But the next Sunday had a new joy for her. Mr. Wharncliffe informed her
after school-time, that he had found a lodging which he thought would
do nicely for her poor friends. All Matilda's troubles fled away like
mist before the sun, and her face lighted up as if the very sun itself
had been shining into it. Mr. Wharncliffe went on to tell her about the
lodging. It was near, but not in, that miserable quarter of the city
where Sarah and her mother now lived. It was not in a tenement house
either; but in a little dwelling owned by an Irishman and his wife who
seemed decent people. He was a mechanic, and one room of their small
house they were accustomed to let, to help pay their rent.
"Is it furnished, Mr. Wharncliffe?"
"No; entirely bare."
"How large is it?"
"Small. Not so large by one-third as the room where they are living
now."
"Can't go and see it?"
"Yes, there is no difficulty about that. I will go with you to-morrow,
if you like."
"And how much is the rent, Mr. Wharncliffe?"
"One dollar a week. The woman was willing to let the room to Mrs.
Staples, because I was making the bargain and understood to be security
for her; only so."
"Then we will go to-morrow, sir, shall we, and see the room and see
what it wants? and perhaps you will shew me that place where you said I
could get furniture cheap?"
This was agreed upon. To Matilda's very great surprise, David, when he
heard her news, said he would go too. She half expected he would get
over the notion by the time he got home from school on Monday; but no;
he said he wanted a walk and he would see the place with her.
The place was humble enough. A poor little house, that looked as if its
more aspiring neighbours would certainly swallow it up and deny its
right to be at all; so low and decrepit it was, among better built if
not handsome edifices. Street and surroundings were dingy and mean;
however, when they went in they found a decent little room under the
sloping roof and with a bit of blue sky visible from its dormer window.
It was empty and bare.
"Thin, we always has rispictable lodgers," said the good woman, who had
taken her arms out of a tub of soapsuds to accompany the party
upstairs; "and the room is a very dacent apartment entirely; and warrm
it is, and _quite_. An' we had a company o' childhren in one o' the
houses adjinin', that bothered the life out o' me wid their hollerin'
as soon as ever we histed the winders in the summer time; but the
father he died, and the mother, she was a poor kind of a body that
couldn't seem to get along any way at all at all; and I believe she
thried, an she didn't succade, the poor craythur! An' she just faded
away, like, and whin she couldn't stan' no longer, she was tuk away to
the 'ospital; and the chillen was put in the poor-us, or I don't just
know what it is they calls the place; and it was weary for them, but it
was a good day for meself at the same time. An' the place is iligant
and _quite_ now, sir. An' whin will the lady move in, that you're
wantin' the room for?"
"As soon as it can be ready for her, Mrs. Leary."
"Thin it's ready! What would it be wantin'?"
"We shall need to move in some furniture, I suppose, and a little coal.
Where will that go?"
"Coal, is it? Sure there's the cellar. An' an iligant cellar it is, and
dhry, and places enough for to put her coal in. It'll hould all she'll
want, Til engage."
"It holds yours too, I suppose?"
"Why wouldn't it? But we'll never interfare for that; small wisdom!"
Mr. Wharncliffe chose to go down and see the cellar. David and Matilda
spent the time in consultation. Mr. Wharncliffe came back alone.
"Well," he said, "how do you like it?"
"Very much; but Mr. Wharncliffe, it is not very clean."
"Sarah will soon change that."
"Sarah? Won't her mother help?"
"Mrs. Staples is unable for hard work. She has had illness which has
disabled her; and I fancy the damp cellar she has been living in has
made matters worse. But Sarah likes to be as clean as she can."
"Well, she can now," said Matilda gleefully. "Mr. Wharncliffe, don't
you think they want a little bit of a carpet?"
Mr. Wharncliffe shook his head. "They are not accustomed to it; they do
not need it, Matilda. You will have enough to do with your money."
"At any rate, they must have a bureau, mustn't they?"
"There is a wall cupboard," said Mr. Wharncliffe. "That will be wanted,
I suppose, for crockery and stores. What would a bureau be useful for?"
"Clothes."
"They have not a drawer full, between them."
"But they will have? They _must_, Mr. Wharncliffe. I am going to get
them some, mayn't I?"
Mr. Wharncliffe looked round the little room, and smiled as he looked
at Matilda again. "There is a great deal to do with your money, I told
you," he said. "Let us reckon up the indispensable things first." He
took out his note book.
"Coals are one thing," said Matilda. "They must have some coals to
begin with."
"Coals"--repeated Mr. Wharncliffe, noting it down.
"Have they a stove that will do?"
"I am afraid not. I will try and find a second-hand one."
"A table, and two or three chairs."
Those went down in the list.
"And, O, Mr. Wharncliffe, a tea-kettle! And something to cook meat in,
and boil potatoes."
"What do you know about cooking meat and boiling potatoes?" Mr.
Wharncliffe asked, looking amused. "Those things will perhaps come with
the stove; and at any rate do not cost much."
"And then, some decent plates and cups and saucers, and common knives,
you know, and a few such things."
"They have some things which they use now. You must not try to do too
much. Remember, there are other people who want bread."
"Well--not those things then, if you think not," said Matilda. "But a
bedstead, and a comfortable bed, Mr. Wharncliffe; _that_ they must
have."
"How about the two boys?"
"They must have another."
"Blankets and sheets and pillows?"
"Yes, sir; and pillow cases. I can make those. Do they cost a great
deal?"
"I think not--if you will let me buy them."
"O thank you, sir! I have got money enough, I guess."
"Mrs. Staples will make them. But, my dear, coals, and a stove, and
table and chairs and bedstead and bedding, will make a hole in your
little stock. Let us see. I will undertake the stove and the coals, and
get your beds for you. Chairs and table and bedding, I leave to you."
"Then put down some cups and plates, please, sir; or I will make the
list when I go home."
"We can manage it, I think," said David. "You know, I am bound to come
in for my share. Where can we get this second-hand furniture?"
Mr. Wharncliffe led the way to the place. What a disagreeable place,
Matilda thought. Dirty, dusty, confused, dilapidated, worn; at least
such was the look of a majority of the articles gathered there.
However, therein lay their advantage; and presently in the eagerness of
hunting out the things that she wanted, Matilda half lost sight of the
uncomfortable character of her surroundings. A table, strong yet,
though its paint was all gone, and chairs of similar qualifications,
were soon secured. A bedstead too, which was quite respectable; and Mr.
Wharncliffe explained that some bed-tickings could be filled with
straw, for beds and pillows. A little chest of drawers with some
difficulty was found, to be had for a few shillings; and a stove. Now
this last gave Matilda unlimited satisfaction; for it was a tidy little
stove, had two or three cooking utensils belonging to it, and an oven
which the shopman assured them would bake "first-rate." In that stove
and hardware Matilda's fancy seemed to see whole loads of comfort for
Sarah and her mother. A happy child was she when they left the shop.
"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.