisted the younger girls in the preparation of their tasks, and she paid frequent visits to Peggy Dobie’s cottage, and to the village, where she made herself acquainted with all the wishes and wants of its various inmates. The Saturdays were generally spent by Selina and Matilda at Woodlands, when, during part of the morning, they assisted Leila in giving instruction to many of the village children in church music, for though Selina’s voice was not yet strong, her knowledge in music made her a most useful assistant. They also now took daily walks with Mrs. Roberts in the fields, and generally returned loaded with wild flowers. Leila had become most successful in drying flowers so as to preserve their bright colours. The field flowers, assisted by her papa, she arranged in books in botanical order; but with the flowers from the conservatory and the garden she often ornamented screens, producing a wonderfully fineeffect, superior to any painting, fixing them on with gum, and grouping them together in a most beautiful manner. Matilda often tried to imitate Leila in this, but she did not succeed, her flowers always lost their bright tints, they grew white, or they grew black, but they never grew beautiful; the stalks never would bend gracefully, they would always stick straight up; the gum would always go on in patches, never smoothly, and she complained that though she put on a great deal of gum, some of the leaves would not stick at all, so she generally ended by getting into a rage, and dashing her hair pencil all over the paper.
“Do tell me, Leila, how you manage so well,” she said one morning, as she stood admiring a couple of fine screens which Leila had just finished for Mrs. Herbert. “Those different coloured geraniums seem to me to look brighter even than when they were in the conservatory; and how gracefully the stalks are bent, and the flowers hanging down so nicely, just as if they were still growing; and those leaves and ferns are of such a beautiful green, and look so well mixed with the bright colour of the flowers. My green leaves always turn a dull yellow, or brown, or something abominable; and as to the blue convolvulus, that provokes me more than any thing. Look at yours, they are as brightas when they grew in the garden, and when I try to dry them, the colour goes away altogether, and they get to be a dirty white. I cannot get any thing to do well but yellow buttercups, and that is such a common flower. All this provokes me so, I have no patience for it. No one will ever give me a sovereign for the poor,[B]for a couple of screens, as they did to you, and I wish so much that they would.”
[B]A fact.
[B]A fact.
“But you know,” Leila answered, “that was only because it was a sale of ladies’ work for the poor. My screens were not worth that.”
“I don’t know; they were most beautiful, and I heard every one saying so, for I stood near the counter where they were that I might hear them praised; and when that gentleman with the nice face took them up and the lady told them they were done by a little girl, he said that little girl deserved to be encouraged, and he paid down the sovereign in a minute. Oh! I was so glad; but though I cannot earn a sovereign, I might earn something if you would only tell me what I must do to dry them as you do.”
“Yes, I will tell you every thing I can; but I think the great matter is being very patient.”
“But, Cousin Leila, I am sure you are not very patient.”
“Yes, I know that; papa often says I am too impetuous.”
“Well,” Matilda observed, “and does not that just mean that you have no patience?”
Leila coloured. “I suppose it does,” she said; “but in some things I have patience, I am always very patient about flowers; to be sure, that is not wonderful, for in the island they were like friends to me. I used to visit them two or three times in the day to see how they were getting on, and to talk to them, as if they were alive, and I often knew the hour of the day by their opening and shutting.”
“And do any of the flowers here open and shut at certain hours?” Matilda inquired.
“Yes, some of them do; but I don’t know the flowers here so well; one kind of evening primrose opens its flowers every day a quarter of an hour before sunset; and the chickweed, which you see me so often gathering for my birds, seems to me to open both leaves and flowers every morning at nine o’clock, and closes its flowers again for some time at twelve, and will not open them at all if it rains; then in the evening it always seems to be making itself comfortable for the night, for the leaves all down the stalk shut up to cover the youngshoots, just as if it were putting a great many night-caps on them to keep them warm.”
“How very curious,” Matilda said; “but, Leila, we are forgetting that you were to tell me more about drying flowers. I know I need never try to gain a sovereign like you; but if I could even gain half-a-crown or even a shilling sometimes, it would be such a comfort, for I am always getting into such scrapes about my money for the poor; somehow it always melts away; both you and Selina contrive to save a little every week.”
“But I have more pocket-money than you have.”
“Yes, you have; but still I know I ought to save something, and often I cannot; it is all the fault of those trumpery shops. When I go to Richmond there are so many pretty things which I wish for; and then I am so often hungry and must have some bunns, you know,—how do you manage so well?”
“I don’t manage very well—I often buy bunns also; but when I wish for pretty things which cost much, I remember that Nurse says ‘I should turn away mine eyes from beholding vanity,’ and then I try not to look at them, but very often I do. You know the other day when I saw that beautiful basket I did not turn away. I looked at it so long, and then I tookit in my hand and turned it round and round, and thought it so beautiful, that I could not resist buying it. And now I don’t like it at all; for it cost so much that I shall not be able to save any of my pocket-money this week.”
“Well, that was wrong, to be sure, and just what I should have done myself; but don’t be melancholy about it now, for you have always money beforehand, so it does not much signify for one week; so do tell me how I am to earn half-a-crown, and how I am to dry flowers in a most beautiful manner; you say patience is the chief thing. Will patience make them keep their colour? now do tell me that.”
“Yes,” Leila answered, “it will; and I will tell you how. Very often when it clears up after rain, and the flowers look very bright, you wish to gather them for drying—I always tell you that it is a bad time, but still you often try to do it—and they get quite dim and discoloured, and you are obliged to throw them away. Now when I wish to dry them, I wait till it has been quite fair for several days, and when it is bright and sunny, and there is no damp in the air, I gather the flowers. I always choose those that are very bright and fully blown, but before they have begun to fade in the slightest degree. If they have a decayed speck no bigger than the head of a pin, do notgather them, for they will not be bright when dried.”
“And what more do you do?”
“I put them between folds of close smooth writing-paper, never into blotting-paper.”
“But Lydia told me it should be blotting-paper.”
“No, I have tried that; but the blotting-paper seems to suck the colour out of them. Well, I place those papers between the leaves of a book, and tie it tight up with a ribbon, and put it under a weight; if it is a very tender flower, such as the blue convolvulus, for instance, then you must not put a very heavy weight, the weight must be in proportion to the tenderness of the flower. Next day I change the papers that there may be no damp about them, for nothing spoils their colour so much as damp. Now all this, you see, takes patience; for sometimes I have to change the papers more than once.”
“Yes,” Matilda observed, “and such patience, that I am sure I shall never be able to do it. And this is all then?”
“No; in putting the flowers into dry bits of paper you must do it very gently, that they may lie quite smooth; for much of their beauty depends on their looking smooth, and not shrivelled up in any way; and I forgot to tellyou that sometimes before putting them in at all, I bend the stalks a little to make them lie gracefully. The stalks of the geraniums are so stiff and straight, that I am obliged to take off the flower-heads, and put them in papers by themselves, and then I flatten the stalks and bend them a little before I begin to dry them. The ferns, which you like so much, grow so gracefully, that I seldom have to bend them at all, but just to lay them on paper as they grow. The young ferns of a bright tender green do best: indeed, all green leaves should be dried when they first come out, before they have got to be a deep colour, for green is a very difficult colour to dry well; most yellow flowers do very well, the yellow crocus keeps very bright; indeed, some scarlet and rose-coloured geraniums dry beautifully, and other scarlets won’t dry at all,—you must just get acquainted with those that do well, and with those that don’t.”
Matilda groaned. “My hopes are quite dying away; half-a-crown!—I don’t think I shall be able to earn sixpence even;—but it is sunny and bright now, we might go into the garden, and you could gather some of the flowers which do best, and show me how you lay them on the paper—I think I have seen you working away with a long pin; but if I were to take a pin in my hand, I should be sure to run it throughthe flowers if they would not lie the right way, for I should be so provoked.
“Well, that is why I say that the chief thing is patience; you would quite spoil the flower if you even scratched it with the pin. I take the pin to help me to guide the leaves to lie right; for sometimes when I lay down the branch on the paper, all the leaves get crowded together, and I have to separate them, and sometimes to pluck off one or two.”
“It is most horribly difficult, I can see that; however, let us go into the garden; perhaps, if I see you do it, I might still try.”
“But, Matilda, it won’t do to gather flowers to dry to-day; you forget that it rained in the night, and that this morning even there was a slight shower.”
Matilda shrugged her shoulders. “What a business! better give it up altogether, and especially if I am to bear in mind every time it rains. When the rain is over, I am too glad to forget it,—who ever thinks of rain when the sun is shining? notI—I always feel sure it is never to rain again; and so all my little plans for goodness must be given up, and I must just go on buying bunns till I am older, and then perhaps I shall not be so hungry, and shall not care for them so much.”
Leila smiled but shook her head. “Now don’t talk in that way, Matilda, for you know very well it is not right, and you do not mean to go on spending all your money on bunns; you could not be happy if you did; you only say so to make me laugh; but come, let us go into the garden, and I can show you what flowers do best for drying, and then when it is fine we can gather them, and I will help you to put them in paper. I am sureyoualso could make money by it.”
“Oh, you are a darling!” Matilda exclaimed; “and again my hopes are rising,rising—sixpence—a shilling—half-a-crown. Oh! there will be no counting the money I shall make. I shall have quite too much for the poor, and be able to treat you all with bunns into the bargain; now that is what I call generous.”
They found Mrs. Roberts and Alfred in the garden, Alfred flying at full speed as if in pursuit of something. “Don’t stop me, Matilda, don’t. Now it is going to settle on that rosebush—no, it is not—yes, it is hovering—now don’t move, don’t make a noise; now I have him;”—and he held up a large dragon-fly between his fingers.
Matilda screamed. “Oh! let him go, Alfred—do let him go—he will sting you; only see how he is putting out that long frightful sting. I see his sting quite plain.”
“No, Matilda, you need not be afraid, he cannot hurt me, for he has no sting. Mrs. Roberts told me that was a vulgar error.”
“Did you tell Alfred that?” Matilda inquired, turning to Mrs. Roberts; “but how can that be when I see it? and he is pushing it out every moment in a most frightful manner; only look, Mrs. Roberts.”
“Yes, I see what you mean, Matilda; but that movement in its body is only the effort the poor dragon-fly is making to escape; it is a perfectly harmless insect, for it has no instrument with which it can sting.”
“Then if you are quite sure of that,” Matilda said, eagerly, “I should like to look at him nearer. Stop, Alfred, and let me see. Oh! what a beautiful creature he is, and with four such lovely wings; when the sun shines upon them they seem to change colour like mother-of-pearl. Now that I know he has no sting I think him a perfect beauty, and before I used to run away from a dragon-fly as if it had been a wild beast; and they do look rather fierce though they are beautiful, for they have such a way of darting down so suddenly. Sometimes I have watched them flying across the pond at the bottom of the garden, and they dart down so low, they seem as if they were dropping into the water.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Roberts observed, “that is because they chiefly live upon water insects; with those large eyes they can discern their prey at a great distance, and then dart down upon it; but it is a bold insect and a voracious one also, and I have seen it sometimes attack a butterfly fully as large as itself and tear it to pieces. It lives, however, chiefly on small water insects, and seizes upon them as they skim along the surface of the water; but another reason why one so often sees dragon-flies in the neighbourhood of ponds and ditches is, that the dragon-fly itself passes its young state in the water, and those small ones which you have often seen near ponds are those which have just left their former state and become winged insects.”
“Yes, I know all about that,” Alfred said; “Mrs. Roberts told me about the larva and about the pupa skin, like a little box, that they crawl out of, and then fly off; it was very interesting. Now I will let this one fly away, and show you what she has made for me, I hid it behind that big flower-pot till I required it again; see, it is a little net of coarse muslin, sewed round this circle of wire, and I fixed the pole to it myself; it is for fishing in the pond for larva. Mrs. Roberts, might we go now and try for some, and then you could tell Cousin Leila and Matilda more about it?”
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Mrs. Roberts gave a willing assent, and to the pond they all proceeded.
“Now, Alfred,” Matilda said, “do give me the net; I daresay you have had it for a long time to-day, and I should like so much to fish for larva, for I want so much to know what larva is.”
Alfred looked a little disappointed, but yielded up the net, saying only, “Now, Matilda, do take care of it, please, for it will be easily broken.”
“Never fear, little man, you are so easily frightened; do you think I don’t know how to take care of a fishing-net? Now stand aside a little and you shall see.” She plunged it vigorously into the pond, the net filled with mud, she could scarcely draw it out again; little Alfred became very red, and was near getting into a passion, but a look from Mrs. Roberts, as she pronounced his name, restrained him; he took the net from Matilda, and having washed it out carefully, put it into Leila’s hands, saying, “Now it is your turn, Cousin Leila, to try for larva.”
Leila did try, but she was not much more successful than Matilda, the net still came up half filled with mud, for she plunged it down too hastily; besides, the water had been much disturbed.
Matilda clapped her hands. “How glad I am!” she exclaimed.
Mrs. Roberts looked towards her; but a look, however impressive, was seldom sufficient for Matilda.
“Yes,” she continued, “I am glad; for it is a comfort to me that though Cousin Leila is so patient about flowers, she is not in the least patient about larva.”
Leila coloured, but said nothing.
Matilda looked at her for a moment, then throwing her arms round her neck, she said,—“Oh! I am a wretch to vex you, and just at the very moment too when you have been so kind to me about the flowers; but kiss me, Leila, and don’t let us think any more about it; there, Alfred, do you wash out the net again, and dip it in the right way, and let us see the larva and talk about it.”
Alfred obeyed, and having gone to the other side of the pond where the water had not been disturbed, he dipped the net very gently in, and soon brought up a large muddy-looking insect.
Mrs. Roberts looked at it attentively. “You have been in good luck, Alfred,” she said, “for you have got the larva of the great dragon-fly, the very same species you caught in the garden. This species is fond of concealing itself in themud, and lies in wait there till it pounces on any insect that comes in its way.”
“But it seems to move so slowly,” Matilda observed, “that I should think that if the other insects were the least bit clever, they could easily get out of its way. They must stand still, silly things, to be devoured.”
“No, Matilda, you are deciding too hastily. The poor insects are in much greater danger than you are aware of. This slow-looking gentleman has a most curious apparatus at his command that you are not yet acquainted with. He has very large jaws which are covered with a kind of mask. Look at this horny substance which covers its face.”
“So much the better that it does cover its face,” Matilda said; “for I am sure it must be a frightfully ugly one. But what more does it do?”
“When it pleases it can let down this mask, which has claws at the end, similar, though on so small a scale, to the claws of a lobster. When it sees its prey within reach, it darts out these claws, and in a moment conveys the poor insect to its mouth. Then it has a way of bringing the insects nearer to itself. Do you see those five sharp little points at the tail? it has the power of drawing in and pushing out the water by opening and shutting them; this produces aslight current in the water, which floats the small insects within its reach.”
“It is a cunning, cruel wretch,” Matilda said, “and I don’t understand how such a horrid creature as that can ever become that beautiful harmless dragon-fly; but did you ever see it in its pupa state? does it begin to grow good then?”
“Why, as to that, Matilda, it moves and eats in its pupa state just as it does now. I am afraid you would not think there was much improvement; but it is from instinct, not cruelty, that it makes use of those means to procure food. You forget that we too take the life of many animals to procure our food, and often, I am afraid, in an unjustifiably cruel manner. But you ask me if I have ever seen the dragon-fly in its pupa state. I did once, and it was very curious indeed.”
“Do tell us about it; how I wish I could see it too. I hope it was not so ugly as this larva creature.”
“It certainly was more curious than beautiful; it was attached to the branch of a shrub, and at first it seemed to me as an insect with two bodies, with the head and eyes of a dragon-fly.”
“What a monster,” Matilda exclaimed, “worse even than the larva.”
“No; on looking at it more attentively, I sawit was on the point of escaping from its pupa case, so I sat down and watched it for some time. Its wings were folded up on its back in a wonderfully small space. At first they looked quite short, but as it cleared itself from its pupa skin, the wings gradually expanded; it seemed, however, too weak to fly. It slowly crawled to another branch of the shrub, and there remained, as if resting from its labours.”
“And did you not see it fly?”
“No; I was obliged soon after to leave the garden, and when I returned it was gone, probably enjoying in the air its new state of existence. The pupa case alone remained, and was not the least broken or injured by the dragon-fly having made its escape. It looked quite transparent; on trying to remove it, I found it was attached to the branch by two little claws which projected from that part of the case which covered each leg.”
“Oh, how beautiful, and how wonderful!” Leila exclaimed, her whole countenance beaming with intelligence.
Matilda, while Mrs. Roberts was giving them this account, had looked at Leila once or twice with some anxiety; their eyes now met; Leila’s sunny smile quite reassured Matilda, and she whispered in her ear, “You dear one, you are more beautiful to me than a hundred dragon-flies; and I am so glad that you have not wings, and that you cannot fly away from me.”
“Now, Alfred,” Mrs. Roberts said, “put by your net carefully.”
“May I not fish just once more, and try for the larva of the gnats and caddis worms which you promised to tell me about?”
“No, not to-day; at another time you shall do so.”
Mrs. Roberts took Alfred by the hand and turned towards the house, while Leila and Matilda took their way to the flower beds; Matilda with most sanguine anticipations of the money she was about to make.
ON the following Saturday, Nurse, having some commissions to execute in Richmond, and the weather being uncommonly fine, Leila and her cousins were allowed to accompany her. Matilda had for some days before been pursuing most actively her new method of drying flowers, and had already tied up and placed in all sorts of odd corners half the books in her possession filled with them; and as they had all received that morning their weekly allowance of pocket-money, she felt quite elated, not only by the riches of which she was in actual possession, but by the countless sums she now felt sure of acquiring.
In this dangerous state of mind poor Matilda was ill prepared for the trial which awaited her, for some of Nurse’s commissions were to be executed in the very shop which had so often proved a scene of temptation to her. She entered it with many good resolutions. Reels of cotton were wanted by the whole party, andreels of cottononlyMatilda was determined to buy. Leila and Selina each selected a pretty little box filled with them; but Matilda’s eyes wandered all over the counter. Alas! that so many bright little eyes should so often wander over forbidden ground. A most tempting, and a much more beautiful box than those selected stood open before Matilda; in addition to reels of cotton it had also scissors and a thimble. It was not at all too large, and it was not at all dear; indeed, she thought it most wonderfully cheap, and she opened and shut it again several times in great admiration.
Selina whispered, “You had better put it away, Matilda; you know it is only reels of cotton you require.”
“No, Selina,” she said, “you are quite mistaken; you forget that I could not find my thimble this morning; I looked every where for it, and lost so much of my time; and see only how I have hurt my finger with sewing without one, it is quite red; you would not wish me to do that again, I am sure; so I must buy a thimble, and it is only the scissors in addition, you know.”
“But, Matilda, your thimble is only mislaid; it will be found I am sure. I saw it on your finger yesterday.”
“But you did not see it to-day, Selina, and Itell you it is quite lost; I looked a long time for it.”
“But do consider, Matilda,” Selina said, very gently; “to buy this work-box will require almost all the money you have. Only twopence will remain.”
Matilda coloured. Only twopence. She seemed to hesitate, and pushed the box a little way from her; but suddenly brightening up, and drawing it towards her again, she said, “Selina, you quite forget the money I am now quite sure of making, for I dare say I have now near a hundred flowers, which I know quite well will be beautiful.”
“But you cannot be sure, Matilda, that you will be able to make money in that way.”
“And why should I not be sure? You are so prudent, Selina, that it just provokes me. Why should I not be able to make money as well as Leila, if my flowers are beautiful? I am sure I have taken trouble enough with them, and patience too; you might praise me, I think, a little for that, instead of wishing to take all my pleasures from me in this way; and it is such a useful thing to buy, and when I tell you too that I have lost my thimble; but don’t say any more about it, for I am determined to buy it. It is not as if I were buying a foolish thing; this box will be most useful to me.” She took itup as she spoke, and moved to another corner of the shop.
The work-box was soon carefully wrapped up in paper and paid for, and they all proceeded on their way. Having executed several other commissions, Nurse proposed that they should rest for a little in a baker’s shop, where each might have a bunn, as the hour of luncheon would have passed before they could return home. This they all thought an excellent plan.
They were soon seated and enjoying their bunns, and Matilda had just declared that she meant to be prudent now, and though she was very hungry indeed, she would only allow herself one bunn, and would keep the other penny in case of accidents, when a little girl, carrying a basket tied over with a napkin, entered the shop. She looked very pale and thin, and her clothes, though neither dirty nor ragged, were scanty and much patched. As the baker was at the moment serving a customer, she rested the basket on the ground as if much fatigued, and stood silently waiting by the counter. A broken piece of roll lay upon it. She gathered up a few stray crumbs, which she put in her mouth, and they saw her then stretch out her thin little hand as if to take the roll also, but she didnot; on the contrary, she pushed it further from her and turned away. The baker seemed to haveperceived the action, for he said, pushing it towards her, “You may have that piece of roll if you are hungry.”
The child’s eyes glistened, she seized the roll and began eagerly to eat it; suddenly she stopped, and looked anxiously at what remained, and put it in her pocket. By this time Leila’s attention was much excited. The child, pointing to the basket, spoke aside to the baker, who was now disengaged, but in so low a tone she could not make out what she said. The man shook his head as he replied, though also in a low tone, as if unwilling to be overheard by them, “No, no, we never buy cats; take it away; it is out of the question.”
The child spoke again, and with a look of much entreaty; Leila thought she could distinguish the words,loaf—starving.
“Well,” the man said, “I don’t know as to a loaf; let me see, its skin might be worth that;” and he put out his hand as if to take the basket.
The child shuddered violently, and snatching it hastily up, she proceeded towards the door. She stopped, hesitated, and turning back, she pushed the basket towards him, saying in an excited voice, “Take it out, don’t let me see it; its legs are tied, give me the loaf.” She turned from him, covered her face with her hands, and burst into tears.
The young people all rose, and in a moment were around her. Matilda pushed aside the napkin which covered the basket, and there lay a beautiful large cat, with its legs tied together in a most pitiable manner.
“Oh, how cruel,” Leila exclaimed, “to tie its legs!—and why, little girl, did you wish to sell your cat?—who did you say was starving?”
The child made no answer; she was sobbing violently.
“Poor little girl,” Leila said, in her soothing, gentle voice, “compose yourself! Don’t cry; we are not angry with you; we are sure you have done nothing wrong—do speak to us;—who did you say was starving?”
“My mother and all of us,” she gasped out; “we have not a morsel of food in the house; we have had no breakfast; oh, give me the loaf, and let me go home!”
Leila looked at her with a distressed and agitated countenance; “I have frightened her,” she said; “I spoke harshly to her. What can we do for her, Selina?—do tell me!”
They spoke together aside for a few minutes. “Yes,” Leila continued, turning towards the little girl again, “I am sure that is the best thing to be done; Nurse always says tea is so refreshing. Don’t cry, little girl, pray don’t!—your cat is not to be sold, and your mother andall of you are to have a nice breakfast; we are going to buy tea, and sugar, and butter, and everything that is good; and the baker will give us two large loaves; we have plenty of money to pay for every thing.”
While this conversation was going on, Matilda had stood beside the little girl, feeding her with what remained of her own bunn; stuffing piece after piece into her mouth, and almost choking her.
“And this is all I can do,” she said; “and I cannot help you, Leila and Selina, in buying butter, and tea, and sugar; I have nothing left but this abominable penny;”—and she threw it on the ground in uncontrolled distress—“oh, what a hard-hearted, extravagant, sinful, wretched, horrid girl I have been!”
Leila lifted the poor rejected penny from the ground, and whispered in her ear, “Don’t be in such a state, Matilda; try to bear it; you know I did just the same about the basket. We have both been very wrong, but we can both repent. You know that is the right thing to do. And this penny can still do a little good; take it, Matilda; you might buy a bunn with it for the mother; I am sure she would like a bunn better than the bread.”
But Matilda was not to be comforted; she bought the bunn, and wrapped it carefully upin paper; but as she got into the street, she entreated Nurse to go back with her to the shop where she had purchased the work-box. She wished, she said, to ask the man to take it again, and give her back the money. Nurse thought it very doubtful that this would be agreed to; but she yielded to Matilda’s entreaties, and they went back to the shop. The master was very civil; he said they never took back goods that had been paid for, they were obliged to make a rule not to do so; he seemed, however, in this instance, to be inclined to yield, and Matilda’s eyes sparkled with joy, when he took the work-box from her hand, and undid the paper; but on seeing it he shook his head—“I was anxious to oblige you, young lady,” he said, “but in this case it is impossible—this work-box has been injured, it has got a fall.”
“Yes, sir,” Nurse answered, (for poor Matilda was now unable to speak,) “it did get a fall; I told Miss Matilda she had better not undo the paper in the street, but we cannot expect young people to be wise all at once; but I am quite sure of one thing, she did not know it had been injured, for we both examined it, and were not aware it had been scratched at all.”
“No, of course not; no need of an apology, madam;” and as he spoke, he carefully wrappedthe unfortunate box up in a fresh piece of paper, and, with a low bow, put it into Matilda’s hands.
Poor Matilda, she could scarcely articulate, as turning from the shop she said,—“And it was my own fault, I would take it out of the paper; oh, what a day of misfortunes, surely no one was ever so unfortunate as I am!”
Leila whispered, “You forget, Matilda, about Rosamond and the purple jar.”
“Oh, but that was not half so bad, don’t say it was, Cousin Leila; she had only holes in her shoes to vex her; she had not a whole houseful of starving people—no, no,—no one was ever so unfortunate as I am; don’t try to comfort me, it makes me much worse.”
The scene which presented itself on entering the house to which the little girl conducted them, was certainly not calculated to lessen her sorrow. All within the house bore the marks of extreme poverty. A pale, emaciated woman was seated on a low stool, endeavouring to lull to sleep a sickly-looking infant; a girl, apparently some years older than the child who accompanied them, sat on the side of a miserable-looking bed, (the only one the room contained,) knitting busily: her features were pretty, but she kept her eyes cast down; and though she seemed to listen eagerly to what was said, shetook no further notice of their entrance. The woman had risen, and was endeavouring to silence three clamorous little urchins, who all ran towards the door when it opened, loudly exclaiming, “Why did you take away Tiny—what have you done with her?—have you brought no bread as you promised? we have had no breakfast yet!” They shrank back on seeing the strangers.
Nurse gave a glance around the room; its contents were not numerous. A small tea-kettle stood by the almost empty grate, in which a few sparks of fire still lingered. She went out, taking the eldest of the little boys with her, and soon returned with a supply of wood. A fire was kindled, and in a wonderfully short space of time, (for Leila and her cousins assisted,) a few cups and bowls were collected together, and the children were all assembled round a small table, devouring bread and butter as fast as it could be prepared for them, and anticipating the delight of having warm tea. The eldest girl was also seated at the table, but still kept her eyes cast down. The mother, observing the inquiring glances which were cast towards her, explained that she was blind; but she added, “My poor Susan is of the greatest assistance to me; ever since her father’s death, she has worked late and early; her knitting hasbeen our chief support, and when I can get a day’s work at a time, she keeps the poor baby: but she is sorely changed, her health is suffering; she is not like the same girl she was when times were better with us, for we were well to do in the world, till the fever came amongst us, and he that was always help and comfort to us all, was taken away.”
“And was poor Susan always blind?” Leila inquired.
“No, my young lady; your own eyes were not brighter than hers were for the first seven years of her life; but she took the small-pox—for, alas! I had neglected to have her vaccinated—indeed I had a prejudice against it, and many and many a bitter thought that prejudice has cost me.”
The tears were running down poor Susan’s face, as her mother gave this recital. They all looked at her with much interest; suddenly their attention was arrested by one of the little boys sliding down from his stool, and exclaiming, as he ran round the table and took the hand of each of them in succession, “Thank you, good ladies, for our nice breakfast;”—but as he approached Matilda, she pushed him from her—“O no, no,” she said, “do not thank me; I can bear it no longer!”—and she ran out of the room. Selina followed her.
In a few minutes they both returned, Matilda looking quite composed, though sorrowful: she went up to the blind girl, and, in a low voice, tried to enter into conversation with her; but it was the greatest possible relief to Matilda, when, soon after, Nurse said it was time to return home; assuring the poor woman, at the same time, she would speak to her master about her, and she was sure he would give her some assistance.
On entering the house, on their return, Matilda followed Leila to her room. “Leila,” she said, “you must keep this work-box for me, and put it out of my sight, for I cannot bear to look at it. This has been a sad day for me; I don’t think I ever was so unhappy before, as when I saw that blind girl knitting so fast with her poor thin fingers, and looking so starved: and when I thought I had given all my money for this work-box, and bought it though Selina so often told me not to do it, and that I would repent—O I am a monster!—don’t you think so, Leila?”
“No, Matilda; don’t say so; a monster is a wild beast—you are not the least like one—and you are repenting; you cannot do more now than that, and you should be thankful you are not a wild beast, for then you could not repent.”
“And then to eat that bunn in such good spirits, what do you say to that?”
“But you did not eat in very good spirits; you were sorrowful before the end, and gave half away.”
“Yes, half; but what is that, and a whole houseful of people starving—six children and a mother, you know. O don’t try to comfort me, it makes me much worse: I would rather you had said I had been as bad as possible.”
“No, Matilda, I cannot say that, though you have been very wrong; but how can I blame you even for that, when I was as bad? You are forgetting about my buying this basket,” and she pointed to a small table on which the basket was placed; “a little girl might have come with a cat to sell, and then it would have been just the same thing.”
“No, not the same thing; for you had more money which you had saved, so you could spare it;—but I must say one thing, Cousin Leila, I do wonder how you can put this basket on the table before your very eyes; I can’t bear even to look at this box, I am so sorry; and you said we had both done wrong, and should both repent. I don’t think this looks very like repenting.”
Leila coloured, and the tears came into hereyes as she said in a very low voice, “I did it to make me repent.”
“To make you repent, I don’t understand what you mean; you liked the basket, I suppose?”
“No, I did not; I could not bear it; I felt just the same as you did; and at first I hid it in the corner behind that high chair; but then I thought it would be my punishment if I saw it always before me, and that it would keep me in mind not to buy useless things again.”
“And I have been thinking you wrong,” Matilda exclaimed, “when all the time you were most excellent; oh, Leila, I never can be like you—no, not a hope of it; I do believe I am turning out quite worthless;—first, I would spend all my money for my own pleasure; then I would open the parcel, and let it fall; and after all this, I tried to think you as bad as I am; but I know what you are thinking now, and I can at least do that—you are thinking that I should take home this work-box, and put it on a table before my eyes; and Iwilldo it.” She tore the paper from the work-box as she spoke, and looked at it steadily. “O yes, abominable box,” she said, “I just hate you!—but no, it is not the work-box that is wrong,”—and she shook her head;—“but we won’t talk any more about it now; let us go into the conservatory,and see the dear little birds, they are singing so cheerily, and they don’t know any thing about repentance, or what I have been doing.”