"Sabrina Rogers would do it, I dare say," Matilda went on; "and maybe that would be something good for her."
"Teach her to clean her own?" said Norton.
"Why no, Norton; her own is clean. I meant, maybe she would be glad of the pay."
"There's another princess, eh, that wants a palace?" said Norton. "If we could, we would new build Lilac Lane, wouldn't we? But then, I should want to make over the people that live in it."
"So should I, and that is the hardest. But perhaps, don't you think the peoplewouldbe different, if they had things different?"
"I'm certain I should be different, if I lived where they do," said Norton. "But go on, Pink; let us try it on—what's her name. We have only cleaned her house yet."
"The first thing, then, is a bedstead, Norton."
"A bedstead! What does she sleep on?"
"On the floor; with rags and straw, and I think a miserable make-believe of a bed. No sheets, no blankets, nor anything. It is dreadful."
"Rags and straw," said Norton. "Then a bedstead wants a bed on it, Pink; and blankets or coverlets or something, and sheets, and all that."
Matilda watched Norton's pencil as it noted the articles.
"Then she wants some towels, and a basin of some sort to wash in."
"H'm!" said Norton. "Herself, I hope?"
"Yes, I hope so. But she has nothing to make herself clean with."
"Then a stand, and basin, and towels; and a pitcher, Pink, I suppose, to hold water."
"Yes, a pitcher, or jug, or something. We want to get the cheapest things we can. And soap."
"Let's have plenty of that," said Norton, putting down soap. "Now then—what next?"
"A little wooden table, Norton; she has nothing but a chair to set her tea on."
"A table. And a carpet?"
"Oh, no, Norton; that's not necessary. It is warm weather now. She does not want that. But shedoeswant a pail for water. I have to take the tea-kettle to the pump."
Norton at this laughed, and rolled over on the grass in his amusement. Having thus refreshed himself, he came back to business.
"Has she got anything to go on her fire, except a tea-kettle?"
"Not much. A saucepan would be a very useful thing, and not cost much. I bought one the other day; so I know."
"What's a saucepan?" said Norton. "A pan to make sauce in?"
It was Matilda's turn to laugh. "Poor Mrs. Eldridge don't have many puddings, I guess, to make sauce for," she said.
"Well, Pink, now we come, don't we, to the eating line. We must stock her up."
"Put down a broom first, Norton."
"A broom! here goes."
"Yes, you can't think how much I have wanted a broom there. And a tea-pot. Oh yes, and a little milk pitcher, and sugar bowl. Can't we?"
"I should think we could," said Norton. "Tea-cups?"
"I guess not. She's got two; and three plates. Now, Norton—the eatables. What did you think of?"
"I suppose there isn't anything in the house," said Norton.
"Nothing at all, except what we took there."
"Then she wants everything."
"But you see, Norton, she can't do any thing herself; she couldn't use some things. There would be no use——"
"No use in what?"
"Flour, for instance. She couldn't make bread."
"I don't know anything about flour," said Norton. "But she can use bread when she sees it, I will take my affidavit."
"Oh yes, bread, Norton. We will take her some bread, and a little butter; and sugar; and tea. She has got some, but it won't last long."
"And I said she should have a mutton-chop."
"I dare say she would like it."
"I wonder if a bushel of potatoes wouldn't be the best thing of all."
"Potatoes would be excellent," said Matilda, delightedly. "I suppose she would be very glad of anything of that sort. Let's take her some cheese, Norton."
"Cheese. And strawberries. And cake, Pink."
"I am afraid we should be taking too much at once. We had better leave the cake to another time."
"There's something we forgot," said Norton. "Mr. What's-his-name will not split up box covers for your fire every day; we must send in a load of firing. Wood, I guess."
"Oh, how good!" said Matilda. "You see, Norton, she has had no wood to make a fire even to boil her kettle."
"And no kettle to boil," added Norton.
"So that she went without even tea. I don't know how she lived. Did you see how she enjoyed the tea yesterday?"
"Pink," said Norton, "do you expect to go there to make her fire every day?"
"No, Norton, I cannot every day; I cannot always get away from home. But I was thinking—I know some other girls that I guess would help; and if there were several of us, you know, it would be very easy."
"Well," said Norton, "we have fixed up this palace and princess now. What do you think of getting the princess a new dress or two?"
"Oh, it would be very nice, Norton. She wants it."
"Mamma will do that. Couldyouget it, Pink? would you know how? supposing your purse was long enough."
"Oh yes, Norton. Of course I could!"
"Then you shall do it. Who will see to all the rest?"
"To buy the things, do you mean?"
"To buy them, and to choose them, and to get them to their place, and all that?"
"Why, you and I, Norton. Shan't we?"
"I think that is a good arrangement. The next question is, when? When shall we send the things there?"
"We must get the rooms cleaned. I will see about that. Then, Norton, the sooner the better; don't you think so?"
"How is it in the fairy stories?"
"Oh, it's all done with a breath there; that is one of the delightful things about it. You speak, and the genie comes; and you tell him what you want, and he goes and fetches it; there is no waiting. And yet, I don't know," Matilda added; "I don't wish this could be done in a breath."
"What?" said a voice close behind her. The two looked up, laughing, to see Mrs. Laval. She was laughing too.
"What is it, that is not to be done in a breath?"
"Furnishing a palace, mamma—(getting it cleaned first,) and setting up a princess."
Mrs. Laval wanted to hear about it, and gradually she slipped down on the grass beside Matilda, and drew an arm round her, while she listened to Norton's story. Norton made quite a story of it, and told his mother what Matilda had been doing the day before in Lilac Lane, and what schemes they had presently on hand. Mrs. Laval listened curiously.
"Dear, is it quite safe for you to go to such a place?" she asked Matilda then.
"Oh yes, ma'am."
"But it cannot be pleasant."
"Oh yes, ma'am!" Matilda answered, more earnestly.
"How can it be?"
"I thought it would not be pleasant, at first," said Matilda; "but I found it was."
"What made it pleasant, dear?"
"If you saw the poor old woman, Mrs. Laval, and how much she wanted comfort, I think you would understand it."
"Would you come and seeme, if I wanted comfort?" the lady inquired. Matilda smiled at the possibility. Then something in Mrs. Laval's face reminded her that even with such a beautiful house and so rich abundance of things that money can buy, there might be a sad want of something that money cannot buy; and she grew grave again.
"Would you?" Mrs. Laval repeated.
And Matilda said "Yes." And Mrs. Laval again put her face down to Matilda's face and pressed her lips upon hers, again and again, as if she drew some sweetness from them. Not so passionately as the time before; yet with quiet earnestness. Then with one hand she stroked the hair from Matilda's forehead, and drew it forward, and passed her fingers through it, caressing it in a tender, thoughtful way. Norton knelt on the grass beside them and looked on, watching and satisfied. Matilda was happy and passive.
"Have you got money enough, love, for all you want to do?" Mrs. Laval asked at length.
"Ihaven't much," said Matilda; "but Norton is going to help."
"Have you got enough, Norton?"
"I guess so, mamma."
Mrs. Laval put her hand in her pocket and drew out a little morocco pocket-book. She put it in Matilda's hand.
"Norton shall not do it all," she said. "I don't know exactly how much is in this; you can use what you choose on this fairy palace you and Norton are building."
"Oh, ma'am!" Matilda began, flushing and delighted. Mrs. Laval stopped her mouth with a kiss.
"But, ma'am, won't you please take out what you wish I should spend for Mrs. Eldridge."
"Spend just what you like."
"I might take too much," said Matilda.
"It is all your's. Do just what you like with it. Spend what you like in Lilac Lane, and the rest for something else."
"Oh, ma'am!"—Matilda began again in utter bewildered delight.
"No, darling, don't say anything about it," Mrs. Laval answered, finding Matilda's pocket and slipping the pocket-book in. "You shall talk to me about it another time. I wish you could give me your secret."
"What secret, ma'am?" said Matilda, who for the very delight that flushed her could hardly speak.
"How to get so much satisfaction out of a little money."
Matilda wished she could give Mrs. Laval anything that would do her a pleasure, and she began to think,couldshe let her into this secret? It seemed a simple secret enough to Matilda; but she had a certain consciousness that for the great lady it might be more difficult to understand than it was for her. Was it possible that elegant pocket-book was inherpocket?
But now came the summons to tea, and they got up off the grass and went in. So beautiful a table Matilda had never seen, and more thorough petting no little girl ever had. No one else was there but those three, so she was quite at home. Such a pleasant home it was, too. The windows all open, of the large, airy, pretty dining-room; the blue mountains seen through the windows at one side; from the others, the green of the trees and the gay colours of flowers; the evening air drew gently through the room, and flowers and fruit and all sorts of delicacies and all sorts of elegances on the table made Matilda feel she was in fairyland.
"When are you coming again?" said Mrs. Laval, taking her in her arms when she was about going.
"Whenever you will let me, ma'am."
"Could you learn to love me a little bit, some day?"
Matilda did not know how to answer. She looked into the handsome dark eyes that were watching her, and with the thought of the secret sympathy between the lady and herself, her own watered.
"I see you will," said Mrs. Laval, kissing her. "Now kiss me."
She sat quite still while Matilda did so; then returned it warmly, and bade Norton take care of her home.
Matilda found her aunt, cousin, and sister gathered in the parlour.
"Well!" said Maria. "I suppose you have had a time."
"A good time?" Mrs. Candy asked. Matilda replied "Yes."
"You stayed late," observed Clarissa. This did not seem to need an answer.
"What have you been doing?" Maria asked.
"Playing."
"You sigh over it, as if there were some melancholy associations connected with the fact," said Clarissa.
So there were, taken with the contrast at home. Matilda could not explain that.
"Any company there?" inquired Mrs. Candy.
"No, ma'am."
"You are wonderfully taciturn," said Clarissa. "Do tell us what you have been about, and whether you have enjoyed yourself."
"I enjoyed myself," said Matilda, repressing another sigh.
"Did you bring any message for me?" asked her aunt.
"No, Aunt Candy."
"Did you deliver mine to Mrs. Laval?"
"What, ma'am?"
"My message. Did you deliver it?"
"No, aunt Candy."
"Did you forget it, Matilda?"
"I did not forget it."
Both mother and daughter lifted up their heads at this.
"Why did you not give the message, then?"
Matilda was in sore difficulty. There was nothing she could think of to say. So she said nothing.
"Speak, child!" said her aunt. "Why did you not give my message as I charged you?"
"I did not like to do it, Aunt Candy."
"You did not like to do it! Please to say why you did not like to do it."
It was so impossible to answer, that Matilda took refuge in silence again.
"It would have been civil in Mrs. Laval to have sent her message, whether or no," said Clarissa.
"Go up-stairs, Matilda," said her aunt; "and don't come down again to-night. No, Maria," for Maria rose, muttering that she would go too, "no, you donotgo now. Sit down, till the usual time. Go to bed, Matilda. I will talk to you to-morrow."
It was no punishment, the being sent off; though her aunt's words and manner were. In all her little life, till now, Matilda had never known any but gentle and tender treatment. She had not been a child to require other; and though a more decided government might have been good, perhaps, the soft and easy affection in the midst of which she had grown up was far better for her than harshness, which indeed she never deserved. As she went up the stairs to-night, she felt like a person suddenly removed, in the space of an hour, from the atmosphere of some balmy, tropical clime, to the sharp rigours of the north pole. She shivered, mentally.
But the effect of the tropics returned when she had closed the door of her room. The treasures of comfort and pleasure stored up that afternoon were not lost; and being a secret treasure, they were not within anybody's power. Matilda kneeled down and gave thanks for it all; then took out her pocket-book and admired it; she would not count the money this evening, the outside was quite enough. She stowed it away in a safe place, and slowly undressed; her heart so full of pleasant things enjoyed and other pleasant things hoped for, that she soon utterly forgot Mrs. Candy, message and all. Sweet visions of what was to be done in Lilac Lane rose before her eyes; what mightnotbe done, between Norton and her, now? and with these came in other visions—of those kisses of Mrs. Laval, which had been such mother's kisses. Matilda stood still to remember and feel them over again. Nobody had ever kissed her so, but her mother. And so, in a little warm heart-glow of her own which enveloped everything, like the golden haze on the mountains that evening, Matilda undressed leisurely, and read her Bible, and prayed, and went to sleep. And her waking mood was like the morning light upon the mountains, so clear and quiet.
Maria, however, was in complete contrast. This was not very unusual. She was crusty, and ironical, and disposed to find fault.
"I wonder how long this is going to last?" she said, in the interval between complaining and fault-finding.
"What?" Matilda asked.
"This state of things. Not going to school, nor learning anything; cooking and scrubbing for Aunt Candy; and you petted and taken up-stairs to be taught, and asked out to tea, and made much of. Nobody remembers that I am alive."
"Dear Maria, I have been asked out to tea just once."
"You'll be asked again."
"And I am sure people come to see you. Frances Barth was here yesterday; and Sarah Haight and Esther Trembleton two days ago; and Esther asked you to tea too."
"I couldn't go."
"But people remember you are alive. O Maria, they remember you too. Mr. Richmond don't forget you; and Miss Benton asked you to come to tea with her."
"It is all very well talking," said Maria. "I know what I know; and I am getting tired of it. You are the only one that has any really good times."
It soon appeared that one of Matilda's good times was not to be to-day. Mrs. Candy and Clarissa looked on her coldly, spoke to her dryly, and made her feel that she was not in favour. Matilda could bear this down-stairs pretty well; but when she found her self in Mrs. Candy's room for her morning hours of reading and darning, it became heavy. Reading was not the first thing to-day. Mrs. Candy called Matilda to stand before her, while she proceeded to give her a species of correction in words.
"You were baptized a few weeks ago, Matilda."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And by so being, you became a member of the Church;—of your church."
"Yes, ma'am."
"What do you think are the duties of a member of the Church?"
A comprehensive question, Matilda thought. She hesitated.
"I ask you, what do you think are the duties of a member of the Church? in any branch of it."
"I suppose they are the same as anybody else's duties," Matilda answered.
"The same as anybody else's duties."
"Yes, Aunt Candy."
"You think it makes no change in one's duties?"
"What change does it make, aunt Candy?"
Matilda spoke in all innocence; but Mrs. Candy flushed and frowned. It did not sweeten her mood that she could not readily find an answer for the child.
"You allow, at least, that it is one of your duties to obey the fifth commandment?"
"Yes, Aunt Candy. I try to do it."
"Did you try last night?"
Matilda was silent.
"You made me guilty of rudeness by not delivering the message I had charged you with; and you confessed it was not through forgetfulness. Will you tell me now why it was?"
It had been through a certain nice sense on Matilda's part that the message was uncalled for, and even a little officious. She would have been mortified to be obliged to repeat it to Mrs. Laval. There had never been the least intercourse between the ladies, and Mrs. Laval had sought none. If Mrs. Candy sought it, Matilda was unwilling it should be through her means. But she could not explain this to her aunt.
"You did not choose it," that lady said again, with kindling anger.
"I did not mean to offend you, Aunt Candy."
"No, because you thought I would never hear of it. I have a great mind, as ever I had to eat, to whip you, Matilda. You are not at all too old for it, and I believe it would do you a great deal of good. You haven't had quite enough of that sort of thing."
Whether Matilda had or had not had enough of that sort of thing, it seemed to her that it was very far from Mrs. Candy's place to propose or even hint at it. The indignity of the proposal flushed the child with a sense of injury almost too strong to be borne. Mrs. Candy, in all her years of life, had never known the sort of keen pain that her words gave now to a sensitive nature, up to that time held in the most dainty and tender consideration. Matilda did not speak nor stir; but she grew pale.
"The next time you shall have it," Mrs. Candy went on. "I should have no hesitation at all, Matilda, about whipping you; and my hand is not a light one. I advise you, as your friend, not to come under it. Your present punishment shall be, that I shall refuse you permission to go any more to Mrs. Laval's."
The child was motionless and gave no sign, further than the paleness of her cheeks; which indeed caught Clarissa's observant eye, and made her uneasy. But she did not tremble nor weep. Probably the rush of feeling made such a storm in her little breast that she could not accurately measure the value of this new announcement, or know fairly what it meant. Perhaps, too, it was like some other things to her limited experience, too bad to be believed; and Matilda did not really receive it as a fact, that her visits to Mrs. Laval had ceased. She realised enough, however, poor child, to make it extremely difficult to bear up and maintain her dignity; but she did that. Nothing but the paleness told. Matilda was quite erect and steady before her aunt; and when she was at last bidden to go to her seat and begin her reading, her graceful little head took a set upon her shoulders which was very incensing to Mrs. Candy.
"I advise you to take care!" she said, threateningly.
But Matilda could not imagine what new cause of offence she had given. It was very hard to read aloud. She made two or three efforts to get voice, and then went stiffly on.
"You are not reading well," her aunt broke in. "You are not thinking of what you are reading."
Matilda was silent.
"Why do you not speak? I say you do not read well. Why don't you attend to your book?"
"I never understand this book," said Matilda.
"Of course not, if you do not attend. Go on!"
"She can't read, mamma," whispered Clarissa.
"She shall read," Mrs. Candy returned, in an answering whisper.
And recognising that necessity, Matilda put a force on herself and read on, at the imminent peril of choking every now and then, as one thought and another came up to grasp her. She put it by or put it down, and went on; obliged herself to go on; wouldn't think, till the weary pages were come to an end at last, and the hoarse voice had leave to be still, and she took up her darning. Thoughts would have overcome her self-control then, in all nature; but that, happily for Matilda's dignity as she wished to maintain it, Mrs. Candy was pleased to interrupt the darning of stockings to give Matilda a lesson in patching linen—an entirely new thing to the child, requiring her best attention and care; for Mrs. Candy insisted upon the patch being straight to a thread, and even as a double web would have been. Matilda had to baste and take out again, baste and take out again; she had enough to do without going back upon her own grievances; it was extremely difficult to make a large patch of linen lie straight on all sides and not pucker itself or the cloth somewhere. Matilda pulled out her basting threads the third time, with a sigh.
"You will do it, when you come to taking pains enough," said Mrs. Candy.
Now Matilda knew that she was taking the utmost pains possible. She said nothing, but her hands grew more unsteady.
"Mamma, may I help her?" said Clarissa.
"No. She can do it if she tries," said Mrs. Candy.
Matilda queried within herself how it would do to throw up the work, and declare open rebellion; how would the fight go? She was conscious that to provoke a fight would be wrong; but passion just now had got the upper hand of wisdom in the child. She concluded, however, that it would not do; Mrs. Candy could hold out better than she could; but the last atom of goodwill was gone out of her obedience.
"Matilda," said Mrs. Candy.
"Yes, ma'am."
"You have been an hour and a half trying to fix that patch."
"Isn't it long enough for one day?" said Matilda, wearily, sitting back on her heels.
She had got down on the floor the better to manage the work; a large garment with a large patch to be laid.
"Too long, by an hour; but not long enough, inasmuch as it is not yet done."
"I am too tired to do it."
"We will see that."
Matilda sat back on her heels, looking at the hopeless piece of linen. She was flushed, and tired, and angry; but she only sat there looking at the linen.
"It has got to be done," said Mrs. Candy.
"I must get rested first," said Matilda.
"You are not to say 'must' to me," said her aunt. "My dear, I shall make you do whatever I order. You shall do exactly what I tell you in everything. Your times of having your own way are ended. You will do my way now. And you will put on that patch neatly before you eat."
"Maria will want me."
"Maria will do very well without."
Matilda looked at her aunt in equal surprise and dismay. Mrs. Candy had not seemed like this before. Nothing had prepared her for it. But Mrs. Candy was a cold-natured woman, not the less fiery and proud when roused. She could be pleasant enough on the surface, and in general intercourse with people; she could have petted Matilda and made much of her, and was, indeed, quite inclined that way. If only Mrs. Laval had not taken her up, and if Matilda had not been so independent. The two things together touched her on the wrong side. She was nettled that the wish of Mrs. Laval was to see only Matilda, of the whole family; and upon the back of that, she was displeased beyond endurance that Matilda should withstand her authority and differ from her opinion. There was no fine and delicate nature in her to read that of the child; only a coarse pride that was bent upon having itself regarded. She thought herself disregarded. She was determined to put that down with a high hand.
Seeing or feeling dimly somewhat of all this, Matilda sat on the floor in a kind of despair, looking at her patch.
"You had better not sit so, but go about it," said Mrs. Candy.
"Yes. I am tired," said Matilda.
"You will not go down to dinner," said Mrs. Candy.
Could she stand it? Matilda thought. Could she bear it, and not cry? She was getting so tired and down-hearted. It was quite plain there would be no going out this afternoon to buy things for Lilac Lane. That delightful shopping must be postponed; that hope was put further in the distance. She sat moodily still. She ceased to care when the patching got done.
"Losing time," said Mrs. Candy at length, getting up and putting by her own basket. "The bell will ring in a few minutes, Matilda; and I shall leave you here to do your work at your leisure."
The child looked at her and looked down again, with what slight air of her little head it is impossible to describe, though it undoubtedly and unmistakably signified her disapproval. It was Matilda's habitual gesture, but resented by Mrs. Candy. She stepped up to her and gave the side of her head a smart stroke with the palm of her hand.
"You are not to answer me by gestures, you know I told you," she exclaimed. And she and Clarissa quitting the room, the door was locked on the outside.
Matilda's condition at first was one of simple bewilderment. The indignity, the injury, the wrong, were so unwonted and so unintelligible, that the child felt as if she were in a dream. What did it mean? and was it real? The locked door was a hard fact, that constantly asserted itself; perhaps so did Matilda's want of dinner; the linen patches on the floor were another tangible fact. And as Matilda came to realise that she was alone and could indulge herself, at last a flood of bitter tears came to wash, they could not wash away, her hurt feeling and her despair. Every bond was broken, to Matilda's thinking, between her and her aunt; all friendship was gone that had been from one to the other; and she was in the power of one who would use it. That was the hardest to realise; for if Matilda had been in her mother's power once, it had also been power never exercised. The child had been always practically her own mistress. Was that ended? Was Mrs. Candy her mistress now? her freedom gone? and was there no escape? It made Matilda almost wild to think these thoughts, wild and frightened together; and with all that, very angry. Not passionately, which was not her nature, but with a deep sense of displeasure and dislike. The patch and the linen to be patched lay untouched on the floor, it is need less to say, when Mrs. Candy came up from dinner.
Mrs. Candy came up alone. She surveyed the state of things in silence. Matilda had been crying, she saw. She left her time to recover from that and take up her work. But Matilda sat despairing and careless, looking at it and not thinking of it.
"You do not mean to do that, do you?" she said at last.
"Yes, ma'am—sometime," Matilda answered.
"Not now?"
"When I get a little rested."
"You want something," said Mrs. Candy, looking at her; "and I know what it is. You want bringing down. You never were brought down in your life, I believe, or you would not dare me so now!"
"I did not mean to dare you, Aunt Candy," said Matilda, lifting her head.
"You will not do it after to-day," said Mrs. Candy. "I am not going to give you what I threatened. I leave that for another time. I don't believe we shall ever come to that. But you want bringing down, all the same; and I know what will do it, too. Cold water will do it."
"What do you mean, Aunt Candy?"
"I mean cold water. I have heard you say you don't like it; but it would be very good for you, in two ways. I am going to bathe you with it from your head to your feet. Here is my bath-tub, and I'll have it ready in a minute. Take off your clothes, Matilda."
It was with nothing less than horror that Matilda now earnestly besought her aunt to think better of this determination. She did dislike cold water, and after a child's luxurious fashion had always been allowed to use warm water. But worse than cold water was the idea of her aunt, or anybody, presuming to apply it in the capacity of bather. Matilda refused and pleaded, alternately; pleaded very humbly at last; but in vain.
"I thought I knew something that would bring you down," Mrs. Candy said composedly and pleased; and in the same manner proceeded to strip off Matilda's clothes, put her in the bath-tub, and make thorough application of the hated element as she had said, from head to foot; scrubbing and dousing and sponging; till if Matilda had been in the sea she would not better have known how cold water felt all over her. It was done in five minutes, too; and then, after being well rubbed down, Matilda was directed to put on her clothes again and finish her patching.
"I fancy you will feel refreshed for it now," said her aunt. "This will be a good thing for you. I used to give it to Clarissa always when she was a little thing; and now I will do the same by you, my love. Every day, you shall come to me in the morning when you first get up."
No announcement could have been more dismayful; but this time Matilda said nothing. She bent herself to her patching, the one uppermost desire being to finish it and get out of the room. The cold waterhadrefreshed and strengthened her, much as she disliked and hated it; at the same time the sense of hunger, from the same cause, grew keener than ever. Matilda tried her very best to lay the patch straight, and get it basted so. And so keen the endeavour was, so earnest the attention, that though laying a linen patch by the threadisa nice piece of business, she succeeded at last. Mrs. Candy was content with the work, satisfied with its being only basted for that time, and let her go.
Matilda slowly made her way down to the lower regions, where Maria was still at work, and asked for something to eat. Maria looked very black, and demanded explanations of what was going on up-stairs. Matilda would say nothing, until she had found something to satisfy her hunger, and had partially devoured a slice of bread and meat. In the midst of that she broke off, and wrapping her arms round her sister in a clinging way, exclaimed suddenly—
"O Maria, keep me, keep me!"
"Keep you! from what? What do you mean, Tilly?" said the astonished Maria.
"From Aunt Candy.Can'tyou keep me?"
"What has she done?" Maria asked, growing very wrathful.
"Can't you keep me from her, Maria?"
"And I say, what has she done to you, Tilly? Do hold up and answer me. How can I tell anything when you act like that? What has she done?"
"She says she'll give me a cold bath every morning," Matilda said, seeming to shrink and shiver as she said it.
"A cold bath!" exclaimed Maria.
"Yes. Oh, can't you keep me from it?"
"What has put the notion in her head?"
"She used to do it to Clarissa, she says; but I think she wants to do it to me because I don't like it. Oh, I don't like it, Maria!"
"She's too mean for anything," said Maria. "I never saw anything like her. But maybe it won't be so bad as you think, Tilly. She and Clarissa both take a cold bath every morning, you know; and they like it."
"I don't like it!" said Matilda, with the extremest accent of repugnance.
"Maybe it won't seem so bad when you've tried."
"I have tried," said Matilda, bursting into tears; "she gave me one to-day, and I don't like it; and I can'tbearto have her bathe me!"
Matilda's tears came now in a shower, with sobs of the most heartfelt trouble. Maria looked black as a thunder-cloud.
"O Maria, can't you keep me from her?"
"Not without killing her," said Maria. "I feel as if I would almost like to do that sometimes."
"O Maria, you mustn't speak so!" said Matilda, shocked even in the midst of her grief.
"Well, and I don't mean it," said Maria; "but what can I do, Tilly? If she takes a notion in her head, she will follow it, you know; and it would take more than ever I saw to turn her. And you see, she thinks cold water is the best thing in the world."
"Yes, but Ican'tbear to have her bathe me!" Matilda repeated. "And I don't like cold water. She rubs, and she scrubs, and she throws the water over me, and the soap-suds, and she don't care at all whether I like it or not. I wish I could get away! I wish I could get away, Maria! Oh, I wish I could get away!"
"So do I wish I could," said Maria, gloomily eyeing her little sister's sobs. "We've got to stand it, Tilly, for the present. I haven't anywhere to go to, and you haven't. Come, don't cry. Eat your bread and meat. I dare say you will get used to cold water."
"I shall not get used toher," said Matilda.
However, a part of Maria's prediction did come true. Cold water is less terrible, the more acquaintance one has with it; and probably Mrs. Candy's assertion was also true, that it was capital for Matilda. And Matilda would not have much minded it at last, if only the administration could have been left to herself. But Mrs. Candy kept that in her own hands, knowing, probably, that it was one effectual means of keeping Matilda herself in her hands. Every morning, when Mrs. Candy's bell rang, Matilda was obliged to run down-stairs and submit herself to her aunt's manipulations, which were pretty much as she had described them; and under those energetic unscrupulous hands, which dealt with her as they listed, and regarded her wishes in no sort nor respect, Matilda was quite helpless; and she was subdued. Mrs. Candy had attained that end; she no longer thought of resisting her aunt in any way. It was the first time in Matilda's life that she had been obliged to obey another. Between her mother and herself the question had hardly arisen, except upon isolated occasions. She dared not let the question ever arise now with Mrs. Candy. She read, and darned, and patched, and grew skilful in those latter arts; she never objected now. She came to her bath, and never uttered now the vain pleadings which at first even her dignity gave way to make. Mrs. Candy had quite put down the question of dignity. Matilda did not venture to disobey her any more in anything. She went no more to walk without asking leave; she visited no more at Mrs. Laval's; Mrs. Candy even took Matilda in her triumph to her own church in the morning. Matilda suffered, but submitted without a word.
How much the child suffered, nobody knew or guessed. She kept it to herself. Mrs. Candy did not even suspect that there was much suffering in the case, beyond a little enforced submission, and a little disappointment now and then about going to see somebody. Mrs. Laval's house was forbidden, that was all; and for a few days Matilda did not get time, or leave, to go out to walk.
She was kept very busy. And she was pleasant about her work with Maria, and gentle and well-behaved when at her work with her aunt. Not gay, certainly, as she had begun to be sometimes lately, before this time; but Maria was so far from gaiety herself that she did not miss it in her sister; and Mrs. Candy saw no change but the change she had wished for. Nevertheless they did not see all. There were hours, when Matilda could shut herself up in her room and be alone, and Maria was asleep in her bed at night; when the little head bent over her Bible, and tears fell like rain, and struggles that nobody dreamed of went on in the child's heart. The thing she lived on, was the hope of getting out and doing that beloved shopping; meeting Norton, somehow, somewhere, as one does impossible things in a dream, and arranging with him to go to Lilac Lane together. The little pocket-book lay all safe and ready waiting for the time; and when Matilda could let herself think pleasant thoughts, she went into rapturous fancies of the wonderful changes to be wrought in Mrs. Eldridge's house.
She saw nothing meanwhile of Lemuel Dow. The Sunday following her afternoon at Mrs. Laval's had been a little rainy in the latter part of it. Perhaps the little Dow boy, who minded rain no more than a duck on other days, might be afraid of a wetting on Sunday. Other people often are. But Matilda meant to look for him next time, and have her sugared almonds in readiness.
One of the days of that week, it happened that Mrs. Candy took Matilda out with her for a walk. It was not at all agreeable to Matilda; but she was learning to submit to what was not agreeable, and she made no objection. On the way they stopped at Mr. Sample's store; Mrs. Candy wanted to get some smoked salmon. Mr. Sample served her himself.
"How did you like the tea I sent you?" he asked, while he was weighing the fish.
"Tea?" said Mrs. Candy. "You sent me no tea."
"Why, yes I did, last week; it was Monday or Tuesday, I think. You wanted to try another kind, I understood."
"I wanted nothing of the sort. I have plenty of tea on hand, and am perfectly suited with it. You have made some mistake."
"I am glad you are suited," Mr. Sample rejoined; "but I have made no mistake. This little girl came for it, and I weighed it out myself and gave it to her. And a loaf of bread at the same time."
"It was not for you, Aunt Candy; it was for myself," said Matilda. "I paid for it, Mr. Sample; it was not charged."
"You did not pay me, Miss Matilda."
"No, Mr. Sample; I paid Patrick."
"What did you buy tea and bread for?" her aunt inquired.
"I wanted it," Matilda answered.
"What for?"
"I wanted it to give away," Matilda said, in a low voice, being obliged to speak.
Mrs. Candy waited till they were out of the shop, and then desired to know particulars. For whom Matilda wanted it; where she took it; when she went; who went with her.
"Is it a clean place?" was her inquiry at last. Matilda was obliged to confess it was not.
"Don't go there again without my knowledge, Matilda. Do you hear?"
"I hear. But Aunt Candy," said Matilda, in great dismay, "it doesn't hurt me."
"No; I mean it shall not. Have you always gone wandering just where you liked?"
"Yes, always. Shadywalk is a perfectly safe place."
"For common children, perhaps. Not for you. Do not go near Lilac Lane again. It is a mercy you have escaped safe as it is."
Escaped from what, Matilda wondered. Even a little soil to her clothes might be washed off, and she did not think she had got so much harm as that. If she could only meet Norton now, before reaching home; there would never be another chance. Matilda longed to see him, with an intensity which seemed almost as if it must bring him before her; but it did not. In vain she watched every corner and every group of boys or cluster of people they passed; Norton's trim figure was not to be seen; and the house door shut upon Matilda in her despair. She went up to her room, and kneeling down, laid her head on the table.
"It's almost tea-time," said Maria. "What is the matter now?"
But Matilda was not crying; she was in despair.
"Come!" said Maria. "Come, what ails you? Tired?—It is time to get tea, Matilda, and I want your help. Whatisthe matter now?"
Matilda lifted a perfectly forlorn face to her sister.
"I can't go anywhere!" she said. "I am in prison. I can't go to Lilac Lane any more. I cannot do anything any more. And they want me so!"
Down went Matilda's head. Maria stood, perhaps a little conscience struck.
"Whowants you so much?"
"The poor people there. Mrs. Eldridge and Mrs. Rogers. They want me so much."
"What for, Tilly?" said Maria, a little more gently than her wont.
"Oh, for a great many things," said Matilda, brushing away a tear or two; "and now I can go no more—I cannot do anything—Oh dear!"
The little girl broke down.
"She's the most hateful, spiteful, masterful woman, that ever was!" Maria exclaimed; "too mean to live, and too cunning to breathe. She's an old witch!"
"Oh don't, Maria!"
"I will," said Maria. "I will talk. It is the only comfort I have. What is she up to now?"
"Just that," said Matilda. "She found I had been to Lilac Lane, and she said I must not go again without her knowing; and she will never let me go. I needn't ask her. She doesn't like me to go there. And I wanted to do so much! If she could only have waited—only have waited——"
"What made you let her know you had been there?"
"She found out. I couldn't help it. Now she will not let me go ever again. Never, never!"
"What did you want to do in Lilac Lane, Tilly?"
"Oh, things. I wanted to do a great deal. Things.—They'll never be done!" cried Matilda, in bitter distress. "I cannot do them now. I cannot do anything."
"She is as mean as she can live!" said Maria again. "But Tilly, I don't believe Lilac Lane is a good place for you, neither. What did you want to do there? whatcouldyou do?"
"Things," said Matilda, indefinitely.
"You are not old enough to go poking about Lilac Lane by yourself."
"I can't go any way," said Matilda.
She cried a long while to wash down this disappointment, and the effects of it did not go off in the tears. The child became very silent and sober. Her duties she did, as she had done them, about the house and in Mrs. Candy's room; but the bright face and the glad ways were gone. In the secret of her private hours Matilda had struggles to go through that left her with the marks of care upon her all the rest of the time.
The next Sunday she was made to go to church with her aunt. She went to her own Sunday-school in the afternoon; but she was not allowed to get off early enough for the reading and talk with Mary and Ailie. Lem Dow, however, was on hand; that was one single drop of comfort. He looked for his sugared almonds and they were on hand too; and besides that, Matilda was able to see that he was quite pleased with the place and the singing and the doings in his class, and making friends with the boys.
"Will you come next Sunday?" Matilda asked him, as they were going out. He nodded.
"Won't Jemima come too, if you ask her?"
"I won't ask her."
"No? why not?"
"I don't want her to come."
"You don't want her to come? Why it is a pleasant place, isn't it?"
"It's a heap more jolly if she ain't here," said Lem, knowingly.
It was a difficult argument to answer, with one whose general benevolence was not very full grown yet. Matilda went home thinking how many people wanted something done for them, and how she could touch nobody. She was not allowed to go to church in the evening.