Mrs. Eldridge was as she had left her yesterday; a trifle more forlorn, perhaps. The afternoon being bright and sunny, made everything in the house look more grimy and dusty for the contrast. Matilda shrank from having anything to do with it. But yet, the consciousness that she carried a basket of comfort on her arm was a great help.
"Good morning, Mrs. Eldridge; how do you do?" she said, cheerily.
"Is it that little gal?"
"Yes, it is I, Mrs. Eldridge. I said I would come back. How do you do, to-day?"
"I'm most dead," said the poor woman. Matilda was startled; but looking again, could not see that her face threatened anything like it. She rather thought Mrs. Eldridge was tired of life; and she did not wonder.
"You don't feel ill, do you?"
"No," the woman said, with a long drawn sigh. "There ain't no sickness got hold o' me yet. There's no one as 'll care when it comes."
"Would you like a cup of tea this afternoon?"
"Tea?" said the poor woman, "I don't have no tea, child. Tea's for the folks as has money, or somebody to care for 'em."
"But I care for you," said Matilda, gently. "And the Lord Jesus cares. And He gave me the money to get some tea, and I've got it. Now I'm going to make a fire in the stove. Is there any wood anywhere?"
"Fire?" said Mrs. Eldridge.
"Yes. To boil the kettle, you know. Is there any wood anywhere?"
"Have you got some tea?"
"Yes, and now I want to make the kettle boil. Where can I get some wood?"
"Kettle?" said the old woman. "I hain't no kettle."
"No tea-kettle?"
"No. It's gone. There ain't none."
"What is there, then, that I can boil some water in?"
"There's a skillet down in there," said Mrs. Eldridge, pointing to the under part of the corner cupboard which Matilda had looked into the day before. She went now to explore what remained. The lower part had once been used, it seemed, for pots and kettles and stove furniture. At least it looked black enough; and an old saucepan and a frying-pan, two flat-irons very rusty, and a few other iron articles were there. But both saucepan and frying-pan were in such a state that Matilda could not think of using them. Days of purification would be needed first. So she shut the cupboard door, and came back to the question of fire; for difficulties were not going to overcome her now. And there were difficulties. Mrs. Eldridge could not help her to any firing. She knew nothing about it. None had been in the house for a long time.
Matilda stood and looked at the stove. Then she emptied her basket; laying her little packages carefully on a chair; and went off on a foraging expedition. At a lumber yard or a carpenter's shop she could pick up something; but neither was near. The houses in Lilac Lane were too needy them selves to ask anything at them. Matilda went down the lane, seeing no prospect of help, till she came to the iron shop and the livery stable. She looked hard at both places. Nothing for her purpose was to be seen; and she remembered that there were children enough in the houses behind her to keep the neighbourhood picked clean of chips and brushwood. What was to be done? She took a bold resolve, and went into the iron shop, the master of which she knew slightly. He was there, and looked at her as she came in.
"Mr. Swain, have you any little bits of wood that you could let me have? bits of wood to make a fire."
"Matilda Englefield, ain't it?" said Mr. Swain. "Bits o' wood? bits of iron are more in our way—could let ye have a heap o'them. Bits o' wood to make a fire, did ye say? 'twon't be a big fire as 'll come out o' that 'ere little basket."
"I do not want a big fire—just some bits of wood to boil a kettle."
"I want to know!" said Mr. Swain. "You hain't come all this way from your house to get wood? What's happened to you?"
"Oh, not forourfire! Oh no. I want it for a place here in the lane."
"These folks picks up their own wood—you hadn't no need for to trouble yourself about them."
"No, but it is some one who cannot pick up her own wood, Mr. Swain, nor get it any other way; it is an old woman, and she wants a little fire to make a cup of tea."
"I guess, if she can get the tea she can get the wood."
"Somebody brought her the tea," said Matilda, who luckily was not in one way a timid child. "I will pay for the wood if I can get some."
"Oh, that's the game, eh?" said the man. "Well, as it's Mis' Englefield's daughter—I guess we'll find you what will do you—how 'll this suit, if I split it up for you, eh?"
He handled an old box cover as he spoke.
Matilda answered that it was the very thing; and a few easy blows of Mr. Swain's hatchet broke it up into nice billets and splinters. Part of these went into Matilda's basket, one end of them at least; the rest she took with great difficulty in her apron; and so went back up the lane again.
It was good to see the glint of the old woman's eyes, when she saw the wood flung down on the floor. Matilda went on to clear out the stove. It had bits of coal and clinker in the bottom of it. But she had furnished herself with a pair of old gloves, and her spirit was thoroughly up to the work now. She picked out the coal and rubbish, laid in paper and splinters and wood; now how to kindle it? Matilda had no match. And she remembered suddenly that she had better have her kettle ready first, lest the fire should burn out before its work was done. So saying to Mrs. Eldridge that she was going after a match, she went forth again. Where to ask? One house looked as forbidding as another. Finally concluded to try the first.
She knocked timidly and went in. A slatternly woman was giving supper to a half dozen children who were making a great deal of noise over it. The hurly-burly confused Matilda, and confused the poor woman too.
"What do you want?" she asked shortly.
"I came to see if you could lend me a tea-kettle for half an hour."
"What do you want of my tea-kettle?"
"I want only to boil some water."
"Hush your noise, Sam Darcy!" said the woman to an urchin some ten years old who was clamouring for the potatoes—"Who for?"
"To boil some water for Mrs. Eldridge."
"You don't live here?"
"No."
"Well, my tea-kettle's in use, you see. The cheapest way 'd be for Mrs. Eldridge to get a tea-kettle for herself. Sam Darcy! if you lay a finger on them 'taters till I give 'em to you——"
Matilda closed the door and went over the way. Here she found a somewhat tidy woman at work ironing. Nobody else in the room. She made known her errand. The woman looked at her doubtfully.
"If I let you take my kettle, I don't know when I'll see it agin. Mis' Eldridge don't have the use of herself so 's she kin come over the street to bring it back, ye see."
"I will bring it back myself," said Matilda. "I only want it for a little while."
"Is Mis' Eldridge sick?"
"No. I only want to make her a cup of tea."
"I hadn't heerd nothin' of her bein' sick. Be you a friend o' hern?"
"Yes."
"We've got sickness inthishouse," the woman went on. "And everythin's wantin' where there's sickness; and hard to get it. It's my old mother. She lies in there"—nodding towards an inner room—"night and day, and day and night; and she'd like a bit o' comfort now and then as well as another; and 'tain't often as I kin give it to her. Life's hard to them as hain't got nothin' to live on. I hadn't ought to complain, and I don't complain; but sometimes it comes over me that life's hard."
Here was another!
"What does she want?" Matilda asked. "Is she very sick?"
"She won't never be no better," her daughter answered; "and she lies there and knows she won't never be no better; and she's all as full of aches as she kin be, sometimes; and other times she's more easy like; but she lies there and knows she can't never get up no more in this world; and she wants 'most everythin'. I do what I kin."
"Do you think you can lend me your tea-kettle? I will be very much obliged."
"Well, if you'll bring it back yourself—I 'spose I will. It's all the kettle I've got."
She fetched it out of a receptacle behind the stove, brushed the soot from its sides with a chicken's wing, and handed it to Matilda. It was an iron tea-kettle, not very large to be sure, but very heavy to hold at arm's length; and so Matilda was obliged to carry it, for fear of smutching her frock. She begged a match too, and hastened back over the street as well as she could. But Matilda's heart, though glad at the comfort she was about to give, began to be wearily heavy on account of the comfort she could not give; comfort that was lacking in so many quarters where she could do nothing. She easily kindled her fire now; filled the tea-kettle at the pump—this was very difficult, but without more borrowing she could not help it—and at last got the kettle on, and had the joy of hearing it begin to sing. The worst came now. For that tea-cup and saucer and plate must be washed before they could be used; and Matilda could not bear to touch them. She thought of taking the unused cup at the back of the shelf; but conscience would not let her. "You know those ought to be washed," said conscience; "and if you do not do it, perhaps nobody else will." Matilda earnestly wished that somebody else might. She had no bowl, either, to wash them in, and no napkin to dry them. And here a dreadful thought suggested itself. Did Mrs. Eldridge herself, too, do without washing? There were no towels to be seen anywhere. Sick at heart, the little girl gathered up the soiled pieces of crockery in her basket—the basket had a paper in it—and went over the way again to Mrs. Rogers' cottage. As she went, it crossed her mind, could Mrs. Rogers perhaps be the other one of those two in Lilac Lane who needed to have the Bible read to them? Or were there still others? And how many Christians there had need to be in the world, to do all the work of it. Even in Shadywalk. And what earnest Christians they had need to be.
"Back again a'ready?" said the woman, as she let her in. Matilda showed what she had in her basket, and asked for something to wash her dishes in. She got more than she asked for; Sabrina Rogers took them from her to wash them herself.
"She has nobody to do anything for her," Matilda observed of the poor old owner of the cup and saucer.
"She ain't able to do for herself," remarked Sabrina; "that's where the difference is. The folks as has somebody to do su'thin' for them, is lucky folks. I never see none o' that luck myself."
"But your mother has you," said Matilda, gently.
"I can't do much for her, either," said Sabrina. "Poor folks must take life as they find it. And they find it hard."
"Can your mother read?"
"She's enough to do to lie still and bear it, without readin'," said the daughter. "Folks as has to get their livin' has to do without readin'."
"But would she like it?" Matilda asked.
"I wonder when these thingswaswashed afore," said the woman, scrubbing at them. "Like it? You kin go in and ask her."
Matilda pushed open the inner door, and somewhat reluctantly went in. It was decent, that room was; and this disabled old woman lay under a patchwork quilt, on a bed that seemed comfortable. But the window was shut, and the air was close. It was very disagreeable.
"How do you do to-day, Mrs. Rogers?" Matilda said, stepping nearer the bed.
"Who's that?" was the question.
"Matilda Englefield."
"Who's 'Tilda Eggleford?"
"I live in the village," said Matilda. "Are you much sick?"
"Laws, I be!" said the poor woman. "It's like as if my bones was on fire, some nights. Yes, I be sick. And I'll never be no better."
"Does anybody ever come to read the Bible to you?"
"Read the Bible?" the sick woman repeated. Her face looked dull, as if there had ceased to be any thoughts behind it. Matilda wondered if it was because she had so little to think of. "What about reading the Bible?" she said.
"You cannot read lying there, can you?"
"There ain't a book nowheres in the house."
"Not a Bible?"
"A Bible? I hain't seen a Bible in five year."
"Do you remember what is in the Bible?" said Matilda, greatly shocked. Thiswasliving without air.
"Remember?" said the woman. "I'm tired o' 'membering. I'd like to go to sleep and remember no more. What's the use?"
"What do you remember?" Matilda asked in some awe.
"I remember 'most everything," said the woman, wearily. "Times when I was well and strong—and young—and had my house comfor'ble and my things respectable. Them times was once. And I had what I wanted, and could do what I had a mind to. There ain't no use in remembering. I'd like to forget. Now I lie here."
"Do you remember nothing else?" said Matilda.
"I remember it all," said the woman. "I've nothin' to do but think. When I was first married, and just come home, and thought all the world was"—she stopped to sigh—"a garden o' posies. 'Tain't much like it—to poor folks. And I had my children around me—Sabriny's the last on 'em. She's out there, ain't she?"
"Yes."
"What's she doin'?"
"She is ironing."
"Yes; she takes in. Sabriny has it all to do. I can't do nothin'—this five year."
"May I come and see you again, Mrs. Rogers? I must go now."
"You may come if you like," was the answer. "I don't know what you should want to come for."
Matilda was afraid her fire of pine sticks would give out; and hurried across the lane again with her basket of clean things. The stove had fired up, to be sure; and Mrs. Eldridge was sitting crouched over it, with an evident sense of enjoyment that went to Matilda's heart. If the room now were but clean, she thought, and the other room; and the bed made, and Mrs. Eldridge herself. There was too much to think of; Matilda gave it up, and attended to the business in hand. The kettle boiled. She made the tea in the tea-cup; laid a herring on the stove; spread some bread and butter; and in a few minutes invited Mrs. Eldridge's attention to her supper spread on a chair. The old woman drank the tea as if it were the rarest of delicacies; Matilda filled up her cup again; and then she fell to work on the fish and bread and butter, tearing them to pieces with her fingers, and in great though silent appreciation. Meanwhile Matilda brought the cupboard to a little order; and then filling up Mrs. Eldridge's cup for the third time, carried back the kettle to Sabrina Rogers and begged the loan of an old broom.
"What do you want to do with it?"
"Mrs. Eldridge's room wants sweeping very much."
"Likely it does! Who's a going to sweep it, though, if I lend you my broom?"
"There's nobody but me," said Matilda.
The woman brought the broom, and, as she gave it, asked, "Who sent you to do all this?"
"Nobody."
"What made you come, then? It's queer play for a child like you."
"Somebody must do it, you know," said Matilda; and she ran away.
But Sabrina's words recurred to her. It was queer play. But then, who would do it? And it was not for Mrs. Eldridge alone. She brushed away with a good heart, while the poor old woman was hovering over the chair on which her supper was set, munching bread and herring with a particularity of attention which shewed how good a good meal was to her. Matilda did not disturb her, and she said never a word to Matilda; till, just as the little girl had brought all the sweepings of the floor to the threshold, where they lay in a heap, and another stroke of the broom would have scattered them into the street, the space outside the door was darkened by a figure, the sight of which nearly made the broom fly out of Matilda's hand. Nobody but Mr. Richmond stood there. The two faces looked mutual pleasure and surprise at each other.
"Mr. Richmond!"
"Whatareyou doing here, Tilly?"
"Mr. Richmond, can you step over this muss? I will have it away directly."
Mr. Richmond stepped in, looked at the figure by the stove, and then back at Matilda. The little girl finished her sweeping and came back, to receive a warm grasp of the hand from her minister; one of the things Matilda liked best to get.
"Is all this your work, Tilly," he whispered.
"Mr. Richmond, nobody has given her a cup of tea in a long while."
The minister stepped softly to the figure still bending over the broken herring; I think his blue eye had an unusual softness in it. The old woman pushed her chair back, and looked up at him.
"It's the minister agin," said she.
"Are you glad to see me?" said Mr. Richmond, taking a chair that Matilda had dusted for him. I am afraid she took off her apron to do it with, but the occasion was pressing. There was no distinct answer to the minister's question.
"You seem to have had some supper here," he remarked.
"It's a good cup o' tea," said Mrs. Eldridge;—"a good cup o' tea. I hain't seen such a good cup o' tea, not since ten year!"
"I am very glad of that. And you feel better for it, don't you?"
"A good cup o' tea makes one feel like folks," Mrs. Eldridge assented.
"And it is pleasant to think that somebody cares for us," Mr. Richmond went on.
"I didn't think as there warn't nobody," said Mrs. Eldridge, wiping her lips.
"You see you were mistaken. Here are two people that care for you."
"She cares the most," said Mrs. Eldridge, with a little nod of her head towards Matilda.
"I will not dispute that," said the minister, laughing. "She has cared fire, and tea, and bread, and fish, hasn't she? and you think I have only cared to come and see you. Don't you like that?"
"I used fur to have visits," said the poor old woman, "when I had a nice place and was fixed up respectable. I had visits. Yes, I had. There don't no one come now. There won't no more on 'em come; no more."
"Perhaps you are mistaken, Mrs. Eldridge. Do you see how much you were mistaken in thinking that no one cared for you? Do you know there is more care for you than hers?"
"I don't know why she cares," said Mrs. Eldridge.
"Who do you think sent her, and told her to care for you?"
"Who sent her?" the woman repeated.
"Yes, who sent her. Who do you think it was?"
As he got but a lack-lustre look in reply, the minister went on.
"This little girl is the servant of the Lord Jesus Christ; and He sent her to come and see you, and care for you; and He did that becauseHecares. He cares about you. He loves you, and sent His little servant to be His messenger."
"He didn't send no one afore," the old woman remarked.
"Yes, He did," said Mr. Richmond, growing grave, "He sent others, but they did not come. They did not do what He gave them to do. And now, Mrs. Eldridge, we bring you a message from the Lord—this little girl and I do,—that He loves you and wants you to love Him. You know you never have loved, or trusted, or obeyed Him, in all your life. And now, the goodness of God leadeth thee to repentance."
"There ain't much as a poor old thing like I can do," she said, after a long pause.
"You can trust the Lord that died for you, and love Him, and thank Him. You can give yourself to the Lord Jesus to be made pure and good. Can't you? Then He will fit you for His glorious place up yonder. You must be fitted for it, you know. Nothing that defileth or is defiled can go in; only those that havt washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Listen, now, while I read about that."
Mr. Richmond opened his Bible and read first the seventh chapter of the Revelation, and then the twenty-second; and Matilda, standing and leaning on the back of his chair, thought how wonderful the words were, that even so poor an old helpless creature as the one opposite him might come to have a share in them. Perhaps the wonder and the beauty of them struck Mrs. Eldridge too, for she listened very silently. And then Mr. Richmond knelt down and prayed.
After that, he and Matilda together took the way home.
The evening was falling, and soft and sweet the light and the air came through the trees, and breathed even over Lilac Lane. The minister and the little girl together drew fresh breaths. It was all so delicious after the inside of the poor house where they had been.
"Light is a pleasant thing!" said the minister, half to himself. "I think, Matilda, heaven will seem something so, when we get there."
"Like this evening, Mr. Richmond?"
"Like this evening light and beauty, after coming out of Mrs. Eldridge's house."
"And then, will this world seem like Mrs. Eldridge's house?"
"I think it will, in the contrast. Look at those dainty little flecks of cloud yonder, low down in the sky, that seem to have caught the light in their vaporous drapery and embodied it. See what brilliance of colour is there, and upon what a pure sky beyond!"
"Willthisever seem like Mrs. Eldridge's house?" said Matilda.
"This is the world that God made," said the minister, smiling. "I was thinking of the world that man has made."
"Lilac Lane, Mr. Richmond?" said Matilda, glancing around her. They were hardly out of it.
"Lilac Lane is not such a bad specimen," said the minister, with a sigh this time. "There is much worse than this, Matilda. And the worst of Lilac Lane is what you do not see. You had to buy your opportunity, then?" he added, with a smile again, looking down at Matilda.
"I suppose I had, Mr. Richmond."
"What did you pay?"
"Mr. Richmond, it was not pleasant to think of touching Mrs. Eldridge's things."
"No. I should think not. But you are not sorry you came? Don't you find, that as I said, it pays?"
"Oh yes, sir! But——"
"But what?"
"There is so much to do."
"Yes!" said the minister, thoughtfully. And it seemed to have stopped his talk.
"Is Mrs. Rogers the other one?" Matilda asked.
"The other one?" repeated Mr. Richmond.
"The other opportunity. You said there were two in Lilac Lane, sir."
"I do not know Mrs. Rogers."
"But she is another one that wants the Bible read to her, Mr. Richmond. She lives just across the way; I found her out by going to borrow a tea-kettle."
"You borrowed your tea-kettle?"
"Yes, sir. Mrs. Eldridge has none. She has almost nothing, and as she says, there is nobody that cares."
"Well, that will not do," said the minister. "We must see about getting a kettle for her."
"Then, Mr. Richmond, Mrs. Rogers is athirdopportunity. She has been sick a-bed for five years, and there is not a Bible in the house."
"There are opportunities starting up on every side, as soon as we are ready for them," said the minister.
"But Mr. Richmond—I am afraid,—I am not ready for them."
"Why so, my dear child? I thought youwere."
"I am afraid I was sorry when I found out about Mrs. Rogers."
"Why were you sorry?"
"There seemed so much to do, Mr. Richmond; so much disagreeable work. Why, it would take every bit of time I have got, and more, to attend to those two; every bit."
There came a rush of something that for a moment dimmed Mr. Richmond's blue eyes; for a moment he was silent. And for that moment, too, the language of gold clouds and sky was a sharp answer—the answer of Light—to the thoughts of earth.
"It is very natural," Mr. Richmond said. "It is a natural feeling."
"But it is not right, is it?" said Matilda, timidly.
"Is it like Jesus?"
"No, sir."
"Then it cannot be right. 'Who being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God; but made Himself of no reputation, and took upon Himself the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men: and being found in fashion as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.'
"Who 'pleased not Himself.' Who 'had not where to lay His head!' Who, 'though He was rich, yet for our sakes He became poor.' 'He laid down His life for us, and we ought to lay our lives down for the brethren.'"
Matilda listened, with a choking feeling coming in her throat.
"But then what can I do, Mr. Richmond? how can I help feeling so?"
"There is only one way, dear Matilda," said her friend. "The way is, to love Jesus so much, that you like His will better than your own; so much, that you would rather please Him than please yourself."
"How can I get that, Mr. Richmond?"
"Where we get all other good things. Ask the Lord to reveal Himself in your heart, so that the love of Him may take full possession."
The walk was silent for the greater part of the remaining way—silent and pleasant. The colours of sunset faded away, but a cool, fair, clear heaven carried on the beauty and the wordless speech of the earlier evening. At Matilda's gate Mr. Richmond stopped, and holding her hand still, spoke with a bright smile.
"I will give you a text to think about and pray over, Matilda."
"Yes, Mr. Richmond."
"Keep it, and think of it, and pray about it, till you understand it, and love it."
"Yes, Mr. Richmond. I will."
"The words are these. You will find them in the fourth chapter of the Second Epistle to the Corinthians."
"In the fourth chapter of the Second Epistle to the Corinthians. Yes, sir."
"These are the words. 'Always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body.' Good night."
Matilda thought so much over Lilac Lane and the words Mr. Richmond had given her, that Maria charged her with being unsociable. Much Matilda wished that she could have talked with her sister about those same words; but Maria was in another line.
"You are getting so wrapped up in yourself," she said, "there is no comfort in you. I might as well have no sister; and I guess Aunt Candy means I shan't. She gives you all the good times, up in her room, among the pretty things; I am only fit for washing dishes. Well, it's her opinion; it isn't mine."
"I don't have a good time up there, Maria, indeed. I would a great deal rather be down here washing dishes, or doing anything."
"What do you go there for, then?"
"I have to go."
"We didn't use tohaveto do anything, when mamma was living. I wouldn't do it, if I were you, if I didn't like it."
"I don't like it," said Matilda; "but I think I ought to do what Aunt Candy wishes, as long as it is not something wrong."
"She'll come to that," said Maria; "or it'll be something you will think wrong; and then we shall have a time! I declare, I believe I shall be glad!"
"What for, Maria?"
"Why! Then I shall have you again. You'll come on my side. It's lonely to have the dirty work all to myself. I don't suppose you mind it."
"Indeed, but I do," said Matilda. "I don't like to sit up-stairs darning stockings."
"And reading. And I don't know what."
"The reading is worse," said Matilda, sighing. "It is something I do not understand."
"What does she make you do it for?"
"I don't know," said Matilda, with another sigh. "But I want to do something else dreadfully, all the time."
The darning was very tedious indeed the morning after this talk. Matilda had got her head full of schemes and plans that looked pleasant; and she was eager to turn her visions into reality. It was stupid to sit in her aunt's room, taking up threads on her long needle exactly and patiently, row after row. It had to be done exactly, or Mrs. Candy would have made her pick it all out again.
"Yes, that is very well; that is neat," said Mrs. Candy, when Matilda brought her the stocking she had been at work on, with the heel smoothly run. "That will do. Now you may begin upon another one. There they are, in that basket."
"But, Aunt Candy," said Matilda, in dismay, "don't you think I have learned now how to do it?"
"Yes, pretty well."
"Then, need I do any more?"
"A little further practice will not hurt you. Practice makes perfect, you know."
"But do you mean that I must darn all those stockings."
"Aren't they yours?"
"Yes, ma'am; I believe they are."
"Who should darn them, then?"
Matilda very sorrowfully remembered the hand which did darn them once and thought it no hardship. Her hand went swiftly up to her eyes before she spoke again.
"I think it is right I should do them, and I will. May I take them away and do them in my own room?"
"You may do exactly what I tell you, my dear."
"Does it make any difference, Aunt Candy?"
"That is something you need not consider. All you have to do is to obey orders. The more promptly and quietly, the easier for you, Matilda."
Matilda coloured, bridled, kept down the wish to cry, and began upon the second heel of her stockings. She was tired of that long needle and its long needleful of double thread.
"Matilda," said her aunt, "put down your stocking and look at me."
Which Matilda did, much surprised.
"When you wish to answer any thing I say, I prefer always that you should answer me in words."
"Ma'am?" said Matilda.
"You heard me."
"But I did not understand you."
"Again!" said Clarissa.
"I do not like to be answered by gestures. Do you understand that?"
"No, ma'am; I do not know what you mean by saying it."
"You do not know that you answered me by a toss of your head just now?"
"No, ma'am; certainly not."
"I am very glad to hear it. Don't do it again."
It would have been very like Matilda to do it again just there; but bewilderment quite put down other emotions for the time, except the sense of being wronged, and that is a feeling very hard to bear. Matilda had scarcely known it before in her little life; the sensation was as new as it was painful. She was utterly unconscious of having done anything that ought to be found fault with. The darning needle went very fast for the next half-hour; and Matilda's cheek was bright.
"They haven't got a fire up-stairs, have they?" Maria questioned, when her little sister rejoined her.
"No, not to-day. Why?"
"You look as if you had been somewhere where it was warm."
But Matilda did not say what sort of fire had warmed her.
She forgot all about it, and about all other grievances, as soon as she was free to go out in the afternoon; for now some of her visions were to be realised. Yesterday afternoon had been so pleasant, on the whole, that Matilda determined to seek a renewal of the pleasure. And first and foremost, she had determined to get Mrs. Eldridge a tea-kettle. She had money enough yet; only her Bible and yesterday's purchases had come out of her twenty-five dollars. "A tea-kettle—and what else?" thought Matilda. "Some towels? She does dreadfully want some towels. But then, I cannot get everything!"
Slowly going towards the corner, with her eyes on the ground, her two hands were suddenly seized by somebody, and she was brought to a stand-still.
"Norton!" cried Matilda, joyously.
"Yes. What has become of you?"
"Oh, I have been so busy!"
"School?" said Norton.
"Oh no! I don't go to school. I have things to do at home."
"Things!" said Norton. "Why don't you speak straight? What things? your lessons?"
"I don't have lessons, Norton," said the child, patiently, lifting her eyes to Norton's face. "My aunt gives me other things to do."
"Don't you have lessons at all?" said Norton.
"Not now. I wish I did."
"Where are you going now, Pink?"
"Pink!" echoed Matilda.
"Yes, that's your name. Where are you going? Come home with me."
"I have got business, Norton."
"You haven't got"—said Norton, peering round—"yes, I declare shehasgot—that Bible tucked under her arm! Are you going to see nobody again?"
Matilda nodded.
"I'll go too," said Norton, "and find out what it all means. Give me the book, and I'll carry it."
"But, Norton!" said Matilda, holding the Bible fast, "I would like to have you, but I am afraid you wouldn't like it."
"Like what, Pink? The Bible?"
"Oh no. Ohyes, I wish you did like that; but I mean, where I am going."
"Do you like it?"
"I like to go. I don't like the place, Norton, for the place is very disagreeable."
"So I should think. But I might like to go too, you know. I'm going to try."
Matilda stood still and looked very dubious.
"I'm going," Norton repeated, laughing. "You want me to go, don't you?"
"Why, I would like it very much, if you would not"——
"What? No, I will not," said Norton, shaking his head.
"But, Norton, I am going into Mr. Forshew's, first."
"Well; I can go into Mr. Forshew's too. I've beentherebefore."
"I am going to buy a tea-kettle."
"I shall not interfere with that," said Norton.
"But I am going to get a tea-kettle and take it along with me—to Lilac Lane."
"What for? They'll send it if you want it."
"I want it immediately, and Mr. Forshew's boy is never there when he is wanted, you know."
"Youwant the tea-kettle immediately. You are not going to make tea immediately, are you?"
"Exactly that, Norton. That is one of the things I am going to do. And the poor old woman I am going to see has no tea-kettle."
"Then I don't believe she has tea."
"Oh yes, but I know she has tea, Norton."
"And bread and butter?"
"Yes, and bread and butter too," said Matilda, nodding her little head positively. Norton looked at her with a perfectly grave face.
"It must be a very odd house," said he, "I don't see how you can be so sure of things."
Matilda began to walk on towards the corner.
"Who took her tea and bread and butter?" said Norton. "I suppose you know, if you know the rest."
"Of course, somebody must have done it," said Matilda, hesitating.
"I wonder if there was a Pink anywhere among the things," said Norton. "Did you see anything of it?"
Matilda could not help laughing, and they both laughed; and so they went into Mr. Forshew's shop. It was a little, low shop, just on the corner; but, to be sure, there was a great variety, and a good collection of things there. All sorts of iron things, and a great many sorts of tin things; with iron dust, and street dust, plentifully overlying the shop and everything in it. Stoves were there in variety; chains, and brooms, and coal-skuttles; coffee-mills, and axes, and lamps; tin pails, and earthen batter jars; screws, and nails, and hinges, and locks; and a telegraph operator was at work in a corner. Several customers were there too; Matilda had to wait.
"It is odd now," said Norton. "I suppose, if I wanted to spend money here, I should buy everything else in the worldbuta tea-kettle. That's what it is to be a girl."
"Nonsense!" said Matilda, and the set of her head was inimitable. Norton laughed.
"That's what it is to be a Pink," he said. "I forgot. I don't believe there is another girl in town wants a tea-kettle but you. What else do you want, Pink?"
"A great deal," said Matilda; "but I can't get all I want."
"You don't want an axe, for instance; nor a coffee-mill; nor a tin pail, nor an iron chain, nor a dipper; nor screws, nor tacks; nor a lamp, do you? nor a box of matches"——
"Oh yes, Norton! Oh yes, that is just what I do want; a box of matches. I never should have thought of it."
"How about stoves, Pink? Here are plenty."
"She has a stove. Don't be ridiculous, Norton."
And Mr. Forshew being just then at leisure, Matilda purchased a little tin tea-kettle, and came out with it in triumph.
"Now is that all?" said Norton. "How about the bread and butter? Perhaps it has given out."
"No, I think not. I guess there is enough. Perhaps we had better take another loaf of bread, though. We shall pass the baker's on our way."
"Have you got money enough for every thing you want, Pink? does your aunt give you whatever you ask for?"
"Oh, I never ask her for anything," said Matilda.
"Take it without asking?"
"I do not ask, and she does not give me, Norton. But once she did, when she first came; she gave me, each of us, twenty-five dollars. I have got that, all that is left of it."
"How much is left of it?"
"Why, I don't know exactly. I spent four dollars for something else; then eighty-five cents yesterday; and a dollar just, to-day. That makes"——
"Five eighty-five," said Norton. "And that out of twenty-five, leaves nineteen fifteen."
"I've got that, then," said Matilda.
"And no hope of more? That won't do, Pink. Nineteen dollars won't last for ever at this rate. Here's the baker's."
The bread Norton paid for and carried off, and the two stepped along briskly to Lilac Lane.
Matilda was very glad privately that she had swept Mrs. Eldridge's floor yesterday. The place looked so much the more decent; though as it was, Norton cast his eyes around him whistling low, and Matilda knew well enough that he regarded it as a very odd place for either himself or Pink to find themselves in.
"What's to be done now?" he inquired of her, as she was putting the bread and matches on a shelf of the cupboard.
"The first thing is to make a fire, Norton. I've got wood enough here. And the matches."
"Youhave got," said Norton, stooping to fetch out the sticks from the lower cupboard where Matilda had stowed them. "Did you get it? Where did you get it?"
"Mr. Swain split it up for me,—at the iron shop, you know."
"Did you go to the iron shop for it? And bring it back yourself?"
"There was nobody else to do it," said Matilda.
"You're a brick!" said Norton. "That's what I said. But is this all, Pink?"
"It is plenty, Norton."
"Plenty for to-day. It won't last for any more. What then?"
"I don't know," said Matilda. "O Norton, areyougoing to make the fire?"
Norton showed that such was his intention, and showed besides that he knew very well what he was about. Matilda, after looking on admiringly, ran off to the pump with her kettle. The pump was at some distance; before she could fill her kettle and come back, Norton overtook her. He quietly assumed the tea-kettle, as a matter of course.
"Oh, thank you, Norton! how good you are," Matilda exclaimed. "It was heavy."
"Look here. Do you come here to do this sort of thing all by yourself?" said Norton.
"I cannot help that," said Matilda. "And I like to do it, too."
"You mustn't," said Norton.
"Who will, then, Norton? And the poor old woman cannot do anything for herself."
"Isn't there somebody in the world to take care of her?"
"No; nobody."
"That's a shame. And I don't believe it, either."
"Oh, but there is nobody, Norton. She is quite alone. And if some one will not help her, she must go without everything."
Norton said no more, but he looked very much disgusted with this state of society. He silently watched what Matilda was doing, without putting in any hinderance or hinting at any annoyance further, which, she thought, was very good of him. Instead of that, he looked after the fire, and lifted the kettle when it was needful. Matilda, as yesterday, made the tea, and spread bread and butter, and cooked a herring; and then had the satisfaction of seeing the poor old woman luxuriating over what was to her a delicious meal. She had said very little since their coming in, but eyed all they did, with a gradual relaxing of the lines of her face. Something like pleasure, something like comfort, was stealing into her heart, and working to soften those hard lines. Matilda waited now until the meal should be quite finished before she brought forward anything of different interest.
"That's a new kettle," was the first remark, made while Matilda was clearing away the remains of the supper.
"How do you like it?" said Norton.
The old woman looked at him, she had done that a great deal already, and answered, "Who be you?"
"I'm the fellow that brought the kettle from the shop," said Norton.
"Whose kettle is it?"
"It ought to be your's—it's on your stove."
"It is your's, Mrs. Eldridge," said Matilda.
"Well, I hain't had a tea-kettle," said the old woman, meditatively, "since—I declare, I don't know when 'twas. I hain't had a tea-kettle, not since my old un fell down the well. I never could get it out. That one hadn't no kiver."
"Don't let this one get down in the well," said Norton.
"I shan't go to the well no more," said Mrs. Eldridge. "When I had a place, and a well, and a bucket, it was good times! That ain't my kettle."
"Yes, Mrs. Eldridge, it is," said Matilda. "It is your's; and it just fits the stove hole."
"A kettle's a good thing," said the old woman. "It looks good."
"Now would you like to have a little reading again?" Matilda inquired, bringing out her Bible.
"Have you got anything more about the—what was it? I don' know what 'twas."
"About the shepherd? the Good Shepherd?"
"You may read a bit about that," said the old woman. "There ain't no shepherds now, is there?"
"Plenty of 'em," said Norton.
"It don't seem as if there was no place for 'em to keep the sheep.Idon't see none. But he used for to be a shepherd; and he took good care of 'em, he did."
"The Lord Jesus is the Good Shepherd; and He takes good care of His sheep," said Matilda. "He cares for them always. He cares for you, Mrs. Eldridge."
The old woman made no answer to this; but instead, sat with so meditative a look upon her face that Matilda, though she had her book open to read, forbore, and waited.
"Did He send you?" said Mrs. Eldridge.
Norton glanced a quick look of amusement at Matilda, but Matilda simply answered. "Yes."
"I didn't know as there was any one as cared," she said, slowly.
Matilda began to read, upon that; giving her the twenty-third psalm again; then the tenth chapter of John; finishing with one or two passages in the Revelation. Norton stood in the doorway while she read, looking out and looking in, very quiet; and Mrs. Eldridge sat and listened and gave tremulous shakes of her old head, and was very quiet too.
"I must go now," said Matilda, when she had done and had paused a few minutes.
"It has a good sound," said the old woman.
"It's true," said Matilda.
And she and Norton took their leave. Then began a joyous walk home.
"Pink," said Norton, when they were got a little way from the house, "you made your tea in a tea-cup."
"Yes; there is only a wretched little tin tea-pot there, not fit to be used; it is in such a state."
"No spoons either?"
"No, and no spoons. There is hardly anything there at all, Norton."
"I don't see how people come to be so poor," said Norton.
"No,Idon't," said Matilda. "But she is old, you see, and cannot help herself, and has no one left that does care about her. Nobody in the world, I mean."
"That house is in a tremendous condition," said Norton. "For dirt I mean."
"Yes, I know it."
"I don't see why somebody hasn't cleaned it before now."
"Why, Norton, who should do it? None of the neighbours care anything about her."
"Is she bad?"
"No, Norton, not bad at all; but they are poor too, and ill, some of them, and they have their own work to do, and their own things to get, and they haven't anything to spare for her."
"She was glad of that tea-kettle."
"Wasn't she! I could see that."
"But I say, Pink! I don't see how people come to be so poor. There's money enough."
"For some people," said Matilda.
"Money enough for everybody."
"Perhaps, if it was divided," said Matilda. "But, Norton, it isn't. The rich people have got it almost all."
"Have they?" said Norton. "Then they ought to look out for such poor chaps as this."
"So I think, Norton," said Matilda, eagerly.
"But, Pink,youcan't do it. You are only one, and you can't take care of all Lilac Lane, to begin with. That's what I am thinking about."
"No, not all the lane. But I can do something. I can read to Mrs. Eldridge, and Mrs. Rogers."
"You can't buy tea-kettles, though, for Mrs. Eldridge and Mrs. Rogers, with the tea, and the sugar, and the bread and butter, and the fish, and the mutton-chops they will all want. Your nineteen dollars will soon be gone at that rate."
"Mutton-chops!" echoed Matilda. "Norton, they do not see anything so good as mutton-chops."
"They ought to," said Norton. "They have as much right as other folks."
"But theycan't, Norton."
"Yes, they can, Pink. We'll take 'em some for once. They shall know how mutton tastes."
"O Norton!" said Matilda in a low voice of delight, "how good that would be!"
"But what Isay," continued the boy, with emphasis,—"you cannot go on doing this. Your money will not last."
"I can do what I can," said Matilda, softly.
"But what's the use, Pink? All you can do will just touch one old woman, perhaps, a few times; and then Lilac Lane will not be any better off than it was. And anyhow, you only touch one. What's the use?"
"Why—the use of that one."
"Yes, but it don't really make any difference to speak of, when you think of all the people that you cannot help. The world won't be any better; don't you see?"
"If I was the one to be helped, I should think it made a great deal of difference, Norton."
Norton could not dispute that view of the case, though he whistled over it.
"Pink, will you come and play croquet to-morrow?"
"To-morrow? I will see if I can," said Matilda, with a brightening face.
"What's to hinder you?"
"I don't know that anything. If Aunt Candy will let me."
"Doesshehinder you?"
"Sometimes," Matilda said, hesitating.
"What for?"
"I do not know. That puzzles me, Norton."
"Howdoes she hinder you?" said the boy, stopping short with a scowl upon his brow.
"She won't let me go out, sometimes; I don't know why. Then besides, I have to spend a good deal of time reading to her, and darning stockings; and I have a great many other things to do, Norton."
"Well, come to-morrow, Pink; or I shall come after you. Hulloa! see that squirrel"——
And Norton set off on such a race and chase after the squirrel, that Matilda stopped to look on in sheer admiration. The race was not fruitful of anything, however, but admiration, and the rest of the way they hurried home.
It was a trembling question with Matilda, could she go to play croquet the next day? She could not go in her work dress; and she feared to change her dress and so draw attention, lest her aunt should put a stop to her going out at all. She debated the matter a good deal, and finally concluded to make an open affair of it and ask leave.
"To go to Mrs. Laval's," said Mrs. Candy, meditating.
"Who is going to play croquet, besides you?" inquired Clarissa.
"I do not think anybody is to be there besides me," said Matilda.
"Well," said Mrs. Candy, "I suppose you had better go, with my compliments and thanks to Mrs. Laval. Put on your white dress, Matilda, and I will tie a ribband round your waist."
The white dress and the black ribband were duly put on, and Matilda set out, very happy indeed, only sorry that Maria was left behind. She got a glad welcome from Norton, who was at the iron gate watching for her. And when she came to the door of the house, Matilda was fain to stand still and look, everything was so beautiful. It was very different from last winter, when the snow covered all the world. Now the grass was soft and green, cut short and rolled smooth, and the sunlight made it seem almost golden. The rose-bushes were heavy and sweet with great cabbage roses and delicate white roses, and gay yellow roses made an elegant variety. Overhead, the golden clusters of a laburnum tree dropped as if to meet them. Then there were pinks, and violets, and daisies; and locust trees a little way off, standing between the house and the sun, made the air sweet with their blossoms. Every breath was charged with some delicious perfume or other. The house stood hospitably and gaily open in summer dress; the farm country lay rich in the sun towards the west; and the mountains beyond, having lost all their white coating of snow long ago, were clothed in a kind of drapery of purple mist.
"What's the matter?" said Norton.
"It's so beautiful!" said Matilda.
"Oh, is that all! Come in. Mamma wants to see you."
In the house, over floors marble and matted, through rooms green with the light that came through the blinds, cool in shadow, but from which the world without looked like a glittering fairyland, so they went passing from one to another, till they found the mistress of the house. She was not in the house, but in a deep wicker chair on the shady side of the verandah.
"Here she is!" the lady exclaimed as she saw them, throwing aside the book which had been in her hands, and drawing Matilda into her arms instead. "My dear child—so you've come. Norton and I are very glad. How do you do? You are thin."
"Am I?" said Matilda.
"I am afraid you are. What are you going to do? play croquet? it's too warm yet. Sit down here and have some strawberries first. Norton, you get her some strawberries."
She put Matilda affectionately into a chair and took off her hat.
"And how do you like croquet?"
"Oh, very much! But I do not know how to play yet," said Matilda.
"Norton will teach you."
"Yes, ma'am," Matilda said, with a happy look.
"I think Norton is making a little sister of you," Mrs. Laval said tenderly, drawing her hand down Matilda's cheek. "Do you know, Norton once had a little sister as old as you?"
The lady's tone had changed. Matilda only looked, she dared not speak in answer to this.
"I think he wants to make a sister of you," Mrs. Laval repeated wistfully, her hand dropping to Matilda's hand and taking hold of that. "How would you like to be Norton's sister?"
"Oh, I should like it very much!" Matilda answered, half eagerly, but her answer touched with a soberness that belonged to the little sister and daughter that Norton and Mrs. Laval had lost. There was a delicate, sensitive manner about both her face and her voice as she spoke, perfectly intelligible to the eyes that were watching her; and the response to it was startling, for Mrs. Laval suddenly took the child in her arms, upon her lap, though Matilda never knew how she got there, and clasping her close, half smothered her with kisses, some of which Matilda felt were wetted with tears. It was a passion of remembered tenderness and unsatisfied longing. Matilda was astonished and passive under caresses she could not return, so close was the clasp of the arms that held her, so earnest the pressure of the lips that seemed to devour every part of her face by turns. In the midst of this, Norton came with the strawberries, and he too stood still and offered no interruption. But when a pause in Mrs. Laval's ecstasy gave him a chance, he said low,—
"Mrs. Beechy, mamma, and Miss Beechys, are there."
Mrs. Laval was quiet a moment, hiding her face in Matilda's neck; then she put her gently down, rose up, and met some ladies who were coming round the corner of the verandah, with a tone and bearing so cool, and careless, and light, that Matilda asked her ears if it was possible. The guests were carried off into the house; Matilda and Norton were left alone.
It was Matilda's turn then. She set down the plate of strawberries Norton had given her, and hid her face in her hands.
Norton bore this for a minute, and no more. Then one of his hands came upon one of Matilda's, and the other upon the other, very gently but decidedly suggesting that they should come down.
"Pink!" said he, "this may do for mamma and you, but it is very poor entertainment for me. Come! leave that, and eat your strawberries, and let us go on the lawn. The sun will do now."
Matilda felt that this was reasonable, and she put by her own gratification. Nevertheless her eyes and eyelashes were all glittering when she lifted them up.
"What has mamma done to you?" said Norton, wondering. "Here, Pink, do you like strawberries?"
"If you please, Norton," said Matilda, "couldn't I have them another time? I don't want them now."
"Then they may wait till we have done playing," said Norton; "and then I'll have some too. Now come."
The great trees cast a flickering shadow on the grass before the house. Norton planted his hoops and distributed colours, and presently Matilda's sober thoughts were driven as many ways as the balls; andtheywent very widely indeed.
"You must takeaim, Matilda?" Norton cried.
"At what?"
"Why, you must learn at what; that's the game. You must fight; just as I fight you. You ought to touch my ball now, if you can. I don't believe you can. You might try."
Matilda tried, and hit it. The game went on prosperously. The sun got lower, and the sunbeams came more scattering, and the breeze just stirred over the lawn, not enough to bend the little short blades of grass. Mrs. Laval's visitors went away, and she came out on the verandah to look at the children; they were too much engaged to look at her. At last the hard-fought battle came to an end. Norton brought out another plate of strawberries for himself along with Matilda's, and the two sat down on the bank under the locust trees to eat them. The sun was near going down beyond the mountains by this time, and his setting rays changed the purple mist into a bath of golden haze.
"How nice and cold these are," said Matilda.
"They have been in the ice. That makes things cold," observed Norton.
"And being warm one's self makes them seem colder," said Matilda.
"Why, are you warm, Pink?"
"Yes, indeed. I have had to fight you so hard, you know."
"You did very well," said Norton, in a satisfied tone.
"Norton, how pretty it all is to-night."
Norton ate strawberries.
"Very different from Lilac Lane," said Matilda, looking at the china plate in her hand, on which the painting was very fine and delicate.
"Rather different," said Norton.
"Norton,—I was thinking of what you said yesterday; how odd it is that some people should be rich and others poor."
"I am glad I am one of the first sort," said Norton, disposing of a very large strawberry.
"But isn't it strange?"
"That is what I said, Pink."
"It don't seem right," said Matilda, thoughtfully
"Yes, it does."
"It doesn't to me."
"How can you help it?"
"WhyIcannot help it, Norton; but if everybody that is rich chose, they could help it."
"How?"
"Don't you think they ought?"
"Well how, Pink? If people were industrious and behaved right, they wouldn't be poor, you see."
"Oh, but, Norton, they would sometimes. There is Mrs. Eldridge, and there are the poor women at Mrs. Rogers', and a great many more like them."
"Well ifsomebodyhadn't behaved wrong," said Norton, "they wouldn't be so hard up."
"Oh, but that does not help them."
"Not much."
"And they ought to be helped," said Matilda, slowly examining the painted flowers on the china in her hand, and remembering Mrs. Eldridge's cracked delf tea-cup.
"That plate would buy up the whole concern where we were yesterday, wouldn't it?"
Matilda looked up suddenly, at Norton's thus touching her thought; but she did not like to pursue it. Norton, however, had no scruples.
"Yes; and these strawberries, I suppose, would feed her for a week—the old woman, I mean. And one of our drawing-room chairs would furnish her house, pretty near. Yes, I guess it would. And I really think one week of the coal we burned a few months ago would keep her, and Mrs. Rogers too, warm all winter. And I am certain one of mamma's dresses would clothe her for a year. Seems queer, don't it."
"And she is cold, and hungry, and uncomfortable," said Matilda. The two looked at each other.
"But then, you know, if mamma gave one of her dresses to clothe this old woman, she would have to give another to clothe some other old woman; and the end would be, she would have no dresses for herself. And if she tried to warm all the cold houses, she wouldn't have firing to cook her own dinner. You see it has to be so, Pink; some rich and some poor. And suppose these strawberries had been changed into some poor somebody's dinner, I couldn't have had them to give to you. Do you see, Pink?"
"But, O Norton!" Matilda began, and stopped. "These strawberries are very nice."
"But you would rather turn them into mutton-chops and give them away?" said Norton. "I dare say you would! Wouldn't you?"
"Norton," said Matilda, cautiously, "do you think anything Icouldhave bought with that dollar would have given me so much pleasure as that tea-kettle yesterday?"
"It was a good investment," said Norton. "But it is right to eat strawberries, Pink. Where are you going to stop?"
"I'll take Mrs. Eldridge some strawberries," said Matilda, smiling, "when they get plenty."
"Well, agreed," said Norton. "Let us take her some other things too. I've got money. Stop—let me put these plates in the house and fetch a piece of paper;—then we'll see what we'll take her."
Matilda sat while he was gone, looking at the golden mist on the mountains and dreaming.
"Now," said Norton, throwing himself on the turf beside her, with his piece of paper, and thrusting his hand deep down in his pocket to get at his pencil, "Now, let us see what we will do."
"Norton," said Matilda, joyously, "this is better than croquet."
Norton looked up with those bright eyes of his, but his reply was to proceed to business.
"Now for it, Pink. What shall we do for the old lady? What does she want? Pooh! she wants everything; but what to begin with?"
"Strawberries, you said."
"Strawberries! Not at all. That's the last thing. I mean we'll fix her up, Pink. Now what does she want to be comfortable. It is only one old woman; but we shall feel better if she is comfortable. Or you will."
"But what do you mean, Norton? how much can we do?"
"Just as much as we've a mind to. I've got money, I tell you. Come; begin. What goes down first?"
"Why, Norton," said Matilda, in an ecstasy, "it is like a fairy story."
"What?"
"This, that we are doing. It is like a fairy story exactly."
"How is it like fairy stories?" said Norton. "Idon't know."
"Did you never read fairy stories?"
"Never. What are they like?"
"Why some of them are just like this," said Matilda. "People are rich, and can do what they please; and they set out to get things together for a feast, or to prepare a palace for some princess; and first one nice thing is got, and then another, and then some thing else; until by and by you feel as if you had been at the feast, or seen the palace, or had done the shopping. I do."
"This isn't for a princess," said Norton.
"No, nor a palace," said Matilda; "but it seems just as good."
"Go on, Pink; let us quit princesses and get to the real business. What do you want to get, first thing?"
"Firstthing," said Matilda, "I think would be to get somebody to clean the house. There are only two little rooms. It wouldn't be much. Don't you think so, Norton?"
"As we cannot build a palace, and have it new, I should say the old one had better be cleaned."