"Well, Norton," said Matilda steadily. "If you knew what I know, and if you had seen what I have seen, you wouldn't wonder at me; and I almost think you would help me."

"You'll grow wiser," said Norton, "when you have had your fingers burned a few times."

The tone of cool indifference to her subjects of interest, of slight displeasure at her preferring them to his, went to Matilda's heart. So also it tried her greatly, to see for the rest of the evening Norton and Judy in high confabulation over the catalogues and the greenhouse. She felt shut out from it, and a little from Norton himself. It was hard to bear; and once and again she could not help the tears rising to her eyes. She got rid of them, she thought, cleverly, without any one being the wiser; but David Bartholomew had marked it all. He had not said a word, however; and Matilda went early up to bed; marvelling anew that it should be so difficult to do right. Why must this greenhouse business come up just at this moment?

She had a week to think about it and grieve over it. The boys were going to school again now, and she saw but little of them. Judy had masters and mistresses, and was herself much out of sight. Matilda was to be under Norton's tutelage, it had been agreed; and accordingly he had put certain books in her hands and pointed out certain tasks; and Matilda laid hold of them with great zeal. With so much, indeed, that difficulties, if there were any, disappeared; and Norton had little to do beyond finding out that she was, as he expressed it, "all right," and giving her new work for the next day. So went the work; very busy, and very happy too; only for Matilda's being shut out from greenhouse pleasures and Judy taken into Norton's partnership.

CHAPTER V

But the next Sunday had a new joy for her. Mr. Wharncliffe informed her after school-time, that he had found a lodging which he thought would do nicely for her poor friends. All Matilda's troubles fled away like mist before the sun, and her face lighted up as if the very sun itself had been shining into it. Mr. Wharncliffe went on to tell her about the lodging. It was near, but not in, that miserable quarter of the city where Sarah and her mother now lived. It was not in a tenement house either; but in a little dwelling owned by an Irishman and his wife who seemed decent people. He was a mechanic, and one room of their small house they were accustomed to let, to help pay their rent.

"Is it furnished, Mr. Wharncliffe?"

"No; entirely bare."

"How large is it?"

"Small. Not so large by one-third as the room where they are living now."

"Can't go and see it?"

"Yes, there is no difficulty about that. I will go with you to-morrow, if you like."

"And how much is the rent, Mr. Wharncliffe?"

"One dollar a week. The woman was willing to let the room to Mrs. Staples, because I was making the bargain and understood to be security for her; only so."

"Then we will go to-morrow, sir, shall we, and see the room and see what it wants? and perhaps you will shew me that place where you said I could get furniture cheap?"

This was agreed upon. To Matilda's very great surprise, David, when he heard her news, said he would go too. She half expected he would get over the notion by the time he got home from school on Monday; but no; he said he wanted a walk and he would see the place with her.

The place was humble enough. A poor little house, that looked as if its more aspiring neighbours would certainly swallow it up and deny its right to be at all; so low and decrepit it was, among better built if not handsome edifices. Street and surroundings were dingy and mean; however, when they went in they found a decent little room under the sloping roof and with a bit of blue sky visible from its dormer window. It was empty and bare.

"Thin, we always has rispictable lodgers," said the good woman, who had taken her arms out of a tub of soapsuds to accompany the party upstairs; "and the room is a very dacent apartment entirely; and warrm it is, and quite. An' we had a company o' childhren in one o' the houses adjinin', that bothered the life out o' me wid their hollerin' as soon as ever we histed the winders in the summer time; but the father he died, and the mother, she was a poor kind of a body that couldn't seem to get along any way at all at all; and I believe she thried, an she didn't succade, the poor craythur! An' she just faded away, like, and whin she couldn't stan' no longer, she was tuk away to the 'ospital; and the chillen was put in the poor-us, or I don't just know what it is they calls the place; and it was weary for them, but it was a good day for meself at the same time. An' the place is iligant and quite now, sir. An' whin will the lady move in, that you're wantin' the room for?"

"As soon as it can be ready for her, Mrs. Leary."

"Thin it's ready! What would it be wantin'?"

"We shall need to move in some furniture, I suppose, and a little coal. Where will that go?"

"Coal, is it? Sure there's the cellar. An' an iligant cellar it is, and dhry, and places enough for to put her coal in. It'll hould all she'll want, Til engage."

"It holds yours too, I suppose?"

"Why wouldn't it? But we'll never interfare for that; small wisdom!"

Mr. Wharncliffe chose to go down and see the cellar. David and Matilda spent the time in consultation. Mr. Wharncliffe came back alone.

"Well," he said, "how do you like it?"

"Very much; but Mr. Wharncliffe, it is not very clean."

"Sarah will soon change that."

"Sarah? Won't her mother help?"

"Mrs. Staples is unable for hard work. She has had illness which has disabled her; and I fancy the damp cellar she has been living in has made matters worse. But Sarah likes to be as clean as she can."

"Well, she can now," said Matilda gleefully. "Mr. Wharncliffe, don't you think they want a little bit of a carpet?"

Mr. Wharncliffe shook his head. "They are not accustomed to it; they do not need it, Matilda. You will have enough to do with your money."

"At any rate, they must have a bureau, mustn't they?"

"There is a wall cupboard," said Mr. Wharncliffe. "That will be wanted, I suppose, for crockery and stores. What would a bureau be useful for?"

"Clothes."

"They have not a drawer full, between them."

"But they will have? They must, Mr. Wharncliffe. I am going to get them some, mayn't I?"

Mr. Wharncliffe looked round the little room, and smiled as he looked at Matilda again. "There is a great deal to do with your money, I told you," he said. "Let us reckon up the indispensable things first." He took out his note book.

"Coals are one thing," said Matilda. "They must have some coals to begin with."

"Coals" – repeated Mr. Wharncliffe, noting it down.

"Have they a stove that will do?"

"I am afraid not. I will try and find a second-hand one."

"A table, and two or three chairs."

Those went down in the list.

"And, O, Mr. Wharncliffe, a tea-kettle! And something to cook meat in, and boil potatoes."

"What do you know about cooking meat and boiling potatoes?" Mr. Wharncliffe asked, looking amused. "Those things will perhaps come with the stove; and at any rate do not cost much."

"And then, some decent plates and cups and saucers, and common knives, you know, and a few such things."

"They have some things which they use now. You must not try to do too much. Remember, there are other people who want bread."

"Well – not those things then, if you think not," said Matilda. "But a bedstead, and a comfortable bed, Mr. Wharncliffe; that they must have."

"How about the two boys?"

"They must have another."

"Blankets and sheets and pillows?"

"Yes, sir; and pillow cases. I can make those. Do they cost a great deal?"

"I think not – if you will let me buy them."

"O thank you, sir! I have got money enough, I guess."

"Mrs. Staples will make them. But, my dear, coals, and a stove, and table and chairs and bedstead and bedding, will make a hole in your little stock. Let us see. I will undertake the stove and the coals, and get your beds for you. Chairs and table and bedding, I leave to you."

"Then put down some cups and plates, please, sir; or I will make the list when I go home."

"We can manage it, I think," said David. "You know, I am bound to come in for my share. Where can we get this second-hand furniture?"

Mr. Wharncliffe led the way to the place. What a disagreeable place, Matilda thought. Dirty, dusty, confused, dilapidated, worn; at least such was the look of a majority of the articles gathered there. However, therein lay their advantage; and presently in the eagerness of hunting out the things that she wanted, Matilda half lost sight of the uncomfortable character of her surroundings. A table, strong yet, though its paint was all gone, and chairs of similar qualifications, were soon secured. A bedstead too, which was quite respectable; and Mr. Wharncliffe explained that some bed-tickings could be filled with straw, for beds and pillows. A little chest of drawers with some difficulty was found, to be had for a few shillings; and a stove. Now this last gave Matilda unlimited satisfaction; for it was a tidy little stove, had two or three cooking utensils belonging to it, and an oven which the shopman assured them would bake "first-rate." In that stove and hardware Matilda's fancy seemed to see whole loads of comfort for Sarah and her mother. A happy child was she when they left the shop.

"I believe that is all we can do this afternoon, Tilly," said her friend.

"Yes, sir. I think we have done a great deal. I thank you, sir."

He smiled and turned off to go his way alone; while David, who had been much struck with the sweet gracefulness of Matilda's manner, walked beside her; thinking, perhaps, that Mrs. Laval's adopted child was a different person from what he had fancied.

"What shall I do, now, Matilda?" he asked presently.

"I don't know. O David, I am very much obliged to you for coming with me."

"That won't help your poor people though," said he smiling. "What more do you want to do, or to get, for them?"

"Something to make a decent dress or two," Matilda said confidentially; "but I can do that myself. I don't know, David! things puzzle me. Mr. Wharncliffe says I must not try to do too much, because there are other poor people that suffer, and want the money."

"There are so many, that all your money is but a very little drop on a great desert, Matilda."

"But that one drop will make one spot of the desert better, David."

"Yes."

"Just a little – twenty or thirty dollars – will do a great deal for these poor people. And then, if Sarah learns to work on a machine, you know, and she and her mother get better pay and better work, they will be able to take care of themselves for ever after."

"That's good sense," said David. "But just think of all that row of tenement houses."

"David," said Matilda solemnly, "don't you think it is wrong?"

"What?"

"That people should be so poor, and live in such places?"

"I suppose it is people's own fault, a good deal."

"But no, very often it isn't. Now Mrs. Staples used to be a great deal better oil; but her husband died, and she got sick, and so she came down to this."

"But where is the wrong, then?" said David.

"Why, just think how much money there is, and what it might do if people tried. Suppose everybody did all he could, David? Suppose every one did all he could?"

"As you are doing. But then where should we stop?"

"I wouldn't stop, till everybody that wasn't wicked was comfortable."

"No, no. I mean, where would you stop in your own giving or spending?"

"I don't know," said Matilda, looking down on the ground and thinking very hard as she walked. "I'll tell you, David. I think the money ought to go to whoever wants it most!"

"Who is to settle that?" said David laughing.

They had got into deep waters of Christian ethics; and it was no wonder if even the theory of navigation was difficult. It served them for matter of busy discussion till they arrived at home. Norton and Judy were just consulting over some greenhouse plants in the hall. It gave Matilda no pang. She passed them, with her own little heart so full of pleasure that seemed far richer and sweeter, that she thought there was no comparison.

The pleasure lasted; for in a day or two there came a great package for Matilda which turned out to be the sheeting and muslin Mr. Wharncliffe had promised to get for her. Matilda had to explain what all this coarse stuff meant, coming to Mrs. Lloyd's elegant mansion; and Mrs. Laval then, amused enough, let her maid cut out the sheets and pillowcases which Matilda desired to make; and for days thereafter Matilda's room looked like a workshop. She was delightfully busy. Her lessons took a good deal of time and were eagerly attended to; and then, at any hour of the day when she was free, Matilda might have been found sitting on a low seat and stitching away at one end of a mass of coarse unbleached cloth which lay on the floor. Mrs. Laval looked in at her and laughed at her; sometimes came and sat there with her. Matilda was in great state; with her workbox by her side, and her watch in her bosom warning her when it was time to leave off work and get ready to go downstairs.

She was busy as usual one afternoon, when she was summoned down to see company; and found with a strange delight that it was her two sisters. Mrs. Laval had received them very kindly and now gave Matilda permission to take them up to her room, where, as she said, they could have a good talk and no interruption. So upstairs they all three went; Matilda had hardly spoken to them till they were in her room and the door shut. Then at first they sat down and used their eyes.

"What in the world are you doing?" said Anne. "Do they make you the seamstress of the family?"

"Seamstress? O Anne, I am doing this for myself."

"Do you sleep on sheets like that?" said Letitia inquisitively. "They don't, I'll be bound."

"Sheets? what do you mean? O Letty, I am not doing these for myself."

"You said you were."

"For myself – yes, in a way. I mean, I am doing this work for my own pleasure; not for my own bed. It is for some poor people."

"For some poor people," Letty repeated. "I think Mrs. Laval might have let one of her servants do it, if she wanted to be charitable, or hire it done, even; and not save a penny by setting you at it."

"She did not set me at it," said Matilda in despair. "O you don't understand. She has nothing to do with it at all."

"Are these yours, then?"

"Yes."

"You bought them and paid for them?"

"Yes. At least, a friend bought them for me, but I am going to pay him the money back."

"Is it your own money?"

"Why yes, Anne; whose should it be?"

"So you have more than you want, and can actually throw it away?"

"Not throw it away, Anne; for these people, that these sheets are for, are miserably off. You would think so, if you saw them."

"I don't want to see anybody worse off than myself," said Letitia. "Why, what is that the child has got in her bosom, hanging to that ribband. What is it? – a watch, I declare! Gold? is it a gold watch really? Think of it, Anne!"

"It was one of my Christmas presents," said poor Matilda, hardly knowing what to say.

"How many other presents did you have?"

Matilda had to tell, though she had a feeling it would not be to the gratification of her sisters. They listened and looked, said little, but by degrees drew out from her all the history of the evening's entertainment.

"That's the way she lives," said Letitia to Anne. "That's the way she is going on; while you and I are making people's dresses."

"But aren't you getting on well?" asked their little sister, sorely bestead to make the conversation pleasant to them.

"We get work, and we do it," said Letitia. "And so make out to have some bread and butter with our tea."

"But you have dinner, don't you?"

"I don't know what you'd call it," said Letitia. "What do you have for dinner?"

"O the boys and Judy Bartholomew and I, we have our dinner at one o' clock."

"Well, what do you have?" said Letitia sharply. "What did you have to-day?"

"We had beefsteak."

"Not all alone, I suppose. What did you have with it?"

"We had oysters," said Matilda unwillingly, "and baked potatoes, and rice, and bananas and oranges."

"There!" exclaimed Letitia. "That's what I call a dinner. What do you suppose Anne and I had?"

"Hush, Letty," said Anne. "Whatever we had, it was our own. We were beholden to nobody for it."

"Have you seen Maria since I have?" Matilda asked, trying to make a diversion.

"No. How should we see Maria? We cannot go jaunting about. We have our work to do."

"But it is nice work. I should think you would be very glad to have it," Matilda ventured.

"Yes, we are, of course," said Anne expressively. "People must live. How much did your watch cost?"

Very unwillingly Matilda named the sum, which Norton had told her. The two sisters looked at each other and rose to depart.

"But you are not going?" cried Matilda. "You haven't said anything to me yet. And I have not seen you for ever so long."

"We could not say anything that would be interesting to you," Anne answered. "And we have to keep at our work, you know. We are busy."

"So am I busy," said Matilda; "very; with my lessons and my other things I have to do."

"And parties," added Letitia, "and poor people. How were you dressed at the party, Matilda?"

"Yes, let us see your dress," said Anne sitting down again.

They scanned and measured and examined the dress, stuff and work, with business as well as with curious eyes; Matilda saw they were taking hints from it. That led to the display of her whole wardrobe. It was not agreeable to Matilda; she had a certain feeling that it was not improving her sisters' peculiar mood of feeling towards her; however, it seemed to be the one way in which she could afford them any the least pleasure. So silks and poplins and muslins, all her things, were brought out and turned over; the fashion and the work minutely examined and commented on; the price detailed where Matilda happened to know it.

"Well, I have got something from that," said Anne, when at last the show was done.

"Yes," echoed Letitia; "I never could make out before, just how that sort of trimming was managed. Now I have got it."

They pulled up their cloaks again and tied their scarfs. Matilda looked on sorrowfully.

"I suppose it's no use to ask you to come and see us," said Letty.

"I can't come often," Matilda answered, "because, you know, I cannot walk there; and I cannot have the carriage except now and then."

"How do you suppose we get along without a carriage?" said Letty.

"You are older. Oh Anne and Letty!" cried their little sister, "I don't know why I have so much and you have so little; but it isn't my fault."

Tears were in her eyes; but her sisters shewed no melting on their part. They answered, that nobody supposed it was her fault. The energy of Matilda's hugs and kisses seemed to impress them, at last.

"Tell me!" said Anne, holding her off to look at her, – "are you happy here? Do they treat you really as their own child? Would you like to come back to us? Because if you would – "

"O no, no, Anne! yes, they do. Yes, I am very happy. I don't want anything but what I have got."

"Well, then you are to be envied," said Anne, relapsing into her former tone; and the two went away. Matilda saw them out of the front door, and then went back to her room and stood at the window a long time, looking down the street by which they had gone. Why did they treat her so? Why was she such a trouble to them? They were much older than she, and her home sympathies had always been more particularly with Maria and her mother in the old days; yet the family had been affectionate and harmonious. The strange barrier which her prosperity had built up between her and them was quite inexplicable to Matilda. At the same time she was filled with sorrow for the contrast which she knew they felt between her circumstances and their own. She mused, how she could give them comfort or do them good in any way; but could not find it. She was a weak little child. And the help she was giving to the poor street sweeper and her mother was more needed and better bestowed there than in any other direction. What would her small means avail towards the wants of Anne and Letitia? But Matilda cried about it some sore tears, as she stood by her window in the growing dusk. Then she went back to the joy of what was coming to Sarah and her mother through her instrumentality.

That joy grew sweeter and sweeter every day. The sheets and pillowcases were finished. The furniture and the stove were moved in. The straw beds Mr. Wharncliffe's care had provided were in readiness. David and Matilda went again to look at the room; and cold and dull though it was with no fire in the stove, there was great promise of comfort.

"Now, David," said Matilda, after she had turned round and round, surveying every side and corner of the room again and again, – "don't you think we might put a little comfort inside that cupboard?"

"Of what sort?" said David smiling.

"It's bare," said Matilda.

"Of everything."

"Yes. Well, of course it wouldn't do to put any eatable things here, till just the day they are coming. David! – a thought has just struck me."

"Go on," said David, smiling again. "The thoughts that strike you are generally very good thoughts."

"Perhaps you will laugh at me. But I will tell you what I was thinking. Mr. Wharncliffe says we must not do too much at once; but I should like, David, to have a nice little supper ready for them the day they move in. I don't suppose they have had one nice supper this winter."

"Broiled oysters and salad?" said David.

"No indeed; you know what sort of a supper I mean."

"What would you get? for instance?"

"Let me see," said Matilda, speaking slowly and considering the matter intently. "Some tea there should be, of course; and sugar. And milk. Then, some bread and butter – and herring – and perhaps, a loaf of gingerbread."

"What made you think of herring?" said David, looking very much amused and curious.

"O, I know such people like them very much, and they cost almost nothing."

"If we are giving them a supper, I should say, give them something that costs a little more – something they could not get for themselves."

"O these people don't get even herring, David."

"What do you suppose they live upon?"

"Bread, – and – I really don't know, David! In the country, they would have cheese, and sometimes fish, I suppose; but these people are too poor even for that."

"That's being poorer than anybody ought to be," said David. "I go in for the supper. It's fun. I tell you what, Tilly, – I'll stand a beefsteak."

"O thank you, David! But – there are so many more that want it," said Matilda, looking sober and prudent in odd contrast with her years.

"We can't help them too," said David.

"Better keep the beefsteak, I guess," said Matilda. "O David, I know! Potatoes!"

"What of potatoes?"

"Just what they want. Sure to want them, you know; and exactly the thing. Let us have a good sack of potatoes."

David seemed to be so much amused that he could hardly keep to the practical soberness of the thing. However he agreed to the potatoes. And he and Matilda, moved by one impulse, set off for a hardware store down in one of the avenues, not far to seek; and there spent a most delicious half hour. They chose some common cups and saucers and plates; a yellow pitcher, a sugar bowl and one or two dishes; half a dozen knives and forks and spoons. It was difficult to stop in their purchases, for the poor friends they were thinking of had nothing. So a tin tea-pot was added to the list.

"O David!" Matilda exclaimed again – "we ought to have some soap."

"I dare say," said David dryly. "But we do not get that here."

"No; but seeing that toilet soap put me in mind of it. We get that at the grocer's."

"It won't do for us to send in our grocer's stores just yet. When do your people come to take possession?"

"Next week, I think. O no; not till the very day, David. Now is there anything else we ought to get here?"

"I don't know!" said David. "I could think of a great many things; but as you say, we must not do too much."

"What did you think of?"

"Nearly everything you see here," said David. "It seems to me they must want everything. A coffee pot, for instance; and lamps, and cooking utensils, and brooms and brushes and tubs and coal scuttles."

"O David, stop! They can make coffee in the tea-pot."

"Bad for the coffee I should say!" David responded, shrugging his shoulders.

"And lamps? They cannot buy oil. I guess they go to bed when it grows dark."

"Do they! Great loss of time, for people who live by their labour."

"And a tea-kettle, and a frying pan, and a water pot, came with the stove, you know."

"What can they cook in a frying pan – besides fish?"

"O a great many things. But they can't get the things, David; they don't want ways to cook them."

"Must be a bad thing to be so poor," said David.

"Mustn't it! And there are so many. It is dreadful."

"Don't seem to me it ought to be," said David.

"That is what I think," said Matilda. "And O David, – don't laugh at me as Norton does, – it seems to me it needn't be. If other people would do without having everything, these people need not want everything."

David did smile, though, at Matilda's summary way of equalizing things.

"What would you be willing to go without?" he asked. "Come, Tilly; what of all we have had to-day?"

"A great deal," said the little political economist steadily.

"Meringues and bananas? for instance."

"Why yes, David, and so would you, if it was to give somebody else a dinner."

But here they remembered that the shop man was still waiting their orders, and they left talking to attend to business. David began apparently to amuse himself. He bought a salt cellar, and a broom; and to Matilda's mingled doubt and delight, a rocking-chair. And then they ordered the things home and went home themselves.