The house in which these things happened was a brown house, standing on
the great high-road of travel which ran through the country, and just
where a considerable village had clustered round it. From the upper
windows you caught a glimpse of a fine range of blue mountains, lying
miles away, and with indeed a broad river flowing between; but the
river was too far off to be seen, and hidden behind intervening ground.
From the lower windows you looked out into the village street; clean
and wide, with comfortable houses standing along the way, not crowded
together; and with gardens between and behind them, and many trees
shielding and overhanging. The trees were bare now; the gardens a
spread of snow; the street a white way for sleigh-runners;
nevertheless, the aspect of the whole was hopeful, comfortable,
thriving, even a little ambitious. Within this particular house, if you
went in, you would see comfort, but little pretension; a neat look of
things, but such things as had been mended and saved, and would not be
rashly replaced. It was very respectable, therefore, and had no look of
poverty. So of the family gathered around the breakfast-table on the
morning after the Sunday-School meeting. It was a fair group, healthy
and bright; the four girls and their mother. They were nicely dressed;
and good appetites spoke of good spirits; and the provision on the
table was abundant though plain.
Maria asked if Letty had finished her bonnet last night. Letty said she
had.
"And did you put those red flowers in?"
"Certainly."
"That will be gay."
"Not too gay. Just enough. The bonnet would be nothing if it had not
flowers."
Maria's spoon paused half way to mouth. "I wonder," she said, gravely,
"if Mr. Richmond likes red flowers?"
"He has nothing to do with _my_ bonnet," said Letitia. "And no more
have you. You need not raise the question. I shall wear what becomes
me."
"What is the difference whether one wears red or blue, Maria?" said her
mother. "Do you think one colour is more religious than another?--or
more wicked? What do you mean?"
"Nothing, ma'am," Maria answered, a little abashed. "I was only
thinking."
"I think Mr. Richmond likes flowers everywhere," said Matilda; "and all
colours."
"People that are very religious do not wear flowers in their bonnets
though, do they?" said Maria.
"Mr. Richmond did not say any such thing!" said Matilda, indignantly.
"What did he say? What was all this last night's talk about?" said
Anne. "I did not understand half of it. Was it against red flowers, or
red anything?"
"I did not understand any of it," said Mrs. Englefield.
"Why, mamma, I told you all, as plain as could be," said Maria. "I told
you he made a Band----"
"He didn't," interrupted Matilda; "the Band made themselves."
But at this, the shout that went round the breakfast-table threatened
to endanger the dishes.
"It's no use trying to talk," said Maria, sullenly, "if you laugh so. I
told you there was a Band; ever so many of us rose up and agreed that
we would belong to it."
"Matilda, are you in it too?" the mother asked.
"No, mamma."
"Why not? How comes that?"
"She wasn't ready," her sister said.
"Why not, Tilly?"
"Mamma, I want to understand," said the child.
"Quite right; so do I."
"Wouldn't you do what Mr. Richmond says, whether you understand or
not?" inquired Maria, severely.
"I would rather know what it is, first," said Matilda, in her way,
which was a compound of cool and demure, but quite natural.
"And when is the next meeting?" said Letitia. "I guess I'll go."
"It won't be for a week," said Matilda.
"And will you join the Band, Letty?" Maria asked somewhat eagerly.
"How, join it?"
"Why, rise up, when you are asked."
"What does 'rising up' mean, Maria? What do you rise for?"
"Why, it means just that you promise to be good, you know."
"But I have heard you promise that a number of times, it seems to me;
without 'rising up,' as you call it. Will the promise not better, if
you make it on your feet instead of sitting?"
"Now, mamma," said Maria, flushing, "isn't that just wicked in Letitia?"
"My dear, I do not understand one word at present of what this is all
about," her mother answered.
Perhaps Matilda was in the same mood, for she was a thoughtful little
child all the way to school that morning. And at the close of the
school day, when the children were going home, she went slowly and
demurely along the icy street, while her sister and companions made a
merry time. There had been a little thaw in the middle of the day, and
now it had turned cold again, and the sidewalks were a glare of ice.
Matilda was afraid, and went cautiously; Maria and the others took the
opportunity for a grand slide, and ran and slipped and slid and sailed
away homewards, like mad things. One after another, they passed her and
rushed along, till Matilda was left the last, slowly shuffling her
little feet over the track the feet of the others had made doubly
slippery; when quick steps came up behind her, and a pleasant voice
spoke--
"Are you afraid you are going to tumble down?"
Matilda started, but lifted her eyes very contentedly then to the face
of the speaker. They had a good way to go, for he was a tall young man.
But he was looking down towards her with a bright face, and two good,
clear blue eyes, and a smile; and his hand presently clasped hers.
Matilda had no objection.
"Where is everybody else? how come you to be all alone?"
"They have gone ahead, sliding on the ice."
"And you do not practise sliding?"
"I am always afraid I shall fall down."
"The best way is not to be afraid; and then you don't fall down. See;
no! hold fast. I shall not let you slip!"
And the gentleman and Matilda slid along the street for half a block.
"How do you like that?"
"Very well, Mr. Richmond, with you holding me."
"It doesn't give you courage, eh? Well, we will walk on soberly
together. I didn't see you stand when Maria did last night?"
"Mr. Richmond, I did not know just what it all meant; and so I sat
still."
"You did not know just what it all meant?"
"No, sir."
"Then you were perfectly right to sit still. But that means that I did
not speak so that you could understand me? Was it so?"
"I did not understand----" said Matilda.
"It comes to that, I suppose. It is my fault. Well, I shall remember
and be very careful what I say the next time. I will speak so that you
will understand. But in that case, I want you to do one thing for me,
Tilly; will you?"
"If I can, Mr. Richmond."
"Do you think I would ask something you could not do?"
Matilda looked up to the blue eyes again; they were fastened upon her
gravely, and she hesitated.
"Mr. Richmond--I don't know. You might."
"I hope not," he said, smiling. "I will try not. You won't promise me?"
"If I can I will, Mr. Richmond."
"I am only going to ask you, when you hear what I have to say next
time, if you understand it, will you do what you think you ought to do?"
There fell a silence upon that. Mr. Richmond's firm step on the icy
ground and Matilda's light footfall passed by house after house, and
still the little one's tongue seemed to be tied. They turned the
corner, and went their way along Matilda's own street, where the light
of afternoon was now fading, and the western sky was throwing a
reflection of its own. Past the butcher's shop, and the post-office,
and house after house; and still Matilda was silent, and her conductor
did not speak, until they stopped before the little gate leading to the
house, which was placed somewhat back from the road. At the gate Mr.
Richmond stood still.
"What about my question, Matilda?" he said, without loosing his hold of
the little hand which had rested so willingly in his all the way.
"Aren't you coming in, Mr. Richmond?"
"Not to-night. What about my question?"
"Mr. Richmond," said the child, slowly,--"I do not always do the things
I ought to do."
"No; I know you do not. But will you do _that_ thing, which you will
think you ought to do, when you have heard me, and understood what I
say, the next time the Band has a meeting?"
Matilda stood silent, her hand still in Mr. Richmond's.
"What's the matter?"
"Perhaps I shall not want to do it," she said, looking up frankly.
"I ask you to do it all the same."
Matilda did not move, and now her face showed great perplexity.
"Well?" said Mr. Richmond, smiling at last.
"Perhaps I _cannot_ do it, Mr. Richmond?"
"Then, if you think you cannot do it, will you come and tell me?"
Matilda hesitated and pondered and hesitated.
"Do you wish it very much, Mr. Richmond?" she said, looking up
appealingly into his face.
"I do wish it very much."
"Then I will!" said Matilda, with a sigh.
He nodded, shook her hand, and turned away with quick steps. Matilda
went in and climbed the stairs to the room she and Maria shared
together.
"What were you talking to Mr. Richmond so long about?" said Maria.
"I wasn't talking to Mr. Richmond. He was talking to me."
"What's the difference? But I wish he would talk to Ailie Swan; she
wants it, I know. That girl is too much!"
"What has she done?"
"Oh, _you_ don't know; she isn't in your set. _I_ know. She's just
disagreeable. I think people ought to be civil, if they are ever so
good."
"I thought good people were civil always."
"Shows you don't know much."
"Isn't Ailie Swan civil?"
"I do not call it civility. What do you think, Tilly? I asked her if my
South America wasn't good? and she said she thought it was not. Isn't
that civility?"
"What did you ask her for?"
"Because! I knew my South America was good."
"Let me see it."
"Nonsense! You do not know the first thing about it." But she gave her
little sister the sheet on which the map was drawn. Matilda took it to
a table under the window, where the dying light from the western sky
fell brightest; and putting both elbows on the table and her head in
her hands, studied the map.
"Where is the atlas?"
"What do you want of the atlas?"
"I want to see if it is like."
"It is like, of course, child."
"I can't tell without seeing," Matilda persisted. And Maria grumblingly
brought the atlas, open at the map in question. Matilda took it and
studied anew.
"It is getting dark," said she at length. "But your South America is
crooked, Maria."
"It isn't!" said Maria, vehemently. "How should it be crooked, when we
angle it on, just according to the rules?"
"Angle it on?" repeated Matilda, looking at her sister.
"Yes. Oh, you don't understand, child; how should you? I told you you
didn't know anything about it. Of course, we have rules and things to
go by; and my South America was put on just right."
"It is not straight, though," said Matilda.
"Why, no, it isn't straight; it is not meant to be straight; it is all
crookly crawly, going in and out, all round."
"But it don't stand straight," said Matilda; "and it looks _thin_, too,
Maria; it don't puff out as much as the real South America does."
"Puff out!" Maria repeated. "It's as good as Ailie's, anyhow; and a
great deal better than Frances Barth's. Frances got a great blot on
hers; she's so careless. George Van Dyke is making a nice one; and Ben
Barth is doing a splendid map; but then Ben does everything----"
Here there was a great call to tea from below, and the girls went down.
Down-stairs there was excitement. A letter had come from Mrs. Candy,
Mrs. Englefield's sister, saying that she herself with her daughter
Clarissa would be with them the beginning of the week. .
"To stay, mamma? O mamma, is Aunt Candy coming to stay? Do tell me. Is
she coming to stay?" Maria exclaimed and questioned.
"She will stay a night with us, Maria. Don't be so eager."
"Only a night, mamma? Won't she be here longer?"
"She is coming to stay till summer, Maria," said her eldest sister. "Do
be reasonable."
"I think it is reasonable to want to know," said Maria. "_You_ knew; so
you didn't care about it."
"I care a great deal; what do you mean?" said Anne.
"I mean you didn't care about knowing. O mamma, can't I have my dress
finished before they come?"
"What dress, Maria?" her sister went on; for Mrs. Englefield was busy
with the letter.
"My new merino. It is almost done; it only wants finishing."
"There's all the braid to put on, isn't there?"
"Well, that isn't much. Mamma, cannot I have my red merino finished
before they come? I have got nothing to wear."
"What can you mean, Maria? You have everything you want. That is only
for your best dress."
"But, mamma, it is just when I should want it, when they come; you'll
be having everybody to tea. Won't you have it done for me? please,
mamma?"
"I think you can do it for yourself, Maria. I have no objection to your
finishing it."
"I cannot put on that braid--in that quirlicue pattern, mamma; I never
did such work as that; and I haven't time, besides."
"Nor inclination," said Letitia, laughing. "Come, Maria, it is time you
learned to do something for yourself. Matilda, now, might plead
inexperience, and have some reason; but you are quite old enough."
The dispute would have gone on, but Mrs. Englefield desired silence,
and the family drew round the tea-table. Other plans for the following
weeks filled every tongue. Mrs. Candy was well off; a widow with one
child, her daughter Clarissa; she had been in Europe for several years;
coming back now to her own country, she was bending her steps first of
all to her sister's house and family.
"We shall have the new fashions, straight from Paris," Anne remarked.
"Has Aunt Candy been in Paris? I thought she was in Scotland, mamma?"
"People may go to Paris, if they have been in Scotland, Maria. It is
not so far as around the world."
"But has she been in Paris?"
"Lately."
"Mamma, what is Aunt Candy going to do with herself when summer comes?
She says, 'till summer.'"
"When she tells us, I shall know, Letty. At present I am as ignorant as
you."
"Do you think she will buy a house here, and make her home here?"
"That depends on how well she likes Shadywalk, I imagine."
"I hope she will!"
"I would like to see, first, what she is," said Maria. "We shall have
time enough for that, if they stay with us till summer. How old, mamma,
is Clarissa Candy?"
"Over your age, Maria, by a year or so."
"Will she go to school with us, do you suppose, mamma?"
"I really cannot tell, Maria. I think it very likely."
"Is Aunt Candy very rich?"
"You talk like a foolish girl. Why do you want to know?"
"I was thinking whether Clarissa would be dressed a great deal better
than we are."
"And what if she is?"
"Nothing. I was thinking. That's all."
"I don't think it signifies," said Matilda.
"Oh! Matilda has found her tongue! I was waiting to see when she would
speak," cried Anne. "What don't signify, little one?"
"It don't signify, I think, whether any one is dressed better than
another; anybody--Clarissa or anybody else."
"Well, you are mistaken then," said Anne; "for it does signify. All the
world knows it; and what is more, all the world feels it."
"I don't think I do," said Matilda.
"Your time has not come."
"_Your_ time had come, though, before you were as old as she," said her
mother; "and Maria's and Letty's."
"I know Matilda is a wonderful child," said Anne, "but her time will
come too, mamma; and _she_ will find it makes a difference whether she
is dressed one way or another."
"I think _that_ now," observed Matilda.
"Anybody that has to fasten Tilly's dresses knows that," laughed Maria.
"I don't make half so much fuss."
"I wish you did," said her mother. "You are not near careful enough in
putting on your things. Now putting on is half the battle."
The argument lasted till Tilly and Maria went back to the consideration
of South America, which was brought down-stairs to the lamp.
"You haven't got the Amazon right," said Matilda; "and Rio Janeiro is
too far down; and it's all crooked--don't you see?"
"No!" said Maria; "and if it is, Ailie Swan needn't have said hers was
better."
"You asked her."
"Well, if I did?"
"What could she say?"
"I don't care; it was awfully rude; and people ought to be polite, if
they're ever so good."
"What is all that?" said Mrs. Englefield. "That is not Tilly's map?"
"Oh no, mamma; she can't draw maps; she is only setting up for a judge."
"She would do it as well as that, if she would try," said her mother.
"I wish you would love your studies, Matilda. You could do so well if
you pleased."
"Clarissa Candy will make you both ashamed," said Anne. "She has
learned everything, and is terribly smart; 'going on to learn
everything else,' her mother says."
"Mamma," said Maria, "I have only my green silk and my blue delaine for
nice dresses; and the silk is old-fashioned, you know, and the delaine
is too short; and I want my merino finished."
"Finish it, then."
Maria pouted.
"I cannot afford every indulgence to you, as your aunt can to Clarissa;
you must make it up by your own industry."
"But can I, mamma?"
"Can you what?"
"If I am very smart, can you give me things, if I make them up, that I
can be as well dressed as Clarissa Candy?"
"Let us see the merino made first," said her mother.