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"You know Isaiah said it would be true. 'Who has believed our report?' 'He is despised and rejected of men;… we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.'"

"Some of the rabbis held that there were two Messiahs," David said.

"Because they knew not how to understand of one the various seemingly contradictory things, which were and are all fulfilled in Jesus."

"Of Nazareth," said David.

"Yes, he lived there; but he was born in the city of David. Come, you do not know him, and it is needful you should. Let us read this first chapter of John all through."

They read slowly, with many interruptions. David had explanations to ask, and then there were prophecies to consult. The boy's eagerness and excitement infected his companions; the reading began to take on a sort of life and death interest, though Mr. Richmond kept it calm, with some difficulty.

His next proposition was, that they should go through the life of Christ regularly; and they began with the first chapters of Luke. Nothing that Matilda had ever known in her life was like the interest of that reading. David was startled, curious, excited, as if he were beginning to find the clue to a mystery; though he did not admit that. On the contrary, he studied every step, would understand every allusion, and verify every reference to the Old Testament scriptures. The boy's cheeks were flushed now, like one in a fever. The hours flew.

"My boy," said Mr. Richmond, laying his hand on David's open book, "we cannot finish what we want to do this evening."

David looked up, pushed his hair off his face, and recollected himself.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "I have taken up a great deal of your time."

"You shall have a great deal more," said Mr. Richmond smiling; "but we had better sleep upon it first. And pray," he added soberly. "Pray, that if this Jesus is indeed He whom you seek, you may know him."

David bowed silently, feeling too much apparently to say anything. When, however, he would have taken leave, Mr. Richmond detained him and would not hear of it. Norton, he said, would not miss him; he would be gone to bed by this time, tired of waiting; and they would send and invite him to breakfast. To Matilda's surprise, and as well to her huge delight, she saw that David was won by the influence that had long been so potent with her, and made no very great opposition. Miss Redwood was called in to prayers, and after that the little family separated for the night.

Matilda thought she surely would not go to sleep soon; but she did, nearly as her face touched the pillow. So it was not till she awoke in the morning that she could think over her happiness. It was early yet; the sunbeams striking the old cream coloured tower of the church and glittering on the pine leaves here and there. How delicious it was! The spring light on the old things that she loved, and the peaceful Shadywalk stillness after New York's bustle and roar. And David Bartholomew in Mr. Richmond's house! and Norton coming to breakfast! With that, Matilda jumped up. Perhaps she might help Miss Redwood; at any rate she could see her.

Miss Redwood was in full blast of business by the time Matilda's little figure appeared at the kitchen door.

"Don't say you're up, and down!" said the housekeeper.

"Yes, Miss Redwood; I thought perhaps I could help you."

"Do you wear dresses like that into the kitchen?" the housekeeper asked, with a sidelong glance at the beautiful merino Matilda had on.

"I don't go into the kitchen now-a-days."

"Thought not. Nor you don't never put on a frock fit to make gingerbread in, now do you?"

"I don't think I do."

"Well, what are your gowns good for, then?"

"Good for?" said Matilda; "why, they are good for other things, Miss Redwood."

"I don't think a gown is worth much that is too good to work in; it is just a bag to pack so many hours of your life in, and lose 'em."

"Lose them how?"

"By not doin' anythin', child! What's life if it ain't busy?"

"But don't you have company dresses, Miss Redwood?"

"I don't let company hinder my work much," said Miss Redwood, as she shoved a pan of biscuits into the oven of the stove. "What do you think 'ud become of the minister?"

"O yes!" said Matilda laughing; "but then, you see, I haven't got any minister to take care of."

"Maybe you will, some day," said Miss Redwood with a kind of grim smile; "and if you don't know how, what'll become of you? or of him either?"

It seemed a very funny and very unlikely supposition to Matilda. "I don't think I shall ever have anybody to take care of but mamma and Norton," she said smiling.

"I s'pose they've money enough to make it easy," said Miss Redwood. "But somehow – that don't seem to me livin'."

"What, Miss Redwood?"

"That sort o' way o' goin' on; – havin' money do all for you and you do nothin'. Havin' it do all for your friends too. I don't think life's life, without you have somebody to work for; somebody that wants you and that can't get along without you."

"O they want me," said Matilda.

"Maybe; but that ain't what I mean. 'Tain't dependin' on you for their breakfast in the morning and their tea at night, and their comfort all day. You have folks to do that. Now I wouldn't give much for life, if I couldn't make nice light biscuits for somebody and see that their coffee was right and the beefsteak just as it had oughter be, and all that. I used to have some one to do it for," said Miss Redwood, with something of pathetic intonation in her voice; – "and now," she added cheerily, "it's a blessin' to do it for the minister."

"I should think it was," said Matilda.

"There is another friend one may always work for," – said the voice of the person they were speaking of. Both his hearers started. The door of the dining-room was a little ajar and he had quietly pushed it open and come in. "Miss Redwood, how about breakfast? I have a sudden summons to go to Suffield."

"Again!" said the housekeeper. "Well, Mr. Richmond – in two minutes. La, it's never safe to speak of you; you're sure to know it."

"I didn't hear anything very bad," said the minister smiling.

Norton had come to breakfast. David made his appearance looking pale and heavy-eyed, as if he had sat up half the night. Mr. Richmond looked at him attentively but made no remark; only to both the boys he was exceedingly kind and gracious; engaging them in talk that could not fail to interest them; so that it was a gay breakfast. David was not gay, indeed; that was rarely a characteristic of his; but he was gentle, and gentlemanly, and very attentive to his host. After prayers Mr. Richmond went out into the hall and came back in his overcoat.

"My boy," he said, laying his hand affectionately on David's shoulder, "I should like to sit down with you and go on with our reading; I meant to give the first of the morning to it; but I have a call of duty that takes me away. I shall see you at dinner or this evening; meanwhile, this is your home. Take care of him, Matilda."

So Mr. Richmond went away. Norton had received, and refused, a similar invitation. David did not refuse it.

"No," said Norton, "I must be nearer those flower-beds. Come along, Pink; we'll go and make our calculations. Davy, you'll come and see Briery Bank? it's jolly, this morning; and this afternoon we'll go take a drive."

"I should like to do a great many things," said Matilda; "only there'll never be time for them all. However, we'll go first and see about the tulips and hyacinths."

David went with them so far and looked at the place; but after that he disappeared. Matilda and Norton had a delightful day, overseeing the garden work and arranging for more garden work to be done; then lunching together at the hotel, for so he persuaded her, and going on with their operations afterwards. At tea time Matilda went back to the parsonage alone; Norton said he was tired and sleepy and did not want to hear reading, but he would come to breakfast again.

David was not pale but flushed now, with excited eyes. All Mr. Richmond's talk and manner at table were kindly and soothing as possible; and Matilda could see that he liked David and that David liked him; but the look of the latter puzzled her. It came from disturbance so much deeper than her little head had ever known. Immediately after tea the study lamp was lit and the books were opened.

"What have you read to-day, Master Bartholomew?" Mr. Richmond asked.

"Just those two chapters," said the boy.

"Of Luke?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Richmond, those people, Zechariah and Simeon and the rest, they were Jews?"

"Yes."

"And they kept the law of Moses?"

"Faithfully."

"And – they thought that Jesus was the Promised One?"

"They did not think– they knew, by the teaching of the Spirit of God."

"But," said David, "the writer of this did not wish to discredit the law of Moses?"

"Not at all. Let us go on with our his story."

The reading began again and went on steadily for some hours. As before, David wanted to verify everything by references to the prophets. His voice trembled sometimes; but he kept as close to business as possible. The first chapters of Matthew excited him very much, with their declarations of things done "that the scriptures might be fulfilled;" and the sermon on the mount seemed to stagger the boy. He was silent a while when it had come to his turn to read; and at last looking up, he said,

"If people took this for a rule of life, everything in the world would have to be turned round?"

"Precisely," said Mr. Richmond. "And so the word says – 'If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature; old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.'"

"Do you think anybody really lives like this?"

"O yes," said Mr. Richmond.

"I never saw anybody who did," said David; "nor anything like it; – unless," he added looking up, "it is Matilda there."

Matilda started and flushed. Mr. Richmond's eyes fell on her with a very moved pleasure in them. Neither spoke, and David went on with the reading. He was greatly struck again, in another way, with the quotation from Isaiah in the thirteenth chapter, and its application; indeed with the whole chapter. But when they came to the talk with the woman of Samaria, David stopped short.

"'I that speak unto thee am he.' Then he said himself that he was Messiah?"

"To this woman, to his twelve disciples, and to two or three more."

"Why not to the whole people?"

"Is it likely they would have believed him?"

David pondered.

"They asked him once the direct question – 'How long dost thou make us to doubt? If thou be Messiah, tell us plainly.'"

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'I told you, and ye believed not; the works that I do in my Father's name, they bear witness of me.'"

"Then they thought perhaps he was Messiah."

"The people on one or two occasions were so persuaded of it that they wanted to take him by force and make him king."

"And he refused?"

"He refused. You know, he came 'to give his life a ransom for many;' not to enjoy worldly honour."

"But how then should he save Israel from all their enemies?"

"Who are Israel's enemies? 'He shall redeem Israel from all his iniquities;' and when once they turn to the Lord, there will be no other enemies that can work them harm. You know it was always so."

David sighed and the reading went on. But again he started at the fourth chapter of Luke and the words read by the Lord from Isaiah and his appropriation of them. David stopped.

"Here it is again," he said. "'This day is this scripture fulfilled – ' That is plain."

"Nothing could be plainer. But they would not see it."

David paused still, and then said with some difficulty, "I want to know the truth. Because – if he is Messiah, – he is my King!" And a dark gleam, partly of pain, partly of incipient loyalty, crossed his face. Mr. Richmond's eyes flashed.

"Come on," he said; "let us see whether he is Messiah."

The parables indicating the taking away of their privileges from the Jews and giving them to the Gentiles, were hard reading. David stopped to understand them, and looked very black. When they came to the discourses of Christ with the Jews, David's excitement grew very great, though he controlled himself. And just there came a summons to Mr. Richmond which it was impossible to pass by. He was forced to go, and left the two younger ones at the table. For a few minutes they were silent; and then David rose up, pale with intense feeling, and took his book. Matilda looked at him inquiringly.

"I must find it out by myself," he said; and walked to the door.

"David!" cried Matilda, "shall I call you when dinner is ready?"

"No, don't. I don't want dinner. And I can't go with you to look up Norton. Can you do without me?"

Matilda assured him of that, feeling quite at home in Shadywalk. And as it was about eleven o' clock, she thought to look up Norton would be the best thing she could do.

So she went down the old village street, where every step was full of memories, feeling very glad to see it again. She would have liked to stop and visit several people; but she knew Norton would be impatient for her; and so he was. He was overseeing the uncovering of his bulbs to-day.

"Twelve o' clock, Pink; twelve o' clock! and this is the first I have seen of you since breakfast. What have you been doing?"

"We've been busy, Norton."

"Where's Davy?"

"At the parsonage. He's busy."

"Look at those hyacinths, – up already, all of an inch above ground. It's well I came to see after them."

"What makes them so yellow, Norton, instead of green?"

"Why because they've been covered up and shaded from the sun. A little longer, and they would have been spoiled."

"How beautiful it would be, Norton, if we had our two new beds planted! all full of roses and hyacinths."

"Ah, wouldn't it!" repeated Norton. "You see, we were a bit too late about it last fall; or, I'll tell you! it was that sickness kept us away. We'll have 'em next year. What have you and David been doing yonder?"

"Reading" – said Matilda doubtfully.

"Reading what?"

"Mr. Richmond and David were reading together."

"That's jolly!" said Norton. "David and the parson! What's come over Bartholomew? Where's he going to get dinner?"

"He didn't come with me, and I don't think he was coming."

"Let him stay and read, then," said Norton. "If he can afford it, we can. Pink, we'll go and get something presently – as soon as I see all this mulching off."

They managed to employ themselves all the rest of the day; dining at the hotel, overseeing work in the grounds of Briery Bank, roaming about the place and enjoying its spring sweetness; talking over what they thought ought to be done; and making a very nice holiday of it generally. Towards evening Norton was persuaded to return with Matilda to the parsonage; perhaps urged by a little curiosity of his own. David had not been seen, Miss Redwood reported.

Neither did he come when tea-time came; and when sought in his room it was discovered that he was not there. Matilda was very much exercised on this subject; but Mr. Richmond took it quietly. Norton declared it was just like David Bartholomew.

"I don't think it it, Norton," said Matilda; "for he is always polite."

"Except this time," said Norton.

"We'll not except this time, if you please," said Mr. Richmond pleasantly. "Things are different from their seeming, oftentimes."

It was Saturday evening, and the minister was busy in his study. The two children kept Miss Redwood company in the dining room. It was a great falling off from last evening, Matilda thought; nevertheless she had a very entertaining talk with Miss Redwood about people and things in Shadywalk; and Norton listened, half amused and half sleepy. Mrs. Candy had been absent from Shadywalk near all winter; in New York.

"In New York!" exclaimed Matilda. "And I never saw her or Clarissa!"

"She didn't come to see you then," said Miss Redwood. "I guess she was skeered o' something. But la! New York must be a queer place."

"Why now?" Norton asked.

"Seems as if folks couldn't be runnin' round in it all winter long and manage to keep out o' sight."

"That's its peculiarity," said Norton.

"I s'pect a great deal could happen there, and the world not know," the housekeeper went on.

"Much more than what it does know," said Norton.

"I allays think sich must be poor kind o' places. Corners that the world can't see into ain't healthy. Now I like a place like Shadywalk, that you know all through; and if there's something wrong, why it has a chance to get mended. There's wrong enough here, no doubt; but most of it'll bear the light of day. And most of us are pretty good sort o' folks."

"Now that Mrs. Candy is out of town," Norton remarked.

Matilda had a great deal to hear about Sunday school people, and her friends in Lilac Lane. For Lilac Lane was there yet, Miss Redwood observed. Through it all, Matilda watched for David's coming in. But the evening ended and he came not.

It hurt a little the joy of her Sunday waking up, which else would have been most joyous. Norton was in the house this time; he had consented to be at the parsonage for the Sunday. Monday morning they were all to go home by the earliest train. So there was no drawback to Matilda's joy except this one. It was delightful to hear the old bell once more; delightful to see the spring light streaming between the pines and lighting the ugly old church tower; pleasanter than any other beautiful one to Matilda's eyes. With all the coming delights of the day crowding upon her mind, she rose and dressed, hoping that David would come to breakfast.

But he did not.

The sweet Sabbath day moved on slowly, with its services in the old church and its pleasant talk and society in the house; the Sunday school hours; the meeting old friends and acquaintances; but dinner and Sunday school were over, and nothing was heard of David Bartholomew.

"What has become of him?" said Mr. Richmond, as he and Matilda came in after Sunday school.

"What can have become of him, Mr. Richmond?" said Matilda.

"Nothing very bad," said Mr. Richmond, smiling at her distressed face. "Suppose we go and look him up?"

"Where would you go, Mr. Richmond? he has not been here since yesterday morning."

"I think I should try the hotel."

"Do you think he is there! – Shall we go?"

"I think we will," said Mr. Richmond; and hand in hand he and Matilda went down the street, to the corner. Just opposite, a little below, was the Shadywalk house of public entertainment.

Nobody knew David Bartholomew there by name. But in answer to Mr. Richmond's enquiries and description of him, the barkeeper stated that such a young gentleman had certainly come there the day before and was in Room No. 45. He had scarcely been seen since he entered the house, the man said; had refused almost everything that was offered him; but anyhow, he was there.

Where was Room No. 45? A man was sent to direct them to it; and Mr. Richmond and Matilda went up the stairs and along a gallery. No. 45 was at the end of the gallery.

"I will wait here for you, Matilda," Mr. Richmond said. "I think you had better go alone to see him – at first."

CHAPTER XI

Matilda went to the door and knocked. She heard nothing, and was obliged to knock again. Then the door opened, and David stood before her. What to say to him Matilda had not just determined, and while she hesitated he stepped back, mutely inviting her to enter. Matilda went in and he closed the door. She was afraid to speak when she saw his face, it was so pale and disturbed. But he prevented her.

"I have found it out, Matilda," he said. "It's all true."

Matilda started and looked up at him to see what he meant.

"I know it now," he said. "He is the Messiah! he is my Messiah; he is my King But – my people, my people! – "

Breaking off abruptly with this cry, David sat down at a little table where he had been sitting, – for his Bible was open upon it, – and put his head down in his hands and burst into tears. And Matilda had never seen anybody weep as she saw him then; nor in her childishness had supposed that a boy could; the little deal table shook under the strength of his sobs. Matilda was bewildered and half frightened; she stepped back into the gallery, meaning to summon Mr. Richmond; but Mr. Richmond was not there; and she went back again, and stood, much distressed, waiting until this paroxysm of pain should have passed by. It lasted some time. Probably David had not shed a tear until then, and speaking to her had broken down the barrier. Matilda did not know what to do. At last she put her hand timidly among the thick dark curls which lay lower than she had ever seen them before, and spoke.

"Dear David! don't, – please don't do so!"

He heard and heeded the anxious little voice, for the sobs lessened, and presently he raised himself up and as it were shook them off. But Matilda thought he looked very sad yet. She waited silently.

"You see, Matilda," he said, "I understand it all now. And they don't!"

"Who don't, David?"

"My people," he said sadly. "I see it all now. They did not know him – they did not know him! And so they lost him. You know what he said, – the kingdom is 'taken from them, and given to another nation, bringing forth the fruits thereof.' So they are scattered abroad on the face of the whole earth. And still they don't know him!"

"But you do, David?" said Matilda earnestly.

"Tilly, I wish my life was longer, to use it for him. I wish my hands were stronger, to do his service! But all I am is his, every bit of it, and all I have; from this day for ever."

The boy stood, with a kind of sad joyfulness, very quiet, with folded hands, speaking hardly as it seemed to Matilda, but perhaps to angels and the Lord himself.

"Won't you come and tell Mr. Richmond?"

"Certainly!" he said, starting from his attitude.

"When we heard nothing of you for ever so long, I grew troubled; I didn't know what had become of you; and then Mr. Richmond proposed that we should come here and look after you. You'll come to the parsonage to-night, David? you know we are all going away to-morrow morning."

"I'll be ready in two minutes."

Matilda waited while he washed his face and brushed his hair; then they went downstairs and found Mr. Richmond. He stretched out his hand to David, which the boy took with a flitting change of colour that told of some difficulty of self-command. However in a moment his words were firm.

"I have found my Messiah, sir, where you bade me look for him. He is my Messiah, and my King, and I am his servant. I wish I could be his servant twenty times over!"

"Why?"

"One life is too little to give."

"You may serve him to the ages of the ages. Service shall not end with this life, do you think so?"

Then David lifted up his dark eyes and smiled. Matilda had always known him a very grave boy; perhaps partly for that reason this smile seemed to her like a rift of light between clouds, so sweet and bright. It filled Matilda with so much awe that she did not open her lips all the way to the parsonage. Nor did Mr. Richmond say much.

They were in danger of being a silent party at tea, too; only I think the minister exerted himself to prevent it. Matilda had no words for anything, and indeed could hardly eat her supper; as often as she dared, she stole a look at David. For he did not look at all like himself. He was grave; to be sure that was like him; only now it was a new sort of high, sweet gravity, even gentle and humble in its seeming; and if he was silent, it was not that he was not ready and willing to speak when there was occasion. But Matilda guessed he had too much to think of to want to talk much. Norton was perhaps a little curious as to what there was between his three companions; and Miss Redwood was seldom free with her tongue in the minister's presence. Mr. Richmond, as I said, had to exert himself, or the silence of the tea-table would have been too marked.

They all went to church together. Matilda caught a look of extreme surprise on Norton's face when he saw that David was one of the party; but there was no time for explanations then. Little Matilda thought she had hardly ever been so happy in her life. In the old place, Mr. Richmond preaching, and David and Norton beside her, one of them there in heart as well as in person. The singing was sweet, and the prayers were happy.