Trading

"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.

CHAPTER VI

The arrangements were all made; the room was ready; the cupboard was stocked with its hardware; even a carpet lay on the floor, for Mrs. Lloyd having heard from David a laughing declaration of Matilda's present longing for an old carpet, had immediately given permission to the children to rummage in the lumber room and take anything they found that was not too good. Matilda was very much afraid there would be nothing that did not come under that description; however, a little old piece of carpet was found that somehow had escaped being thrown away, and that would be, she judged, a perfect treasure to Mrs. Staples; it was sent by the hands of a very much astonished footman to Mrs. Leary's house, and by Mrs. Leary herself put down on the floor; Matilda having bargained for the cleaning of the floor as a preliminary.

Her imagination dwelt upon that carpet, and the furnished, comfortable look it gave the room, with as much recurring delight as other people often find in the thought of their new dresses and jewels. With more, perhaps. Everything was ready now. Mr. Wharncliffe was engaged to tell the good news to Sarah and her mother, and the moving was to take place on Thursday of the next week. All was arranged; and on Monday Matilda sickened.

What could be the matter? Nobody knew at first; only it was certain that the little girl was ill. Dull and feverish and miserable, unable to hold herself up, or to think much about anything when she was laid in bed. It was needful to send for the doctor; and Mrs. Laval took her station by Matilda's pillow.

How time went, for some days thereafter, Matilda but dimly knew. She was conscious now and then of being very sick, heavy and oppressed and hot; but much of the time was spent in a sort of stupor. Occasionally she would wake up to see that Mrs. Laval was bending tenderly over her, offering a spoonful of medicine or a glass of apple water; it was sometimes night, with the gas burning low, sometimes the dusk of evening; sometimes the cool grey of the morning seemed to be breaking. But of the hours between such points Matilda knew nothing; she kept no count of days; a general feeling of long weariness and dull headaches filled up all her consciousness; she reasoned about nothing.

So that it was quite a new experience, at waking one morning, to feel Mrs. Laval's lips pressed to hers for a kiss, and to hear a cheerful voice say, —

"My darling is better!"

Matilda looked up.

"I believe I have been sick," she said, in a weak little voice.

"Indeed you have, darling – very sick. But you are better now. How do you feel?"

"Better," Matilda answered in that same faint, thin little voice; – "weak."

"Of course you are weak! Here is something to make you stronger."

Mrs. Laval brought a tea-cup presently, and fed Matilda with soda biscuit dipped in tea; very nice it seemed; and then she went off again into a sweet deep sleep.

When she awaked from this, it was high day, and the light was let into the room as it had not been for a good while. It all looked natural, and yet new; and Matilda's eyes went from one object to another with a sort of recognizing pleasure; feeling languid too, as if her eyelids could just keep open and that was all. But the light seemed sweet. And her gaze lingered long on the figure of Mrs. Laval, who was standing by the mantle-piece; going over with quiet pleasure every graceful outline and pretty detail; the flow of her soft drapery; the set of the dainty little French muslin cap which set lightly on her hair. Till Mrs. Laval turned, and smiled to see her eyes open.

"Ready for breakfast?" she said gayly.

"I don't believe I could get up, mamma," said the weak little voice.

"Get up! I don't believe you could! But what do you think of having breakfast in bed? Wait; you shall have your face washed first."

She brought a basin and bathed Matilda's face and hands, first with water and then with cologne. It was pleasant to be tended so, and the fine, soft, sweet damask was pleasant, with which the drying was done. Then Mrs. Laval rang the bell, and presently came up a tray which she took from the servant's hands and brought to the bedside herself. Then Matilda was raised up and propped up with pillows, till she could see what was on the plate.

"How nice that cologne is! I haven't had breakfast in a good while before, have I?"

"No, my darling." And Mrs. Laval stooped to press her lips fondly. "What do you say to a little bit of roast bird?"

Matilda was very glad of it; and she enjoyed the delicate thin slice of toast, and the fragrant tea out of a sort of eggshell cup; the china was so thin it was semi-transparent. She made a bird's breakfast, but it was very good, and did her good.

"Mamma," she said, as she drank the last drops from that delicate cup, – "it must be a dreadful thing to be poor! When one is sick, I mean."

"You never will be, darling," said Mrs. Laval.

She was slowly but surely mending all that day. The next morning she had another roast bird for breakfast, and could eat more of it.

"Norton wants to see you dreadfully," Mrs. Laval said as she was feeding her. "And so does David, I believe. How have you and David got to be such good friends?"

"I don't know, mamma. I like David very much."

"Do you?" said Mrs. Laval laughing; "perhaps that is the reason. Like makes like, they say. You are one of the few people that like David Bartholomew!"

"Am I? Why, mamma? Don't you like him?"

"Certainly; he is my nephew. I ought to like him."

"But that don't make us like people," said Matilda meditatively.

"What? that little word ought? No, I think it works the other way."

"But I think I like everybody," Matilda went on. "Everybody some. I don't like all people one as much as another."

"No," said Mrs. Laval. "That would be too indiscriminate. Well, David likes you. That is not strange. And he wants to see you."

"Yes, and Norton. Mamma, I think I would like better to be up, before I see the boys."

"I shall not let them come in before that."

So one or two days still passed, in sleeping and resting and waking to feel stronger every time; and then one afternoon Matilda was taken up and dressed in a warm wrapper, and placed in a delightful easy chair which Mrs. Laval had had brought up for her. She felt very weak, but exceedingly comfortable. Then she saw the door of her room slowly pushed inwards, and the bright head of Norton softly advancing beyond it. So soon as he caught sight of Matilda in her easy chair, he came in with two bounds, knelt down before her, and taking her in his arms kissed her over and over.

"There is one person glad to see you," remarked Mrs. Laval.

Matilda's eyes were glittering with tears; she said not a word.

"Glad?" echoed Norton. "Pink, the house has been too stupid for anything without you. It's astonishing, what a difference one girl makes."

"One girl – " said Mrs Laval.

"Ah!" said Norton. "I didn't say anything about the other. It wouldn't distress me at all to have Judy shut up in her room a few days."

"But not by sickness!" said his mother.

"Not particular how, mamma; do Judy no harm either. She wants taking down somehow."

"Why, Norton," said Matilda, "I thought you were so busy with your greenhouse, you wouldn't miss me much. And Judy and you were getting on nicely with the flowers, I thought."