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."
"Nicely!" repeated Norton. "She doesn't care any more for the flowers
than if they were grown to make door mats of. Greenhouse! why, it's as
much as I can do to prevent her pulling all the buds off; and when
she's got them, as I said, she don't care the least for them. No; the
one thing Judy Bartholomew cares for is mischief; and the second is her
own way."
"Gently, Norton!" said his mother. "I know somebody else that likes his
own way."
"Yes, ma'am, and can't get it--worse luck!"
"O Norton!" said Matilda.
"Well I'd just like to have you tell me then, how I'm to get Judy
Bartholomew out of my greenhouse!"
"How did you get her in?" asked his mother.
"I went into partnership with her."
"And I ask, why?"
"Because she had money, mamma; and I wanted the greenhouse in order;
and Pink wouldn't."
"Couldn't"--said Matilda. She did not feel like using many words just
then.
"Pink, mamma, is the very worst person in the world about having her
own way."
"And the very best person in the world about being sick."
"How, mamma?" said Matilda. "I haven't done anything at all but lie
still and be taken care of."
"Mamma, she looks pale; and her voice sounds thin; aren't you going to
give her something to strengthen her up?"
"She is going to have her supper in a few minutes."
"What are you going to give her?"
"Roast oysters and bread and butter."
"That sounds jolly. I'd stay and have some too; only I have got to see
a fellow round the corner. Good-bye, Pink. I'm off. Eat as many oysters
as you can!"
And off he ran. Matilda was disappointed; she was very fond of him, and
she thought he might have liked better to stay with her this first
evening. A little creeping feeling of homesickness came over her; not
for any place that was once called home, but for the clinging affection
of more hands and voices than one.
"He's a boy, dear," said Mrs. Laval, noticing her look. "Boys cannot
bear to be shut up, even with what they love the best. And you are a
girl--just full of womanly tenderness. I see it well enough. You will
have something to bear in this world, my child. Boys will be boys, and
men will be men; but Norton loves you dearly, for all that."
"I know he does, mamma," said Matilda.
But when a few minutes later, Mrs. Laval was called downstairs to see
somebody, the feeling she had kept back rushed upon her again. She
wanted something she had not got. And she began to think of her best
Friend. Matilda had not forgotten him; yet through these days of
sickness and weakness, and the constant presence of somebody in her
room, she had missed for a long time her Bible readings and all but
very short and scattering prayer. She recollected this now; and longing
after the comfort of a nearer thought of God and closer feeling of his
presence, she got up out of her chair and tottered across the room,
holding by everything in her way, to the place where she kept her
Bible. Once back in her easy chair, she had to rest a bit before she
could read; then she found a place of sweet words that she knew, and
rested herself in a more thorough fashion over them.
She was bending down with her volume in her hand to catch the fading
light from the window, when another visiter came in. It was David
Bartholomew, who having knocked and fancied that he heard the word of
permission, walked in and was at her side before she knew it. Matilda
started, and then looked very much pleased.
"You are not strong enough to be studying," David said kindly.
"O I am not studying."
"What have you got there that interests you so much, then? to be
bending over it like that."
Now Matilda was afraid to say she was reading the Bible, knowing in
what abhorrence David held part of her Bible; so she answered with a
quick sort of instinct, "It was only a chapter in Isaiah, David."
"Isaiah!" he repeated; "our Isaiah? Let me see, please."
He took the book and looked keenly at the page.
"What interested you so here, Matilda?"
"I was reading that little twelfth chapter. I was thinking of those
'wells of salvation.'"
She was trembling with the fear of saying something or other to
displease him, afraid to answer at all; but the simplest answer seemed
the best; and she prayed for wisdom and boldness. David was looking
hard at the page, and alternately at her.
"It is our Isaiah," he said, turning the leaves back and forward; "it
is our Scriptures; but not the Hebrew. I shall learn to read the
Hebrew. What were you thinking about the 'wells of salvation,' Matilda?"
Matilda was getting very nervous; but as before, she answered simply
the truth.
"I was thinking how sweet the water is."
"You?" said David, with a depth of astonishment which might have made
her laugh if she had not been so frightened. "You? what do you know of
them, or think you know? These words belong to the time of Messiah ben
David."
"Yes," said Matilda.
"What do you think you know about them?"
Matilda thought within herself that here was the end of David's
friendship for her. Her heart sank, yet she spoke as before.
"I have drawn water out of them, David; and I know that the water is
sweet."
He stood and looked at her, as if he were full of something to say; but
perhaps he guessed at her reference, or perhaps he saw her too feeble
to be attacked with exciting topics. He shut his mouth and said
nothing; and just then the servant entered bearing the tray with
Matilda's supper. That made a nice diversion. I think David was glad of
it. At any rate he made himself useful; brought up the little table to
Matilda's side; set the tea-pot out of her way and spread her napkin on
her lap. Then, hearing that Mrs. Laval was detained downstairs, he took
the management of things upon himself. He made Matilda's cup of tea; he
spread bread and butter; he opened oysters. Nobody could have done it
better; but it was always acknowledged that David Bartholomew was born
a gentleman. Matilda enjoyed it hugely. She was ready for her oysters,
as a little convalescent child should be; and bread and butter was
good; but to have David helping her and ministering to her gave to both
an exquisite flavour. He was so nice about it, and it was so kind of
him.
"That other supper has been sadly put off, hasn't it?" he said as he
opened Matilda's last oyster.
"What supper?" said Matilda.
"The supper we had arranged so finely, a long while ago. The
celebration of your good woman's moving in."
"My good woman?--O, you mean Mrs. Staples. She hasn't moved in yet?"
"No! we waited for you to get well."
"Waited all this while!" said Matilda. "David, I wonder when I shall be
able to go out?"
"Not in a good while, Tilly, to any such entertainment as that. I dare
say you can go driving in the Park in two or three weeks."
"But she cannot wait all that while!" said Matilda; and then she
stopped. If not, then the moving of Mrs. Staples, and all the delight
of the supper to be prepared for her, and the pleasure of seeing her
pleasure, must be for others; not for the little planner and contriver
of the whole. For a minute Matilda felt as if she could not give it up;
this rare and exquisite joy; such a chance might not come again in a
very long while. She wanted to see how the stove would work; she wanted
to hear the kettle sing, and to set the table with the new cups and
saucers, and to make the tea that first time, and give the in comers a
welcome. _Could_ all that be lost? It seemed very hard. Matilda's eyes
filled with tears.
"What is the matter?" said David kindly.
Matilda struggled to speak. She knew what she must say; but at first
she could hardly get the words out. She hesitated, and David repeated
his question.
"It won't do for them to wait so long," she said, lifting her eyes to
his face.
"Who? your poor people there? Well, it does seem a pity, looking at the
place where they are now."
"It won't do," Matilda repeated. "It is best for them to go right in,
David. But I can't manage it. I can't do anything."
"Will you trust me?"
"O yes! if you'll do it. But won't it be a great trouble to you, David?"
"On the contrary, I shall like it capitally. You tell me exactly what
you want done, and I'll attend to it."
"O thank you! Then you'll have to get the supper things, David."
"Yes, I know all about that."
"And get Mr. Wharncliffe to tell Mrs. Staples."
"Yes."
"And--can you buy some calico for me?"
"Certainly. But I'd put something warmer on them than calico, Tilly."
"What?"
"I don't know," said David laughingly; "I don't know what women wear.
But I suppose I can find out. Something _warm_, Tilly; the air is
snapping and biting out of doors, I can tell you."
"O well, do see about it as soon as you can, David, and let them move
in by Saturday; can't you?"
David promised. And when he was gone, and Matilda was alone in bed
again at night, she fought out her whole fight with disappointment.
Rather a hard fight it was. Matilda did not see why, when she was about
a very good thing, so much of the pleasure of it should have been taken
away from her. Why could not her sickness have been delayed for one
week? and now the very flower and charm of her scheme must fall into
the hands of others. She dwelt upon the details, from which she had
looked for so much pleasure, and poured out hearty tears over them. She
was as much in the dark nearly as Job had been; as much at a loss to
know why all this should have befallen her. All the comfort she could
get at was in imagining the scenes she could not now see, and fancying
all over and over to herself how Sarah and her mother would look and
feel.
After that day Matilda's improvement was steady. Soon she had Norton
and Judy and even David running in and out at all hours, to see her or
to tell her something.
"Great news," said Norton bursting in as usual one evening. "What do
you think, Pink? David and Judy have been to be catechized."
"Catechized?" Matilda repeated. "Do they learn the catechism?"
"Not yours, I promise you," said Norton. "No, not exactly. But they
have been to a Jewish catechizing; to be examined in the Jews'
Scriptures, you know, and all that. They ought to have been catechized,
it seems, when they were younger; but David and Judy have been
travelling about and there has been no chance. Now they've got it! And
O how Davy has been studying his Bible."
"His Bible is just like ours, isn't it?--all but the New Testament?"
"_He_ thinks that's a pretty large 'all but.'"
"But the rest is just the same as ours?"
"I suppose so; yes, I believe so. And they have had a great time, and
Davy has come off with a blue ribband or something, and been greatly
distinguished."
"Well?" said Matilda eagerly.
"Well. They all went to it, grandma and aunt Judy, and they don't know
whether they are most pleased or most vexed."
"Vexed?" repeated Matilda.
"Yes. You see, their Jew friends and relations are getting great hold
of Davy; and now I suppose he will be more of a Jew than ever."
"How will that make him different?" said Matilda, puzzled.
"Different?" said Norton. "Why, you don't think Jews are like all the
rest of the world, do you?"
"I don't know," Matilda answered. "I think--if I was a Jew--I would
like it."
To which Norton answered at first with a questioning frown; then
cleared his brow and laughed.
"You'd like anything that made you different from the rest of the
world," he said. "But you're a Pink! and that makes it of course."
"You used to say I was a brick," said Matilda.
"So you are. I'll fight any boy that says you aren't."
But that made Matilda laugh so much that Mrs. Laval, coming in, was
afraid she would fatigue herself; and she sent Norton away. Matilda
after this was very curious and a little anxious to see David, and find
out what change his being "more of a Jew than ever" would have made in
him. When he came, she could not find any change. It was Saturday
evening, after tea; so rather late. He came to bring her the news she
wanted.
"Well, it's done, Matilda," he said as he entered.
"And all right, David?"
"Right as can be. Don't you get excited, and I will tell you all about
it."
"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."