But all her thoughts and her prayers only made her more and more sure which way lay the course of duty; and along with that grew a heavy looking forward to the next day and the trial it would bring. How to manage the matter best was a question. To speak privately to Norton alone would be far the easiest; but then, that might not secure the effect of her protest against wine and cordials and all such things, as she wished to make it; Norton would perhaps cover it up, for the sake of shielding her and himself from the reproaches of the others; and so the work would not be done. She could not decide. She was obliged to go to bed and leave it to circumstances to open the way for her. She half made up her mind that the "opportunities" of her new position were as likely to be opportunities for self denial as for anything else. This was not what she had expected.
Saturday morning rose still and fair. The wind had gone down; the severe cold had abated; the weather was beautifully prosperous for the children's expedition. Now if Matilda could get a chance to speak before they set out – It would be awkward to have to speak in the store, maybe before a shopman, and when they were all on the very point of finishing what they came to do. Matilda was ready to wish the day had been stormy; and yet she wanted to go to Tiffany's, where Norton had said he would take her; and to Candello's too, for the matter of that
There was another question Matilda had to settle with herself, only she could not attend to so many things at once. Her twenty dollars for Christmas purchases; how was all that to be spent "in the name of the Lord Jesus"? She could not think of it just now, except by snatches; she kept remembering it, and trying to reckon how many people she had to buy things for. New York certainly was a very puzzling place to live in.
The other children seemed to be as full of business as she, and much less quiet about it. So Matilda did not find a chance to speak to Norton in private, which in her trouble she would have done if she could. It was all bustle and discussion till they went to get ready for their walk. Matilda laced on her new boots, Judy won't have any occasion to look scornfully at those, she said to herself. They are as nice as they can be.
A little to her surprise, when she got downstairs she found Miss Judy dressed in a black silk pelisse. What was the difference between silk and satin, Matilda wondered? Judy caught her glance perhaps, for with a twinkle of her own sharp black eyes she burst out into a peal of laughter.
"What is the matter now?" her brother asked.
"Things become people so differently," said Judith saucily. "Something you couldn't understand, Davy; men don't, nor boys neither. Matilda and I understand."
"Matilda don't understand much that you do," said Norton.
"An' that's thrue for ye!" said Judy with a strong Irish accent. "Faith, the craythur, she's just innicent!"
"Hush, Judy," said her brother laughing; and "You're a case, Judy," said Norton; and so they went out at the front door. Matilda's opportunity was gone; she had thought to speak out to them all while they were in the hall; and now she was a little too vexed to speak, for a while. However, it was a gay walk down the avenue and then down Broadway. The day was very fine and all the world seemed to be out and astir. Norton was talking very busily too, and the excitement of business soon chased away the momentary excitement of displeasure. In the midst of all this, every few blocks they came to street sweepers. A little girl or a little boy, grey and ragged, keeping a clean crossing and holding out eager little hands for the pennies they did not get. David and Norton and Judith did not so much as look at the children, passing the outstretched hands as if unseen; and Matilda had no pennies; nothing but her twenty dollar bill. Every few blocks there was one of these poor, grey dusty figures and one of those little empty hands. Matilda might have forgotten one or two, if that had been all; it was impossible to forget this company. How came their life to be so different from her life? What a hard way to spend one's days! always at a street corner. And where did they hide themselves at night? And did any of those poor little ones ever know what Christmas meant? And most of all, what could or ought she to do for them, she who had so much? What could be squeezed out of those twenty dollars to refresh the corners of the streets? anything?
Thinking about this, and replying to Norton, and finding her way among the crowds of people, they had come to Candello's before Matilda had found a time to speak anything of what was chiefly on her mind.
It was a long bright store, elegant with its profusion of beautiful things in glass and porcelain and bronze. Every foot of the counters and of the floor, along the sides of the room, seemed to Matilda to be filled with things to be looked at. Such beautiful basins and ewers, just for washing! Such charming vases and flower glasses! Such handsome clocks and statuettes and lamps! Then there were painted cups, and flowered goblets and tumblers, and flasks wonderfully cut, and bowls, large and beautiful, but clearly not for toilet use, that excited Matilda's wonderment. She was lost in delight as well as wonder.
"Here," said David, and the word struck like a blow upon her nerves of hearing, – "here is the article. Isn't that unexceptionable now?"
With the others, Matilda turned to see what he was pointing at. A glass liqueur stand, with a crystal flask and tiny cups to match; as pretty and elegant as it could be; even rare in its delicate richness among so many delicate and rich things. The others were eager in their praise. Matilda was silent.
"Don't you like it, Pink?" said Norton.
"It is as pretty as it can possibly be," Matilda answered. "But Norton" —
"Then we might as well get it," said Norton. "We're all agreed. There's no use in looking further when you are suited."
"So I think," said David. "I never do."
"That is as good as Mrs. Lloyd could do for herself," said Judith.
"But Norton" – said Matilda.
"Shall we have our names put on the cups?" said Norton.
"But Norton," said Matilda desperately, "we are not all agreed. I am very sorry! – I like it very much – it's beautiful" —
"You are afraid you haven't money enough?" said Norton. "Never fear! Davy and I will pay the largest half; you and Judy shall give less, but it don't make any difference. I'll tell you! David and I will get the stand and the flask; and you two shall give the cups."
"It isn't that," said Matilda, very much distressed; "it is not that, Norton; it is something else. It is" —
"What in the world is it?" said Judy, balancing herself daintily on one toe.
"It is – that I don't drink wine, you know."
"What's that to do?" said Judy, while the two boys both looked at Matilda. "You haven't to drink or let it alone; it is not for your use anyhow."
"No, I know that; but I don't think it is right – I mean, – I mean," said Matilda, gathering courage, "I have promised to do all I can to prevent people from drinking wine. I can't help in such a present as this."
"They don't drink wine out of these little cups," said David. "It is something different; it is Noyau, or Curaçoa, or Chartreuse, or Maraschino, or some of those things, you know."
"Yes, but it is stronger," said Matilda in a low voice. "It's stronger than wine."
"She's temperance!" exclaimed Judith, turning round on one heel and coming back into position. "She's temperance! We are all wicked at Mrs. Lloyd's; we drink Hock and we sip Curaçoa. I suppose she has only been where people drink gin and lager; and she thinks it's all alike."
"She has been at Briery Bank, Judy," said Norton, "where the wines are as good as in Blessington Avenue."
"Then she ought to have learned better!" said Judy. "That's all I have to say."
"But Pink," said Norton, and he was very kind, though he looked vexed, – "this is not anything about your drinking or not drinking, you know. Grandmamma will have her wine and she will offer her cordial, just the same; it don't make any difference; only we want to give her something she will like, and she will like this; don't you see?"
"Yes, Norton, I see," said Matilda, her eyes filling with tears; "I am very sorry; but I wish you and David wouldn't have anything to do with wine, either."
"She don't mention me!" exclaimed Judy. "Either I'm so good I'm safe; or I'm so bad it's no use trying to take care of me. You poor boys, she will try to take care of you. What impertinence!"
"No more than if you did it, Judy, come, now!" said Norton. "It's no such thing; it's only nonsense. Now Pink, don't be nonsensical!"
"We can do it without her being in the affair, if she doesn't like it," said David. "But I do not understand," he went on, addressing himself to Matilda. "Giving a present isn't drinking wine, is it?"
"No," said Matilda, who by this time could hardly speak at all. "But Mr. David, it is helping somebody else to drink."
"Do you think what you do would help or hinder?"
"What you do might."
"We shall go on just the same, whatever way you take. What difference can it make, whether your money is in it or not?"
"I don't know," said Matilda struggling; – "none, perhaps, whether my money is in it. But my name would be in it."
"Do you think that would make any difference? – stop, Norton, I want to understand what she will say. What would your name do, in it or out of it?"
"Ridiculous! to spend time talking to her!" said Judy. "That is just what she wants."
But David waited for his answer; and Matilda's eyes were all glittering, while her little head took its inexpressible air of self-assertion.
"I don't know – I can't, tell," she said, answering David as if she had not heard Judy; – "it might do nothing, but I have promised to use it on the right side."
"Promised whom?" said David. "Maybe it is a promise that need not stand. Promised whom?"
"Yes, whom did you promise, Pink?" said Norton.
Matilda hesitated and then spoke.
"I promised the Lord Jesus Christ," she said slowly.
She was looking at nobody in particular, yet her eye caught the expression of annoyance on Norton's face; she did not see the cloud of disgust and surprise that came over David's. He turned away. Judith's eyes snapped.
"Isn't that neat now?" she said. "We have got a saint among us, sure enough. Well – saints know how to take care of their money; we all know that. What are we poor sinners going to do for grandmamma's present? that's the question. I propose that we get her a prayerbook, very large, and black, with gilt clasps and her name on the cover; then everybody will know that Mrs. Lloyd is a good woman and goes to church."
"Be still, Judy!" said her brother sternly.
"Propose something yourself then," said Judith. "We can't do anything at Candello's, that's clear. I don't believe there's an innocent thing here beside tea cups. I've seen people drink brandy and water in tumblers; and bowls hold whiskey punch. Dear me! what a pity it is that good things are so bad!"
"Hush, Judy!" said Norton; "you won't hurt anybody by being too good."
"It's a way I despise," said Judith coolly. "When I hurt anybody, I like to know it. I never shut my eyes and fire."
"It's a wonder you don't take better aim, then," said Norton impatiently. "You are firing wild just now. Matilda has a right to think as she likes, and she don't shut her eyes and fire. There's nothing of a coward about her. But then we don't think as she thinks, about some things; and I say we'll get this liqueur stand and she shall find something else for her part."
"I'll tell all about it, though, at home," said Judy.
"I dare say Matilda would as lieve you did," said Norton. "Come, David – will you finish this business? You and I and Judy will go thirds in it. I've got some other matters to attend to with Matilda, and time is running away; and Monday school begins. Come, Pink – we have got to go to Tiffany's."
"What o'clock is it, Norton?" Matilda asked as soon as they were outside of the shop.
"Near twelve, Pink. I declare! time does run."
"Norton, couldn't we go home first, and go to Tiffany's after luncheon? there'll be a long afternoon, you know."
"Every place is so crowded in the afternoon," said Norton. "But you want to go home, Pink? Well, you shall. We shouldn't have much time before luncheon, that's a fact."
So they got into a street car that was passing.
"Whatever made you say that, Pink?" Norton burst out when they were seated. "David and Judy are set against you now."
"I think they were before, Norton."
"No, they weren't; or if they were, I don't care; they had nothing to say. Now you have given them a handle."
"I didn't say anything very bad," said Matilda with her voice trembling a little.
"No, but they'll take it so. What is it to us, what grandmamma, or any one else, does with a thing after we have given it? That is none of our affair. We only make the present."
"It would be very strange, though, to give anybody something you were not willing he should use," said Matilda.
"Of course. I am willing. I don't care what anybody does with a thing, after I have done with it."
"I care," said Matilda softly.
"Why? Now Pink, you don't. What do you care whether grandmamma drinks curaçoa or not after dinner?"
Matilda hesitated.
"I wish she wouldn't," she said then again softly. "Then you and David and Judy wouldn't."
"Why shouldn't we?" said Norton rather shortly.
"Because, people get too fond of such things. And it ruins them."
"It hasn't ruined me yet," said Norton.
But that was about as far as Matilda could go, and she burst into tears. She kept them back bravely, while they were in the car, but she could not find voice to reply to any of Norton's kind words, which were meant to be very soothing; and as soon as they got home she went straight to her room. Norton went to his mother.
"We have had a splendid confounded time! mamma," he burst out.
"Splendid and confounded?" his mother repeated.
"No, ma'am. Splendidly confounded, I should have said. We went to get grandmamma's present. And Pink, she has contrived to make David and Judy as mad with her as they can be; and that's saying a good deal, when you are talking English. Now how it's to be undone, I don't know. I suppose Pink is crying her eyes out about it. She had no heart to go to Tiffany's or anything. We are going after dinner, though."
"But what is the matter? what has she done, Norton?"
"Came out with temperance and religion, and all that sort of thing, to David and Judy; fancy it, mamma! and more than that, with the very part of religion that they like least of all. Wouldn't help us buy a liqueur stand for grandmamma, because she doesn't think it is right to use cordials."
"What a child!" exclaimed Mrs. Laval.
"She's got pluck," said Norton, picking up a pin from the floor and energetically giving it a cast into the fire; "she's a brick, she is! I knew that the first day I saw her; but mamma, she is very soft in that spot."
Mrs. Laval looked sober. Perhaps she remembered that the late Mr. Laval had also been soft in that spot, though in an entirely different way. Perhaps she recollected how many variously shaped glasses were needed around his dinner plate, and how he carried about a strong breath and a red face for hours afterward, and how she had been sometimes ever so little ashamed of him. She was now silent.
"Mamma, can't you talk to her?" Norton began again.
"About what?" said Mrs. Laval starting.
"This, ma'am; and make her a little more like other people."
"I would just as lieve she wouldn't drink wine, Norton; or you either."
"Or grandmamma either, mamma?"
"You have nothing to do with that. Your grandmamma is an old lady. I am not talking of grandmamma, but of you."
"Well do you want Matilda to preach temperance, ma'am?"
"You let Matilda alone. She will not go far wrong. She is never forward. Was she to-day?"
"No," said Norton laughing a little; "it was like a small canary bird chirping out a lecture."
"You let her alone," Mrs. Laval repeated; "and don't let the others plague her. And go get yourself ready to go to the table, my boy; the time for luncheon is very near."
"I can't help Judy's plaguing her," said Norton as he turned to go. "David won't do anything. But won't he hate her, from now!"
CHAPTER IX
Norton ran off upstairs. His mother waited till he was safe in his room and then followed him. But she stopped at Matilda's door and softly went in. Matilda's hat was off; that was all; and on her knees beside a chair the little girl was, with bowed head, and sobbing. Mrs. Laval's arms came round her, gently drew her up and enfolded her. "What is all this?" she whispered.
Matilda's face was hid.
"What's the matter, my darling?" Mrs. Laval repeated. "Norton has told me all about it – there is nothing for you to cry about."
"Is he angry with me?" Matilda whispered.
"Angry with you! No, indeed. Norton could not be that. And there is nothing else you need mind."
"I am very sorry!" said poor Matilda. "I hurt all their pleasure this morning, and they thought I was – very disagreeable, I believe."
"Nobody ever thought that yet," said Mrs. Laval laughing a little; "and no harm is done. It was nonsense for them to get you into that business at all. It is all very well for them to give their grandmother a present; but for you it is quite needless; it is her place to give to you, and not yours to give to her; the cases are different. Norton forgot that."
"Then she will not think it strange that I am not in it?" said Matilda lifting up her face at last.
"Not at all. It would be more strange if you were in it."
"Norton proposed it."
"Yes, I know; but Norton is not infallible. He has made a mistake this time."
"But I offended them, mamma," said Matilda.
"They will get over it. Now dry your eyes and take your coat off, and we will go down to luncheon."
They went down together, and Mrs. Laval took care that no annoyance came to Matilda during the meal. So after luncheon she was all ready to take a new start with Norton for Tiffany's.
"You see, Pink," said Norton as they were riding down, "all you have to do is to let people go their own way, and you go your's. That's all. That's the way so many carts get through the streets. It isn't necessary to knock up against every one you come to; and people don't like it."
"I was only going my own way, Norton," Matilda said gently; "but I had to give the reason for it; and that was what you all didn't like."
"Your reason interfered with our way, though," said Norton. "You as good as said it is wrong to do something we all do."
"Well," said Matilda very slowly, – "ought you not to try to hinder people from doing what is not right?"
"How do you know what is not right?" said Norton.
"The Bible tells."
"Where does the Bible say it is wrong to drink wine?" Norton asked quickly.
"I'll shew you when we get home."
"Everybody does it, anyhow," said Norton; "and one must do what everybody does."
"Mr. Richmond don't, Norton."
"Mr. Richmond! He's a minister."
"Well! Other people ought to be as good as ministers."
"They can't," said Norton. "Besides – Mr. Richmond is all very well; he's a brick; but then he is not a fashionable man, and he don't know the world."
"Are ministers ever fashionable men?" said Matilda, opening her eyes a little.
"Certainly. Why not. Dr. Blandford likes a good glass of wine as well as any one, and knows how to drink it. He likes a good dinner too."
"What do you mean, Norton? Anybody knows how to drink a glass of wine."
"Everybody don't know how to drink half a dozen glasses, though," said Norton. "A wine may be out of place; and it is not good out of place."
"You take it at dinner," said Matilda.
"Yes, but different wines at different times of the dinner," said Norton. "Everything in its place, as much as everything in its own glass, and much more. For instance, you take light wines with the soup; Hock, or Sauterne, or grandmamma's favorite Greek wine. Then champagne with the dinner. Port goes with the cheese. Then claret is good with the fruit; and sherry and madeira with the dessert, or any time. And Dr. Blandford likes a bowl of whiskey punch to finish off with."
"Is he your minister?"
"Dr. Blandford? yes. That is, he's grand-mamma's."
"Do you think he is as good as Mr. Richmond?"
"He's better, for a dinner party," said Norton. "He knows what's what, as well as anybody. Now Pink, jump out; here we are."
The stately brown-fronted store struck Matilda with a certain sense of awe. Dr. Blandford was forgotten for the present. She followed Norton in, and stood still to take breath.
"Now," said Norton, "what shall we look at first? What do you want? How many things have you got to get, anyhow, Pink?"
"You know how many people there are at home. Then there are two or three others I have to think of."
"Hm! – seven or eight, I declare," said Norton. "Well, let us walk round and see everything generally."
There were a good many people who seemed to be doing just that; besides a crowd who were undoubtedly purchasers. Slowly Norton and Matilda began their round of the counters. Very slowly they went; for the loads of rich plate were a great marvel to the unused eyes of the little girl. She had to beg a great deal of explanation from Norton as to the use and meaning of different articles. Pitchers and tureens and forks and spoons she could understand; but what could possibly be the purpose of a vast round vase, with doves sitting opposite each other on the lip of it? doves with frosted wings, most beautiful to behold.
"That?" said Norton. "That's a punch bowl."
"A punch bowl! And how much would that cost, Norton?"
"Do you want it? Too much for your purse, Pink. That is marked two hundred and fifty dollars."
"For a punch bowl!" said Matilda.
"Yes, why not?"
But Matilda did not say why not. What must be the rest of the dinner, when the punch bowl was two hundred and fifty dollars?
"And here's an épergne," said Norton. "That is to stand in the centre of the dinner table – for ornament. That's seven hundred and fifty."
"What's inside of the punch bowl, Norton? it is yellow."
"Gold," said Norton. "It is lined with gold – gold washed, that is. Gold don't tarnish, you know."
They went on. It was a progress of wonders, to Matilda. She was delighted with some wood carvings. Then highly amused with a show of seals; Norton wished to buy one, and it took him some time to be suited. Then Norton made her notice a great variety of useful articles in morocco and leather and wood; satchels and portemonnaies, and dressing boxes, and portfolios and card cases; and chains and rings and watches. Bronzes and jewellery held them finally a very long time. The crowd was great in the store; people were passing in and passing out constantly; the little boys the door-openers were busy opening and shutting all the time. At last they let out Matilda and Norton.
"Now, Pink," said the latter, well pleased, "do you know what you want? Have you seen anything you want?"
"O yes, Norton; a great many things; but it is all confusion in my head till I think about it at home."
"We have got other places to go to," said Norton. "Don't decide anything till you have seen more. We can't go anywhere else to-day though. We've got to go home to dinner."
Matilda's head was in a whirl of pleasure. For amidst so many beautiful things she was sure she could do Christmas work charmingly; and at any rate it was delightful only to look at them. She tried to get her thoughts a little in order. For Norton, she would make the watch guard; that was one thing fixed. A delicate bronze paperweight, a beautiful obelisk, had greatly taken her fancy, and Norton had been describing to her the use of its originals in old Egypt; it was not very costly, and Matilda thought she would like to give that to Mrs. Laval. But she would not decide till she saw more; and for her sisters, and for everybody else indeed, she was quite uncertain yet what to choose. She thought about it so hard all the evening that she was able to throw off the gloom of David and Judy's darkened looks.
Next day, however, she had too much time to think. It was Sunday. Matilda was up in good time, as usual, and came down for breakfast; but there was no breakfast and nobody to eat it, till the clock shewed the half hour before ten. Bells had been ringing long ago for Sunday school, and had long ago stopped. Matilda was so hungry, that breakfast when it came made some amends for other losses; but then it was church time. And to her dismay she found that nobody was going to church. The long morning had to be spent as it could, with reading and thinking. Matilda persuaded Norton to take her to church in the afternoon, that she might know the way.
"It don't pay, Pink," said Norton; "however, I'll go with you, and you can see for yourself."
Matilda went and saw. A rich, splendid, luxuriously furnished church; a warm close atmosphere which almost put her to sleep; and a smooth-tongued speaker in the pulpit, every one of whose easy going sentences seemed to pull her eyelids down. Matilda struggled, sat upright, pinched her fingers, looked at the gay colours and intricate patterns of a painted window near her, and after all had as much as she could do to keep from nodding. She was very glad to feel the fresh air outside again.
"Well," said Norton. "Do you feel better?"
"Is that Dr. Blandford?"
"That is he. A jolly parson, ain't he?"
"The church was so warm," said Matilda.
"He keeps cool," said Norton. "That's one thing about Dr. Blandford. You always know where to have him."
"I wish Mr. Richmond was here," said Matilda.
The wish must have been strong; for that very evening, when she went to her room, earlier than usual because everybody was ready to go to bed Sunday night, she wrote a letter to her minister at Shady walk.
"BLESSINGTON AVENUE, Dec. 6, 18 —
"DEAR MR. RICHMOND, – I am here, you see, and I am very happy; but I am very much troubled about some things. Everything is very different from what it was at Shadywalk, and it is very difficult to know what is right to do. So I think I had better ask you. Only there are so many things I want to ask about, that I am afraid my letter will be too long. Sometimes I do not know whether the trouble is in myself or in the things; I think it is extremely difficult to tell. Perhaps you will know; and I will try to explain what I mean as clearly as I can.
"One thing that puzzles me is this. Is it wrong to wish to be fashionable? and how can one tell just how much it is wrong, or right. Mrs. Laval is having some beautiful clothes made for me; ever so many; silks and other dresses; they will be made and trimmed as fashionable people have them; and I cannot help liking to have them so. I am afraid, perhaps, I like it too much. But how can I tell, Mr. Richmond? There is another little girl in the house here, Mrs. Laval's niece; about as old as I am, or not much older; and she has all her things made in these beautiful ways. Is it wrong for me to wish to have mine as handsome as hers? because I do; and one reason why I am so glad of mine is, that I shall be as fashionable as she is. She calls people who are not fashionable, 'country people.'
"There is another thing. Having things made in this way costs a great deal of money. I don't know about that. The other day I paid two dollars more than I need, just to have the toes of my boots right. You would not understand that; but the fashion is to have them narrow and rounded, and last year they were square and wide. And it is so of other things. I buy my own boots and gloves; and I could save a good deal if I would buy the shapes and colours that are not fashionable. What ought I to do? and how can I tell? It troubles me very much.
"I think that is the most of what troubles me, that and spending my money; but that is part of it. I don't want to be unlike other people. Is that wrong, or is it pride? I didn't know but it was pride, partly; and then I thought I would ask you.
"Another thing is, ought I to speak to people about what they do that is not right? I don't mean grown up people, of course; but the boys and Judy. I don't like to do it; but yet I thought I must, as I had promised to do all I could in the cause of temperance; and I did, and some of them were very much offended. They drink wine a great deal here, and I did not like to see Norton do it. So I spoke, and I don't think it did any good.
"My letter is getting very long, but there is one other thing I want to ask about. There are a great many poor children in the streets; boys and girls; so dirty that you cannot imagine it; they sweep the street crossings. What can I do for them? Ought I not to give pennies always? all I can?
"I believe that is all. O and I wish you could tell me what to do Sundays. The people here do not care about going to church; and I have been once and I don't wonder. I could hardly keep my eyes open. I miss the Sunday school and you very much. I wish I could see you. Give my love to Miss Redwood. Your affectionate
"MATILDA ENGLEFIELD.
"It will be Matilda Laval after this, but I thought I would sign my own old name once.
This letter was duly posted the next day. And almost as soon as the mails up and down made it possible, Matilda received her answer.
"SHADYWALK PARSONAGE, Dec. 8, 18 – .
"MY DEAR LITTLE TILLY, – I appreciate your difficulties to the full. They are difficulties, enough to puzzle an older head than yours. Yet I think there is a simple way out of them, not through your head however so much as your heart. Keep that right, and I think we can get at the answer to your questions.
"The answer to them all is, Live by your motto. 'Whatsoever ye do, in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus.' Try everything by this rule. In spending your money, in deciding between boot-tips and dollars, in the question of reproving wrong in others, in the matter of kindness to the street-sweepers, put your motto before you; and ask yourself, how would the Lord Jesus do if he were here in person and had the same point to decide? The answer to that will tell you how, doing in his name, you ought to act yourself. Pray for direction; and whether you dress or speak or spend money, take care that it is Christ you are trying to please – not yourself, nor yet Miss Judy; but indeed let it be your best pleasure to please Him.
"Now as to your Sundays. If your people do not go to church regularly, you can probably do what you like on Sunday afternoons. Go up your avenue two blocks, turn down then to your right for two blocks more, and you will come to a plain looking brick building, not exactly like a church, nor like a common house. There is Mr. Rush's Sunday school. Go in there, and you will find work and pleasure. And then write again to
"Your very affectionate friend,
"F. RICHMOND."
It would be hazardous to say how many times Matilda read this letter. I am afraid some tears were shed over it. For to tell truth, difficulties rather thickened upon the little girl this week. In the first place, Norton was away at school almost all day. David and he came home to luncheon, which now became the dinner time of the young ones; but even so, he was full of his studies and his mates, and his new skates, and the merits of different styles of those instruments, and Matilda could hardly get anything out of him. David talked little; but he was always more self-absorbed. And with Judy, this week, Matilda had nothing to do. That young lady ignored her. Matilda went out shopping a good deal with Mrs. Laval; that was her best resource. The shops were an unfailing amusement and occupation; for everywhere she had her Christmas work to think of, and everywhere accordingly she kept her eyes open and studied what was before her; weighed the merits and noted the prices even of stuffs and ribbands; and left nothing unexamined that eyes could examine in the fancy stores. And when she got home, Matilda went to her room and made notes of the things she had seen and liked that she thought might be good for a present to one or another of the friends she had to reckon for. The obelisk held its place in her favour for Mrs. Laval; but with respect to the other people a crowd of images filled her imagination. Japanese paperweights, and little tea-pots; so pretty, Matilda thought she must buy one; ivory and Scotch plaid and carved wood paper knives, and one with a deer's foot handle. Little Shaker work-baskets, elegantly fitted up; scent-bottles; a carved wood letter-holder at Goupil's; a bronze standish representing a country well with pole and bucket. At Goupil's, where Mrs. Laval had business to attend to, Matilda's happy eyes were full of treasure. She wandered round the room gazing at the pictures, in a dream of delight; finding soon some special favourites which she was sure to revisit with fresh interest every time she had a chance; and Mrs. Laval took her there several times. Once Mrs. Laval, having finished what she came to do, was at a loss where to find Matilda; and only after going half round the long gallery, discovered her, wrapt in contemplation, standing before a large engraving which hung high above her on the wall. Matilda's head was thrown back, gazing; her two little hands were carelessly crossed at her back; she was a sort of picture herself. Mrs. Laval came up softly.