Trading Part 20

"You are very kind, David," said Matilda, trying to be quiet; but there were two pink spots on her pale cheeks.

"The carpet was down, and made the place look like another thing. Then Mrs. Leary had brightened up the bureau and the chairs and table, and blacked the stove and made a fire. It seemed quite like a home waiting for somebody. Mrs. Leary folded her arms, and made me take notice what she had done, and 'expicted I would consider it,' she said."

"Expected you would consider it?" said Matilda.

"Yes. Don't you know what that means? Expected I would pay her for her trouble."

"Ah!" said Matilda. "Did you?"

"Yes, of course. But I made her make up the bed and fill the kettle before she had done. 'An' sure it was iligant, and fit for society,'

she said; whatever that meant."

"Fit for company, I suppose, David. But who made the coffee?"

"Wait a bit: I'm coming to that. I was in a puzzle about it; for I wasn't sure of Mrs. Leary, and Norton and I didn't know enough."

"Norton? was Norton there?"

"To be sure; at first. He and I got everything else together. Mrs.

Leary had washed the china and the tin ware; and we bought cheese, and tea and coffee, and herring, and buns, and gingerbread."

"And bread?" said Matilda, looking in tensely interested.

"No; buns. And soap we ordered in too, Tilly; Norton is great on soap.

I should never have thought of it. And when we had done all we could think of, we sat down to watch the fire and guard the things till some body came. And we got talking about something else and forgot where we were; when all of a sudden the door pushed softly open and a girl came in--"

"Sarah!" cried Matilda.

"Wait. There came in this girl, and stood there, looking. And we looked. 'Is this Mrs. Leary's?' she asked. 'No,' said I; 'the rest of the house is. Mrs. Leary's, I believe; but this room belongs to Mrs.

Staples.' 'And you're Sarah, aren't you?' Norton cried out. I wish you had seen the girl, Tilly! She came a little way further in, and stopped and looked round, and had all the work in the world to keep herself from breaking down and crying. Her face flushed all over. She wanted to know if we were sure if there was no mistake? So I told her about you, and how you were sick, and how you had commissioned us to get ready all these things; and Norton shewed her where to hang her bonnet and shawl; for she was in a bewildered state. And then I bethought me and told her we wanted somebody to make the coffee. I think, Tilly, she was as near the condition of Aladdin, when he got into the magician s cave, as ever a mortal could be in this actual world. But she went to work, and that helped her to feel she was not dreaming, I suppose. She made the coffee,--and all the while I could see her fingers trembling;--and she cooked the herring; and I stood it, herring smoke and all; it was the best fun I've seen this winter--"

"Since Christmas," Matilda put in, but her own eyes were very bright and glittering.

"Christmas was nothing to it!"

"I wish I had been there."

"I wish you had. There was nothing else wanting. And I wish you could have seen Sarah's eyes; I think she was afraid to look around her. She would give a glance at something, the chest of drawers, or the bed, and then the tears would spring and she would have just as much as she could do to mind her cooking and not break down. I didn't know coffee smelt so good, Tilly."

"Doesn't it!"

"You know about that, eh? Well, we were all ready, and Sarah set the table, but Norton and I had to bring out the buns and gingerbread and the cheese; for I don't think she would have dared. And then the door opened once more, and in came Mr. Wharncliffe, and Sarah's mother and those two poor little imps of boys."

"I don't know much about them," said Matilda.

"I know they are very ragged. Of course, how could they help it? The mother looked as if she would easily fall to pieces too. But I saw the smell of the coffee brightened her up."

"And then you came away, I suppose?"

"Yes, of course. Mr. Wharncliffe just saw that everything was right and looked after the coal and things; and then we left them to take their supper in peace."

"I'm so glad!" said Matilda, heaving a deep sigh. "And I am very much obliged to you, David."

"For nothing," said David. "I had a good time, I can tell you. I should just like to do the whole thing over again. Why, it didn't cost much."

"Only Mr. Wharncliffe says we have to be very careful to know about people first, before we give them things; there are so many deceivers."

"Yes, I know that," said David. He stood looking into the light and thinking. Matilda wondered what he was thinking about; she could not ask him as she would Norton.

"It isn't right!" he broke out.

"What, David?"

"It isn't right that there should be such a difference in people; we here, and they there."

"Mr. Wharncliffe says there must be a difference. Some people are clever and industrious, and others are idle and lazy; and that makes differences."

"That ought," said David; "but then the people that are not idle or lazy, but sick or unfortunate, like these people; they ought not to be left in hunger and cold and rags."

"So I think," said Matilda eagerly; and then she stopped; for she was not so free with David as to tell him all her thoughts; at least not unless he asked for them.

"It puzzles me," David went on. "I can't see my way out of the puzzle; only I am sure there is wrong somewhere."

"And it must be right for each of us to do all he can to help," said Matilda.

David shook his head. "_One_ goes very little way."

"But that is all we _can_ do. And if every one would--"

"Every one will not, Tilly; there it is."

"No. I know it; but still, David, people have to do so."

"So how?"

"Why, each one by himself, I mean."

"Well," said David, smiling, "that's safe for you. I mean to study the subject."

CHAPTER VII.

Matilda was slow in getting over her sickness. It would not do to think of lessons or let her do anything that would weary her. Instead of that, she was taken to drive, and supplied with materials and patterns for worsted work, and had books at command. Whatever would please her, in short; at least whatever Mrs. Laval could think of; for Matilda made no demands on anybody. She was very happy; feeling well but weak, just so as to draw out everybody's kindness; and obliged to be quiet enough to thoroughly enjoy her happiness. She made great progress in the affections of the family during this rime; they found a sweetness and grace and modesty in her that presently seemed like to make her the house darling. "She is not selfish," said Mrs. Lloyd. "She is really a very graceful little thing," said Mrs. Bartholomew. "She is honest,"

said David. "She is the gentlest, most dutiful child in the world,"

said Mrs. Laval; but Mrs. Laval did not say much about it. She was growing excessively fond of Matilda. Norton declared she was a brick.

Judy said nothing. Then they would begin again. "She is a thoroughly courteous child," said Mrs. Lloyd. "I do think she is a good little thing," said Mrs. Bartholomew. "She has her own opinions," said Norton, who liked her the better for it. "They are not bad opinions either,"