It is impossible to tell how pleasant Matilda's room was to her that night. She had a beautiful white candle burning in a painted candlestick, and it shed light on the soft green furniture, and the mat, and the white quilt, and the pictures on the walls, till it all looked more fairylandish than ever; and Matilda could hardly believe her own senses that it was real. And when the candle was covered with its painted extinguisher, and the moonlight streamed in through the muslin curtains, it was lovelier yet. Matilda went to the window and gazed out. The fields and copses lay all crisp and bright in the cool moonbeams; and over beyond lay the blue mountains, in a misty indistinctness that was even more ensnaring than their midday beauty. And no bell of Mrs. Candy's could sound in that fairy chamber to summon Matilda to what she didn't like. She was almost too happy; only there came the thought, how she would ever bear to go away again.
That thought came in the morning too. But pleasure soon swept it away out of sight. She had a charming hour with Mrs. Laval in the greenhouse; after which they went up to Matilda's room; and Mrs. Laval made some little examination into the state of that small wardrobe which had been packed up the day before, and now lay in the drawers of the green dressing-table. Following which, Mrs. Laval carried Matilda off into another room where a young woman sat sewing; and her she directed to take Matilda's measure, and fit her with a dress from a piece of white cambrick which lay on the table.
"It's getting pretty cool, ma'am, for this sort of thing," said the seamstress.
"Yes, but it will be wanted, and it is all I have got in the house just now. I will get something warmer to-day or to-morrow, or whenever I go out. And Belinda, you may make a little sacque to wear with this; there is enough of that red cashmere left for it. That will do."
Two or three days saw the white frock done and the sacque. Mrs. Laval provided Matilda with pretty slippers and a black sash; and furthermore, desired that she would put these things on and wear them at once. Matilda did not know herself, in such new circumstances, but obeyed, and went down-stairs very happy. Norton cast an approving glance at her as she met him.
"Come here," said he, stretching out his hand to her; "mamma's busy with her new people, and we will have another drive presently. Come and sit down till it is time to go."
They went on the verandah, where it was warm and yet shady; the October sun was so genial, and the winds were so still.
"So they have come?" said Matilda.
"Yes, a lot of them. Look as if they had come from the other end of creation. Pink, I think I'll cover all that bank with bulbs."
"What are bulbs?"
"You don't know much, if youarea brick," said Norton. "I mean tulips, and hyacinths, and crocuses, and ranunculuses, and—well, I don't know all, but those specially. Wouldn't it be fine?"
Norton was a great gardener.
"I know tulips," said Matilda. "We have a bunch of red tulips in our garden. I think they are beautiful."
"I do not mean red tulips. Did you never see any but those?"
"No."
"Then you do not know what I mean by tulips. They are everything else except plain red; I shall not have one of those."
"Yellow?"
"Well perhaps I may have two or three yellow ones. They are pretty;—clear lemon colour, you know; the colour of evening primroses."
"Are there blue tulips too?"
"Not that ever I heard," said Norton. "No, there are red, and yellow, and yellow striped with red, and white striped with red, and white blotched with carmine, and yellow edged with brown or purple, and a thousand sorts; but never a blue."
"That's odd, isn't it?" said Matilda. "And nobody ever heard of a blue rose."
"Perhaps they will, though." said Norton. "There are black roses, and green roses. But I don't believe either therecanbe a blue rose; it is against nature."
"But how many tulips will you have, Norton? you saidtwo or threeyellow ones; and there are a thousand sorts."
"Well, I will not have all the sorts," said Norton; "but I tell you what I will do. I will fill all that bank with them and hyacinths, I shall want a hundred or so."
"Do they cost much?"
"Pretty well," said Norton; "if you get the costly sorts. They are a dollar a-piece, some of them. But plenty are nice for fifty cents, and thirty cents."
"Your tulip bed will cost—a great deal, Norton!"
"And that bed over there," Norton went on, pointing, "shall be your bed; and I will fill it with hyacinths for you. You shall choose what colours, Pink. They will be beautiful in May. Those shall be yours."
"Oh, thank you! But dotheycost much?"
"You always ask that," said Norton, laughing. "Yes, some of them do. I will tell you what I will do, Pink—and then you will be easy. I will spend twenty-five dollars on my tulip bed, and you shall spend twenty-five dollars on your hyacinth bed; and you shall say now what sorts you will have."
"Twenty-five dollars!" said Matilda. "O Norton, thank you. How nice! And I never saw a hyacinth in my life. What are they like?"
Norton was endeavouring to tell, when Mrs. Laval came upon the verandah. She came with business upon her lips, but stopped and her face changed when she saw Matilda.
"My dear child!" she said.
"Mamma," said Norton, "isn't she a brick?"
"A brick?" said Mrs. Laval, taking Matilda in her arms, and sitting down with her. "A brick! this soft, sweet, fresh delight of mine!" And as she spoke she emphasised her words with kisses. "My darling! There is nothing rough, or harsh, or stiff about you, nor anything angular, nor anything coarse; and he calls you a brick!"
"I think he means something good by it, ma'am," Matilda said, laughing.
"I don't know about the angles," said Norton. "Pink has a stiff corner now and then that I haven't been able to break off yet."
"Break off!" said Mrs. Laval, sitting with her arms round Matilda. And then they all went off into a laugh together.
"I had forgotten what I was going to say," Mrs. Laval resumed. "When you are out, Norton, I wish you would stop and send the doctor here."
"What's the matter?"
"I don't know; but those poor people are in a state under the bank, and maybe the doctor could best tell what they want."
"Ill?" said Norton.
"No, not ill, but dull and spiritless. I don't know what is the matter. They are tired with their journey perhaps, and forlorn in a strange place. Maybe they would feel better if they saw the doctor. I think such people often do."
And then Norton and Matilda had another ride in the basket waggon.
On their return, Norton proposed that they should go down under the bank and see the new-comers. Matilda was ready for anything. Under the bank was the place for Mrs. Laval's farm-house, and dairy house, and barn, and stables; a neat little settlement it looked like. A pretty little herd of cows had come home to be milked, and a woman in a strange costume, never before known at Shadywalk, had come out with a milking pail. To her Norton marched up, and addressed her in French; Matilda could not understand a word of it; but presently Norton went off into the farm-house. Here, in the kitchen, they found the rest of the family. A pleasant-faced, middle-aged woman was busy with supper; a young pretty girl was helping her; and two men, travel-worn and bearing the marks of poverty, sat over the fire holding their heads. Norton entered into conversation here again. It was very amusing to Matilda, the play of face and interchange of lively words between him and these people, while yet she could not understand a word. Even the men lifted up what seemed to be heavy heads to glance at the young master of the place; and the women looked at him and spoke with unbent brows and pleasant and pleased countenances. But the elder woman had a good deal to say; and Norton looked rather thoughtful as he came out.
"What is it all, Norton?" Matilda asked. "Is all right?"
"Well, not exactly," said Norton. "Those two men are ill."
"Hasn't the doctor come yet?"
"Yes, and he says they want a few days of rest; butIsay they are ill."
"But the doctor must know?"
"Perhaps," said Norton. "Perhaps he don't."
The people under the bank were forgotten soon, in the warm luxury of the drawing-room and the bright tea-table, and the comfort of sugared peaches. And then Matilda and Norton played chess all the evening, talking to Mrs. Laval at intervals. The tulip bed and the hyacinth bed were proposed, and approved; a trip to Poughkeepsie was arranged, to see Maria; and Norton told of Miss Redwood's doings in Lilac Lane. Mrs. Laval was much amused.
"And you two children have done that!" she said.
"You gave me the money for it, ma'am," said Matilda.
"It was yours after I had given it," said the lady. "I wonder how much goodreallynow, all that will amount to? or whether it is just a flash in the pan? That is the question that always comes to me."
Matilda looked up from the chess men, wondering what she could mean.
"It is a real good to have the house cleaned; you would never doubt that, mamma, if you had seen it," Norton remarked.
"And it is a real good that the poor woman is ready to have Mr. Richmond come to see her now," said Matilda.
"Mr. Richmond," repeated Mrs. Laval. "That's your minister. You think a great deal of Mr. Richmond, don't you, Matilda?"
"Everybody does," said Matilda. Mrs. Laval smiled.
"I don't know him, you know. But about your doings in the lane—there is no end to that sort of work. You might keep on for ever, and be no nearer the end. That is what always discourages me. There are always new old women to comfort, and fresh poor people to help. There is no end."
"But then," said Matilda. She began timidly, and stopped.
"What then?" said Mrs. Laval, smiling.
"Yes, just hear Pink, mamma," said Norton.
"What then, Matilda?" said Mrs. Laval, still looking at her as at something pleasant to the eyes.
"I was going to say," Matilda began again, with a blush, "isn't it meant that weshould'keep on for ever'?"
"Doing good to the poor? But then one would soon have nothing to do good with. One must stop somewhere."
Clearly, one must stop somewhere. A line must be found; inside or outside of her bed of hyacinths, Matilda wondered? She did not press her doubts, though she did not forget them; and the talk passed on to other things. Nothing could be more delightful than that evening, she thought.
The next day there was charming work to be done. Norton was to take her by the early train the morning after to go to Poughkeepsie; and Matilda was to prepare to-day a basket of fruit, and get ready some little presents to take to her sister. The day was swallowed up in these delights; and the next day, the day of the journey, was one long dream of pleasure. The ride to the station, the hour in the cars, or less than an hour; but the variety of new sights and sensations made it seem long; the view of a new place; the joyful visit to Maria, and the uncommonly jolly dinner the three had together at a good restaurant, made a time of unequalled delight. Only Maria looked gloomy, Matilda thought; even a little discomposed at so much pleasure coming to her little sister and missingher. And in this feeling, Matilda feared, Maria lost half the good of the play-day that had come to her. However, nothing could spoil it for the other two; and Matilda came home in the cars towards nightfall again with a heart full of content. Only a pang darted through her, as they were driving home under the stars, at the thought how many days of her fortnight were already gone. Matilda did not know it was to be a month.
They found Mrs. Laval in perplexity.
"I wish, Norton," she said, "that you would go and bring the doctor here immediately. The two women are ailing now, and the men are quite ill. I don't know what to do. York is gone to town, you know, to look after the interest on his bonds; and Francis demanded permission this afternoon to go and see his father who is dying. I have no one to send for anything. I could not keep Francis, and I do not believe he would have been kept."
"Who's to look after the horses, mamma?"
"I don't know. You must find some one, for a day or so. You must do that too, to-night."
Norton went and came back, and the evening passed as gayly as ever; York's absence being made up by the services of the children, which, Mrs. Laval said, were much better. Matilda made toast at the fire, and poured out tea; and Norton managed the tea-kettle and buttered the toast, and fetched and carried generally; and they had a merry time. But the next morning showed a change in the social atmosphere.
Matilda came down-stairs, as she always did, the earliest of the family. In the hall she encountered the housemaid, not broom in hand as usual, but with her bonnet and shawl on.
"I'm going out this way, Miss, ye see, becaase it's shorter," she said with a certain smothered mystery of tone.
"What is shorter? and where are you going, Jane?" Matilda asked, struck by something in the girl's air.
"Och, it's no lady wouldn't expict one to stop, whin it'sthat'sthe matter."
"When what is the matter? what do you mean? Are you going away?"
"Faith, it's glad I be, to be off; and none too soon. I'd show 'em the back of me head, you, dear, if it was me, goin' out at the front door. The likes o' you isn't obleeged to stop no more nor meself." This advice was given in the same mysterious undertone, and puzzled Matilda exceedingly.
"But, Jane," she said, catching the woman's shawl as she would have left her, "you know York is away; and there is nobody to do things. Mrs. Laval will want you."
"She's welcome to want me," said the girl. "I didn't engage fur to serve in an hospital, and I won't do it. Me life is as good to me, sure, as her own, or anybody's."
"But what shall I tell Mrs. Laval? Aren't you coming back?"
"Niver a bit, till the sickness is gone." And with that the girl would not be kept, but got away.
Matilda stood bewildered. Yes, she saw the broom and duster had been nowhere that morning. Everything was left. It was early yet. The sunbeams came slant and cool upon the white frost outside, as Jane opened the door; and so when the door was shut they stole in upon the undusted hall and rooms. Matilda softly made her way to the kitchen stairs and went down, fearing lest there might be more defaulters in the house hold. To her relief, she found the cook moving about preparing for some distant breakfast. But breakfast was never an early meal.
"Good morning, Mrs. Mattison," said the child. "I came down to see if there was anybody here. I met Jane just now, going out."
"I'm here yet," said Mattison. "I'll get your breakfast, before I'm off."
"Are you going too?"
"Take my advice, and don'tyoustop," said the woman. "You ain't a fixture so you can't get away. I'd go, fust thing, if I was you."
"Why?" said Matilda; "and what for are you all going like this? It is using Mrs. Laval very badly, I think."
"Folks must take care of their own flesh and blood," said the woman. "Wages don't pay for life, do they? I'm off as soon as I've got the breakfast. I'll do that, and give Mrs. Laval that much chance. She ain't a bad woman."
"Is the laundry-maid going too?"
"O' course. She had her warning, weeks ago, and so had I mine. Mrs. Laval sent for them furriners to fill her house with them; and now she must make the best of 'em she can. It ain't my fault if they're no use to her."
Matilda went up-stairs again, pondering what was to be done. She went softly up to Norton's door and knocked. It was not easy to rouse him; nothing stirred; and Matilda was afraid of awaking his mother, whose door was not far off. At last she opened Norton's door a bit and called to him.
"What is it?" cried Norton, as soon as the noise found a way to his brain. "Is it you, Pink? Hold on,—I'll be there in less than no time! What's to pay?"
Matilda waited, till in another minute Norton presented himself, half dressed, and with his hair all shaggy, outside his door.
"O Norton, can you be dressed very quickly?"
"Yes. What's the matter? I am going down to see to the horses. What do you want, Pink?"
"O Norton—speak softly!—everybody's going away; and I thought, maybe you would come down and help me get things in order."
"Whatdoyou mean, Pink?" said Norton, opening his eyes at her.
"Hush! They are all going away."
"Who?"
"The servants. All of them. Jane is off, and the cook will only stay till after breakfast. The laundry woman is going too. Francis is away, you know, and York. There is nobody but you and me in the house—to stay. I don't know what has got into all their heads."
"You and me!" said Norton. "The unconscionable fools! what are they afraid of?"
"Afraid of trouble, I suppose," said Matilda. "Afraid they will have nursing to do. I don't know what else."
"They ought to be put into the penitentiary!"
"Yes; but Norton, can you come down presently and help?"
"Help what?"
"Me. I want to set the table for breakfast, and I don't know where things are, you know. I am going to set the table, if you'll show me."
"I should think you didn't know where things are! Stop—I'll be there directly."
Norton disappeared, but Matilda had no idea of stopping. She went down-stairs softly again, and opened the windows, such of them as she could manage; applied to the powers below-stairs for broom and duster, and went at her old work of putting rooms in order. But it seemed like play now, and here. She was almost glad the servants were going away, to give her the chance.
"Well, youarea brick!" was Norton's remark, when he came in. "I suppose you know what it means by this time?"
"I wish you'd open those two windows for me, Norton; I can't undo the fastenings. Then perhaps you'd be a brick too?"
"I don't know," said Norton, laughing. "Well—there, Pink. What now?"
"Show me, Norton, where the things are."
"All at once, is rather too much," said Norton, as he and Matilda went into York's pantry. "All for nothing, too. Nursing! nonsense! they wouldn't have to nurse those people. It's jealousy."
"Yes, I think they are jealous," said Matilda, "from something the cook said."
Norton stood and looked on admiringly, while Matilda found the tablecloth, and arranged cups and saucers, and plates, and spoons, and mats, and all the belongings of the breakfast-table.
"Have you got to go to the stables, Norton?"
"Yes."
"Well, won't you go and get back, then? The breakfast will be ready, you know."
"Forgot all about that," said Norton.
While he was gone Matilda finished her arrangements; and was watching for him from the verandah when Mrs. Laval came behind her.
Of course it had become necessary to tell her the state of affairs. Mrs. Laval set down in one of the verandah chairs as soon as Matilda began to speak, and drew the child to her arms; wrapping them all round her, she sat thoughtfully caressing her, kissing her brow, and cheeks, and lips, and smoothing her hair, in a sort of fond reverie; so fond, that Matilda did not stir to interrupt her, while she was so thoughtful, that Matilda was sure she was pondering all the while on what was best to do.
"Who set the table?"
"I did, ma'am. Norton showed me where things were."
"Ma'am," repeated Mrs. Laval, drawing the child closer. "Would it be very hard to call me 'mamma'—some time—when you know me better? I can't let you go."
Matilda flushed and trembled; and then Norton came running up the bank. He smiled at the sight of his mother, with Matilda in her arms and her face resting upon Matilda's forehead.
"What's the word down there this morning, Norton?"
"I don't know, mamma; I've only been to see the horses.Theyare well."
"To the stables, have you been? Then do run and change your dress, Norton."
"Yes, and breakfast's ready, Norton," Matilda called after him. She slid off Mrs. Laval's lap and rang for it, and when it came up on the dumb waiter, she did York's work in setting it on the table with a particular pleasure. She began to have a curious feeling of being at home in the house.
"There is but one thing for me to do," said Mrs. Laval, as they sat at breakfast. "I must go down to the city and get a new houseful of servants, to do till these are well. But I'm in a great puzzle how to leave you two children. There will be nobody here; and I may very possibly be obliged to stay a night in town. It is not at all likely that I can do what I have to do, in time to take an evening train."
"I can take care of Pink, mamma."
"Who will take care of you?"
"I'll try," said Matilda.
"What canyoudo, to take care ofme?" said Norton.
"You will want something to eat," said Matilda. "I think you will—before to-morrow night."
"If I do, I can get it," said Norton.
"He thinks dinner grows, like a cabbage," said Mrs. Laval; "or like a tulip, rather. His head is full of tulips. But I cannot go to-day to New York; I could not catch the train. I'll go down-stairs and see these people after breakfast, and make them stay."
But when Mrs. Laval descended half an hour later to the regions of the kitchen, she found them deserted. Nobody was there. The fire, in a sullen state of half life, seemed to bear witness to the fact; the gridiron stood by the side of the hearth with bits of fish sticking to it; the saucepan which had held the eggs was still half full of water on the hob; the floor was unswept, the tray of eggs stood on one table, a quantity of unwashed dishes on another, but silence everywhere announced that the hands which should have been busy with all these matters were no longer within reach of them. Mrs. Laval went up-stairs again.
"Every creature is gone," she said. "I am sure I do not know what we are to do.Jealousy, Norton, did you say?"
"Because you have sent for these Swiss people, mamma."
"Is it possible? Well—I don't know what we are to do, as I said. We shall have no dinner."
"I can get the dinner," said Matilda. At which there was some laughing; and then Mrs. Laval said she must go and see how the poor people were. Norton was despatched to find some oysters if he could; and Matilda quietly went down-stairs again, with her little head full. She was there still an hour later, when Mrs. Laval came home and called for her. Matilda came running up, with red cheeks.
"Ah, there you are! What are you doing, Matilda? you have got your face all flushed."
"It's just the fire," said Matilda.
"Fire? What are you doing, child?"
"Nothing, much. Only trying to put things a little in order."
"You," said Mrs. Laval. "Leave that, my darling. You cannot. There will be somebody to do it by and by. But I wish I had somebody here now, to make gruel, or porridge, or something, for those poor people. They are without any comforts."
Mrs. Laval looked puzzled.
"Are they better?" Matilda asked.
"Two of them are unwell; indeed they are all ill, more or less; but the men are really bad, I think."
"If I had some meal, I could make gruel," said Matilda. "I know how. I have made it for—I have made it at home, often."
"Could you?" said Mrs. Laval. "There must be some meal here somewhere."
She went down to search for it. But it was found presently that she did not know meal when she saw it; and Matilda's help was needed to decide which barrel held the article.
"I am a useless creature," Mrs. Laval said, as she watched Matilda getting some meal out. "If you can manage that, darling, I will be for ever obliged to you, and so will those poor people. It is really good to know how to do things. Why, what have you done with all the dishes and irons that were standing about here? You have got the place in order, I declare! What have you done with them, dear?"
"They are put away. Shall I put on a pot and boil some potatoes, Mrs. Laval? I can; and there is a great piece of cold beef in the pantry."
"Boil potatoes? no, indeed!" said Mrs. Laval. "Norton will get us some oysters, and some bread and some cake at the baker's. No, dear, do not touch the horrid things; keep your hands away from them. We'll fast for a day or two, and enjoy eating all the better afterwards."
Matilda made her gruel, nicely; and Mrs. Laval carried it herself down to the farmhouse. She came back looking troubled. They could not touch it, she said, after all; not one of them but the young girl; they were really a sick house down there; and she would go to New York and get help to-morrow. So by the early morning train she went.
It was rather a day of amusement to the two children left alone at home. They had a great sense of importance upon them, and some sense of business. Matilda, at least, found a good deal for herself to do, up-stairs and down-stairs; then she and Norton sat down on the verandah in the soft October light, and consulted over all the details of the tulip and hyacinth beds.
"Fifty dollars!" said Matilda, at last.
"Yes?" said Norton. "Well?"
"Nothing. Only—did you ever think, Norton, how many other things one could do with fifty dollars? I wonder if it is right to spend so much just on a flower-bed?"
"It isn't. It's on two flower-beds," said Norton.
"Well, on two. It is the same thing."
"That's a very loose way of talking," said Norton. "Two and one are not at all the same thing. They are three."
"O Norton! but you are twisting things all round, now. I didn't say anything ridiculous."
"I am not so sure of that. Pink, one would never spend money any way, if one stopped because one could spend it some other way."
"But it ought to be always the best way."
"You can't tell what the best way is," said Norton. "I can't think of anything so good to do with this fifty dollars, as to make those two beds of bulbous roots."
Matilda sat thinking, not convinced, but longing very much to see the hyacinths and tulips, when a voice at the glass door behind her made her start. It was the doctor.
"Good morning. Is nobody at home?"
"Nobody but us," said Norton.
"Mrs. Laval gone out, eh?"
"Gone to New York, sir."
"To New York, eh? Ah! Well! Unfortunate!"
"What shall I tell her, sir, when she comes back?"
"Is there anybody in the house that can make beef tea?"
"No, sir," said Norton.
"If you will tell me how, Dr. Bird, I will have some," Matilda said.
"You, eh? Well, you do know something more than most girls. You can remember and follow directions, if I tell you, eh?"
"Yes, sir, I think I can."
"Then I'll tell you. You take a piece of juicy beef—he can see to that—juicy beef; not a poor cut, mind, nor fat; mustn't be any fat; and you cut it into dice; and when you have cut it all up fine, you put it in a bottle, and cork it up. Understand?"
"Yes, sir. But I don't know what dice are."
"Don't, eh? well, little bits as big as the end of my finger, will do as well as dice. Then when you have got your bottle corked, set it in a pot of water, and put the pot on the fire, and let it boil, till the juice of the beef comes out. Then strain that juice. That's beef tea."
"I mustn't put any water in with the beef, sir?—in the bottle?"
"Not a drop. Keep the water all in the pot."
"Who is to have the beef tea, doctor, when it is made?"
"Those two Frenchmen at the farmhouse. I told the women. They ought to have it now. And a nurse, too; the women are ill themselves."
Dr. Bird went his way, and Matilda persuaded Norton to go at once in quest of some juicy beef. It would be a difficult job, he said, for the butchers' shops were shut up; but he would go and try. While he was gone Matilda amused herself with getting a dinner for him and herself down in the kitchen; and there, when he came back, the two went, to eat their dinner and to set the beef tea a-going. They had rather a jolly time of it, to tell the truth; and were so very social, and discussed so many things besides their beef and bread, that the beef tea was ready to strain by the time Matilda had cleared the things away. And then she and Norton went down to the farmhouse to carry it.
They could get nobody to come to the door, so they opened it for themselves. It was a sad house to see. In two rooms all the family were gathered; the men lying on beds in the inner room, one woman on the floor of the other, and one on a cot. All ill. The girl alone held her head up, and she complained it was hard to do even that. Matilda and Norton went from one room to another. The men lay like logs, stupid with fever; one of the women was light-headed; not any of them would touch what Matilda had brought. The poor girl who was still on her feet was crying. There was no fire, no friend, no comfort or help of any sort. Nor ton and his little companion made the rounds helplessly, and then went out to consult together.
"Norton, they are dreadfully ill," whispered Matilda. "I know they are."
"I guess you are right," said Norton. "But you and I can't do anything."
"I can," said Matilda. "I can give them water, and I can give them beef tea. And you, Norton, I will tell you what you can do. Go for Miss Redwood."
"Miss Redwood? who's she?"
"Don't you remember? Mr. Richmond's housekeeper. She'll come, I know."
"She'll be very good if she does," said Norton. "But I'll tell her you said so. Do you think she would come?"
"I'm certain of it."
Norton made his way to the brown door of the parsonage, and knocked; but the person that opened it was the minister himself. Norton was a little confused now, remembering what his errand meant there.
"Norton Laval, isn't it?" said Mr. Richmond. "You are very welcome, Norton, at my house. Will you come in?"
"No, sir. If you please——"
"What is it? Something you would rather say to me here?"
"No, sir. I was coming——"
"To see me, I hope?"
"No, sir," said Norton, growing desperate and colouring, which he was very unapt to do. "If you please, Mr. Richmond, I was sent to speak to—I forget what her name is—the woman who lives here."
"Miss Redwood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Who sent you?"
"Matilda Englefield."
"Did she? Pray why did not Matilda come with you?"
"She could not, sir; she was very busy. She asked me to come."
"You can see Miss Redwood," said Mr. Richmond, smiling. "I believe she is always ready to receive visitors; at least I never saw a time when she was not. You have only to walk right in and knock at her door there. When are you coming to seeme, Norton? You and I ought to be better friends."
"I don't know, sir," said Norton. "I would not intrude."
"Ask your friend Matilda if I do not like such intrusions. I shall have to invite you specially, I see. Well, go in and find Miss Redwood. I will not detain you now."
Norton went in, glad to be released, for he did not exactly want to tell his errand to the minister, knocked at the kitchen door and was bade to enter. It was full, the kitchen was, of the sweet smell of baking bread; and Miss Redwood was busily peering into her stove oven.
"Who's there?" she asked, too much engaged in turning her loaves to give her eyes to anything else, even a visitor. Norton told his name, and waited till the oven doors shut to with a clang; and then Miss Redwood, very pink in the face, rose up to look at him.
"I've seen you before," was her remark.
"Yes. I brought Matilda Englefield here one day," Norton answered.
"H'm. I thought she brought you. What brings you now?"
"Matilda wanted me to come with a message to you."
"Well, you can sit down and tell it, if you're a mind to. Why didn't the child come herself? that's the first idee that comes to me."
"She is busy trying to nurse some sick folks, and they are more than she can manage, and she wants your help. At least, she sent me to ask you if you wouldn't come."
"Who's ill?"
"Some people just come from Switzerland to be my mother's servants."
"Switzerland," repeated Miss Redwood. "I have heard o' Switzerland, more than once in my life. I should like to know whereabouts it is. I never knew any one yet that could tell me."
"Mr. Richmond knows, I suppose," said Norton.
"I suppose he knows Greek," said Miss Redwood, "and ever so many other queer tongues too, I've no doubt; but I should like to see myself askin' him to learn me. No, I mean, as I never knew nobody that I'd ask. La! there's folks enough that knows. Only I never had no chances for them things."
"I could shew you where Switzerland is, if you had a map," said Norton.
"I guess I know as much as that myself," said the housekeeper quietly, opening the stove door again for a peep at the oven. "But what doesthattell me? I see a little spot o' paper painted green, and a big spot along side of it painted some other colour; and the map is all spots; and somebody tells me that little green spot is Switzerland. And I should like to know, how much wiser am I for that? That's paper and green paint; but what I want to know is, where is theplace."
"It's hard to tell," said Norton, so much amused that he forgot his commission.
"Well, these folks come from Switzerland, you say. How did they come?"
"They came in a ship—part of the way."
"How fur in a ship?"
"Three thousand miles."
"Three thousand," repeated Miss Red wood. "When you get up there, I don't know what miles mean, no more than if you spoke another language. I understand a hundred miles. It's nigh that to New York."
"They came that hundred miles, over and above," said Norton.
"Well, how long now, does it take a ship to go that fur? Three thousand miles."
"It depends on how fast the wind blows."
"The wind goes awful fast sometimes," said Miss Redwood. "When it goes at that rate as will carry a chimney off a house, and pick up a tree by the roots as I would a baby under my arm, seems to me a ship would travel at a powerful speed."
"It would certainly, if there was nothing to hinder," said Norton; "but at those times, you see, the wind picks up the water, and sends such huge waves rolling about that it is not very safe to be where they can give you a slap. Ships don't get along best at such times."
"Well, I'm thankful I'm not a sailor," said Miss Redwood. "I'd rather stay home and know less. How many o' these folks o' yourn is ill?"
"All of them, pretty much," said Norton. "Two men and two women."
"Fever nagur?"
"No, 'tisn't that. I don't know what it is. The doctor is attending them. He ordered beef tea to-day; and Matilda made some; but they seem too ill to take it now they've got it."
Miss Redwood dropped her towel, with which she was just going to open the oven again, and stood upright.
"Beef tea?" she echoed. "How long have these folks been ill?"
"Ever since they came ashore almost. They came straight up here, and began to be ill immediately. That was a few days ago; not a week."
"Beef tea!" said Miss Redwood again. "And just come to shore. How do they look? Did you see them?"
"Yes, I saw them," said Norton. "I went with Matilda when she took the beef tea to them. How did they look? I can't tell; they looked bad. The men were mahogany colour, and one of the women was out of her head, I think."
"And you two children going to see them!" exclaimed Miss Redwood, in a tone that savoured of strong disapprobation, not to say dismay.
"Because there was no one else," said Norton. "Mamma has gone to New York to get more people; for all ours went off when they knew of the sickness at the farmhouse."
"Why?" said Miss Redwood, sharply.
"I don't know. I suppose they were jealous of these strangers."
"H'm," said Miss Redwood, beginning now to take her bread out of the oven with a very hurried hand; "there's jealousy enough in the world, no doubt, and unreason enough; but it don't usually come like an epidemic neither. You go home, and tell Matilda I'm a comin' as fast as ever I kin get my chores done and my hood and shawl on. And you tell her—will she do what you tell her?"
"I don't know," said Norton. "What is it?"
"Whereis it these folks are ill? Not to your house?"
"Oh no. Down at the farmhouse—you know our farmhouse—under the bank."
"Did you leave the child there?"
"She was there when I came away."
"Well, you run home as fast as your legs can carry you, and fetch her out of that. Bring her home, and don't you nor she go down there again. Maybe it's no harm, but it's safe to do as I tell you. Now go, and I'll come. Don't let the grass grow under your feet."
Norton was not used to be ordered about quite so decidedly; it struck him as an amusing variety in his life. However he divined that Miss Redwood might have some deep reason for being so energetic, and he was not slow in getting back to Briery Bank; so his mother's place was called. The house was shut up, as he and Matilda had left it, and he went on down to the home of the sick people. There he found Matilda as he had left her. Norton only put his head into the sick-room and called her out.
"Miss Redwood is coming," he said.
"I'm so glad! I knew she would," said Matilda. "She will know what to do. They all seem stupid, Norton, except the woman who is out of her head."
"Yes, she will know what to do," said Norton; "and you had better come away now. You don't."
"I can do something, though," said Matilda. "I can give the medicine and the beef tea. Why, there was nobody even to give the medicine, Norton. I found it here with the doctor's directions; and nobody had taken it till I came, not one of these poor people. But oh, the rooms are so disagreeable with so many invalids in them! you can't think."
"I can, for I've been in them," said Norton. "And once is enough. They have got the medicine now, Pink; you needn't stay any longer."
"Oh yes, but I must. I must till Miss Redwood comes. The medicine will have to be taken again in a little while."
"It can wait till she gets here. You come away, Pink. Miss Redwood said you should."
"She didn't know what there was for me to do, or she wouldn't have said it. I can't go, Norton."
"But youmust, Pink. She said so. Suppose these people should be ill with something dreadful? you can't tell."
"I am sure they would want a nurse then."
"Butyoumight get ill, you know."
"Well, Norton, I'm not afraid."
"You might get sick, all the same, if you'renotafraid," said Norton, impatiently. "Come, Pink, you must come."
"I can't, Norton. I must go in and give them some more beef tea now, in a minute. They can't take but ever so little at a time. It would be very wrong to leave them as they are."
"You might get ill, and die," said Norton.
"Well, Norton," said Matilda, slowly, "I don't think I am afraid of that. I belong to Jesus. He will take care of me."
"I don't think you know what you are talking of!" said Norton, very impatient, and very much at a loss how to manage Matilda.
"Oh yes, I do!" she said, smiling. "Now I must go in.Youneedn't come, for there wouldn't be anything for you to do."
Matilda disappeared; and Norton, wishing very much that he could lay hold of her and carry her away by force, did not, however, feel that it would exactly do. He sat down on the door stone of the house, he would not go further, and waited. There was a delicious calm sunlight over all the world that October afternoon; it puzzled Norton how there could be a sick-house anywhere under such a sky. He heard the ponies stamping their idle hoofs against the barn floor; they were spoiling for exercise; why were he and Matilda not out driving, instead of having this state of things? Then some gaily disposed crows went flying overhead, calling a cheery reminder to each other as they went along;theywere having a good time. Norton chafed against the barriers that hindered him. Suddenly a swift footstep came over the grass, and Mr. Richmond stood before him.
"Is this the house?" he asked. "Is Matilda here?"
"Yes, sir; and I've tried to get her out. And I can't."
Mr. Richmond went in without more words. A moment after Matilda opened the door he had shut.
"Well! will you go now?" said Norton.
"I must. Mr. Richmond will not let me stay."
Mr. Richmond himself came again to the door.
"Norton," said he, "I am going to ask you to take Matilda to the parsonage. The best thing will be for you and her to make your home there, until Mrs. Laval gives further orders. You will both be heartily welcome. Will you take her there and take care of her until I come home?"
"Thank you, sir," said Norton, "it is not necessary——"
"You must let my word go for that," said the minister, smiling. "If not necessary, I think it prudent. I wish it; and I invite both of you. It would be treating me very ill to refuse me, and I am sure you will not do that. I trust you to take care of Matilda until I get home. The house will be quite alone when Miss Redwood leaves it. Is anybody in the house on the bank?"
"No, sir; nobody."
"I will lock it up, then, and bring the key. Go in and put up anything you will want for a day or two, and I will send it after you."
With a nod and a smile at them Mr. Richmond went in again. The two children looked at each other, and then began to mount the bank.
"You do what Mr. Richmond tells you," remarked Norton.
"Of course," said Matilda. "So do you."
"It wouldn't be civil to do anything else," said Norton. "But isn't it jolly, that you and I should go to make a visit at the parsonage! What is a parsonage like? It isn't like other houses, I suppose."
"Why, yes, it is," said Matilda; "just like; only a minister lives in it."
"That makes the difference," said Norton. "Don't you feel as if you were in church all the time? I shall, I know."
"Why, no, Norton! what an idea. Mr. Richmond's house is not like a church."
"Isn't he like a minister?"
"Why, yes, of course!" said Matilda, with some indignation. "He isn't likeyourminister, Norton."
"Why?" said Norton, laughing.
"I don't know. He isn't stiff. He don't dress unlike other people. He is just as pleasant as anybody else can be; and agreatdeal pleasanter, I think."
"What you call good people, generally are stiff," said Norton.
"Oh no, Norton, they are not. What makes you think so?"
"You were very stiff just now," said Norton.
"Oh, do you meanthatsort of stiffness? But, Norton, I thought there was something I could do there, you know, and I didn't think I ought to come away."
Getting to the top of the bank broke off the discussion. Matilda and Norton each had things to get together to go to the parsonage; and it was necessary to change their dress. The sun was well on his westing way when they left the iron gate of Briery Bank, bag in hand; and in the little lane of the parsonage the elm trees cast broad and long shadows. As they came up on the piazza, Miss Redwood opened the door. Her hood and shawl were on, and she had a basket in her hand. She stopped suddenly.
"What is it now?" she said. "What's wanting?"
"Nothing," said Matilda; "only Mr. Richmond has sent us here."
"He has!" said the housekeeper. "You've come to stop?"
"Mr. Richmond says so. He wished it."
"Well, what'll you do?" said Miss Redwood, coming to a sort of pause. "There ain't a living soul in the house, and there won't be, 'cept the minister himself; and how he'll get along I don't know. I can't be in two places at once."
"Can't I get the tea, Miss Redwood?"
"La, I don't know but what you kin. Come along in, and let me tell you. There's bread all baked, this afternoon—it ain't cold yet—enough to last a siege; it's in that pantry, Matilda, in the bread box. You know there's all the cups; and saucers; and tea things, for you've seen me get 'em out; and the tea canister, and the sugar. And the milk is down cellar, in a pan, and there's cream onto it. Can you skim it off and keep it cream yet, for the minister's tea?"
"Oh yes; I can do that, Miss Redwood."
"Then you'll get along for to-night; and I'll try and be round in the morning, if I kin. But you'll want sheets—There's the bed in the spare room off the hall; that's all ready for one of ye; I got it fixed up Saturday for somebody that never come; 'tain't everybody as sticks to his word like the minister. La, I get weary with the folks that are like Job's brooks; they say and don't do; and when you expect 'em they ain't there. I was put out, o' Saturday, when I found out that was how it was with this man; but there's good in everything, if you can keep your patience; now the room's ready, and it wouldn't ha' been ready; for I had a lot o' apples there dryin', and a board full o' fresh turnpikes was on the bed;theywas gettin' finished; and I had a quilt in a corner that I had sot up on the sticks and it was a'most done quiltin'; and all them things I had to fly round and get rid of; and I've no time for anything now. So, dear, that room'll do for one of ye, and the other—you can put the sheets on the bed, can't ye? for the minister'll be playin' nurse till I come, and I wish I had Jack's seven-mile boots to get to Briery Bank with."
While this talk was going on, Miss Redwood had brought Matilda up-stairs, and was taking out linen and coverlets from a press in one of the rooms. Matilda said she could manage everything, with Norton's help.
"Then I'll go," said Miss Redwood. "But if I shouldn't be able fur to run away in the morning and see to the breakfast!——"
She stopped, thinking.
"Dear Miss Redwood, won't you trust me to do it? I think I can."
"What sort of a breakfast will it be?" said the housekeeper, meditatively.
"I'lltryto have it right."
"La, yes, if it depended on your tryin'," said the housekeeper; "your will is as good as gold; butwillwon't cook a beefsteak."
"I'll try," said Matilda again.
"Well," said Miss Redwood, "we must walk till we get out o' the woods, and then we'll run. The minister ain't accustomed to have his steak any way, but as he likes it; maybe it'll do him no harm. Everything's down cellar, Matilda, 'cept the things in the kitchen pantry; and you'll find out which is which. And I'll go."
So she did. And as the door closed after her, the two children in the hall looked at each other.
"Nobody in the house?" said Norton.
"Nobody but ourselves."
"That's jolly," said Norton. "Pink, I have got that catalogue in my pocket; let us sit down somewhere and make out a list of those hyacinths."
"O Norton!—Yes, I will in a little while. I must go get the table ready for tea; and I had better do it now before Mr. Richmond comes home."
"You and I seem to have a great deal of getting tea to do," said Norton, as he followed Matilda into the little dining-room. "What do you wantmeto do?"
"O Norton! if you would just look and see if the tea-kettle is on, and if not, put it on. Will you?"
"Where, Pink?"
"Just open that door. There is the kitchen."
"I remember," said Norton. "No, the kettle isn't on. Here goes."
There was a little busy, pleasant bustle, for a time; and then Matilda, with Norton's help, had got everything in order for the evening meal. The sun was near setting, and threw bright lines of light in at the two little west windows, filling the small dining-room with pure gold; then it went down, and the gold was gone, and only in the low western sky the brightness remained.
"It's time for the minister to be at home," Norton said.
"He has a great deal to do," Matilda answered.
"What?" said Norton. "I always thought the parsons had an easy time of it. I could write two themes a week, I think, if I tried hard."
"Norton!" Matilda exclaimed, "it isn't that; and Mr. Richmond doesn't write themes, as you call it, to begin with."
"That must be harder then," said Norton; "to stand up and speak to people without anything to say."
"Why he doesn't!" said Matilda. "Mr. Richmond always has plenty to say. I suppose he could talk all day, if he didn't get tired."
"I mean preaching," said Norton.
"Yes, and I mean preaching," said Matilda.
"Where is it to come from?" said the boy, pursing his lips ready for a whistle.
"Why, out of his head, and out of his heart," said Matilda. "Where should it come from?"
"I say, Pink," said Norton, "it's very funny for me to be here. I don't think I can stand it long."
"Stand what?"
"This. Being at the parsonage and getting talked to. I suppose I shall."
"Norton," said Matilda, confidently, "you'll like it. It's just nice."
"I don't know about that," said Norton. "It feels queer. I believe I am afraid."
Matilda laughed at his very un-fear-like face; and then the front door opened and shut. Mr. Richmond had come.
It was a jolly tea they had, Norton confessed afterwards. Mr. Richmond went rummaging among Miss Redwood's stores and brought out a jar of sweetmeats; in honour, he said, of his guests. The sweetmeats were good, and so was Miss Redwood's fresh bread. And there was indeed plenty of talk at the table; but it was not in the least like preaching. From the sick Swiss, and their voyage, Mr. Richmond and Norton somehow got upon the subject of navigation and commerce, with ships ancient and modern, and a little touch here and there showing how much these things have had to do with the history of the world and the life of nations. Mr. Richmond and Norton talked and talked; and Matilda listened, and made the tea, and enjoyed it all very much, seeing too what a good time Norton was having.
After tea, they removed into the study. Mr. Richmond asked them to come there, saying he was going to play this evening. He built up a beautiful fire, and gave Norton a book to look at; while he himself sat for awhile quite silent, looking into the blaze, and only moving now and then to take care that it was kept up. So Matilda found the two, when she had put the tea things away and followed them to the study. The red curtains were drawn across the windows; the red light of the fire leaped and shone all through the room; in the glow of it Norton sat brooding over his book, and before it Mr. Richmond sat thinking. But he held out his hand as Matilda came in, and asked if his little housekeeper had got all things straight. Matilda came to his outstretched hand, which drew her to his side; and the room was still again. Matilda stood motionless. By and by Norton glanced up at her from his book, and covertly smiled. It started Matilda's thoughts.
"Are you not going to be busy, Mr. Richmond?" she ventured, gently.
"Not doing anything at all," said Mr. Richmond, rousing himself. "I have been busy all day, Matilda. I am going to do nothing to-night. What is it?"
"Will it be doing anything to talk to Norton and me?"
"I can't say," Mr. Richmond replied, laughing a little. "Perhaps you will find me work to do, but I'll risk it. What do you want to talk about?"
"There was a question—Norton and I could not tell what the answer ought to be. I believe he thought one way, and I thought another."
"What was the question?" said Mr. Richmond; while Norton's face looked up from his book, bright with the same query.
"We were talking—it was about opportunities, you know, Mr. Richmond; the opportunities that having money gives people; and we couldn't tell, Norton and I, how far one ought to go. Norton said people must stop somewhere; and I suppose they must. Where ought they to stop?"
Matilda's face looked very earnest. Norton's, comical.
"Where ought they to stop in giving money, you mean?"
"Yes, sir. For doing good, you know, and making other people comfortable."
"It is rather a large question. Were you afraid of giving too much, or of giving too little?"
"I think one of us was afraid of giving too much, and the other of giving too little."
"The best way is to go to the Bible and see what that says. May I trouble one of you to open it at the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, and read what you find in the seventh verse of the ninth chapter?"
Norton dropped his book and sprang to do the service asked for. He read the words—
"'Every man according as he purposeth in his heart, so let him give; not grudgingly, or of necessity: for God loveth a cheerful giver.'"
Norton read, and looked up, as much as to say, What now? how does this help?
"I don't see how that tells, Mr. Richmond," said Matilda.
"It tells one or two things. You are to give out of your heart; not because somebody else asks you, or some other body says you ought.Thatwould not please God. You are to do what youliketo do; much or little, as you feel."
"But ought it to be much or little?"
"As you feel. As your heart says."
"But then, Mr. Richmond, will the Lord be just as well pleased whether it is much or little?"
"Norton will please read the sixth verse."
"'But this I say, He which soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he which soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully.'"
"But that don't tell either," said Norton, when he had read.
"I think it does," said Matilda, slowly. "It tells one thing. Mr. Richmond, it doesn't tellhow muchone ought to like to give. That was the very question between Norton and me; and we could not settle it."
"Don't you see, Matilda, that everybody's heart would give its own answer to that question?"
"But, Mr. Richmond, surely there is a right and a wrong answer?"
"I am afraid a good many wrong answers," said Mr. Richmond.
Norton looked as if he would like to say something, but modestly kept back before the minister. Mr. Richmond caught the look.
"Speak out, Norton," said he, smiling. "Truth will always bear to be looked at."
"I don't know much about it, sir," said Norton. "Only it seems to me, that if one begins to help other people all one can, one will soon want helping himself."
"Ah!" said Mr. Richmond. "Read the next verse now."
"The next to the seventh, sir?—'And God is able to make all grace abound toward you; that ye, always having all sufficiency in all things, may abound to every good work.'"
"That does not sound as if Matilda were in any danger of growing poor through helping Mrs. Eldridge, does it?"
"But, sir!" said Norton, "the more one gives away, the less one has for one's self?"
"It does not always work so," said Mr. Richmond. "The Bible says, 'There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth.'"
Norton did not know exactly how to fight for his opinions, and so was silent, like a well-bred boy as he was; but Matilda's feeling was different.
"I understand," she said; "at least I think I do; but, Mr. Richmond, this does not get Norton and me out of our puzzle. You don't mean that people ought to keep nothing for themselves?"
"'Every man according as he purposeth in his heart,'" Mr. Richmond repeated. "That is the order. There have been people, Matilda, who have given their all for the sake of the Lord Jesus, and kept, as you say, nothing for themselves. It was in their heart. I cannot blame them, for one. He did not."
"But ought every one to do so?"
"Matilda, I dare not set any rule but the rule my Master has set.Hesaid, 'He that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple.'"
"People don't do that, sir," said Norton, eagerly.
"Oughtthey to do it, sir?" said Matilda, timidly. "To give away all they have got?"
"He did not say, 'give away,' but 'forsake.' The word means literally 'to take leave of.' They give up thinking that what they have is their own; and from that time stand ready to give it away entirely, if the Master says so."
"Is that religion, sir?" Norton asked.
"But, Mr. Richmond," Matilda said, in another tone, "that is the very thing. How are they to know when He does tell them to give these things away?"
"We are coming to it now," said Mr. Richmond. "You want to know what religion is, Norton. Please turn to the fifth chapter of that same epistle to the Corinthians, and read aloud the—let me see—I think it is the fourteenth and fifteenth verses."
Norton obeyed.
"'For the love of Christ constraineth us; because we thus judge, that if one died for all, then were all dead: and that He died for all, that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto Him which died for them and rose again.'"
"That is your answer," said Mr. Richmond; "that is religion. Now for Matilda's answer—Norton, turn to the Epistle to the Colossians, and the third chapter, and read the seventeenth verse."
"'And whatsoever ye do, in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father, by Him.'"
"There is your rule, Matilda. It is carrying out the former words. You have only to apply that to everything you do."
"What is doing allin the nameof the Lord?" Norton asked.
"Not in your own name; not as though you were your own master; not as seeking first your own pleasure or advancement; not as using your own things. Correlatively, for the Lord; for His pleasure, for His service, as belonging to Him."
"'In word or deed,'" said Matilda. "That means giving and everything."
"But then, in religion one would never be free," said Norton.
"How, never be free?"
"Why, one must act as if one never be longed to one's self."
"We don't," said Mr. Richmond. "We arenotour own; we are bought with a price. And we never were free till now."
"But, if I go to buy a coat——" said Norton; and he stopped.
"Yes, if you go to buy a coat, you will remember that you and the coat are the Lord's together; and you will buy that coat which you think is the one He would like you to wear, and in which you can best work for Him; and not use His money for any other."
Norton was silent, not because he had no thoughts to speak. Matilda was silent, but with a very different face. It was serious, sweet, meditative, and content.
"I see how it is, Mr. Richmond," she said, at last, looking up to his face. "Thank you, sir."
"It is very nice to have people apply sermons for themselves, Matilda," said the minister.