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,"
remarked David.
"Aren't they!" put in Judy. "Wise and _extremely_ courteous she was
about the liqueur glasses, don't you think so?"
"What about the liqueur glasses?" Mrs. Lloyd demanded; and though
Norton and David both tried to stop the recital, out it would come, for
the second time. Judy would not be stopped. Mrs. Lloyd seemed rather
serious but by no means as much disgusted as Judy would have liked.
"She had her own opinions, as Norton says," David remarked; "but she
behaved perfectly well about the whole affair; perfectly _courteous_,
Judy."
"Very ridiculous, though, for such a child," his mother added.
"How should she be courteous?" said Judy, scornfully. "She has had no
sort of bringing up."
"I should be glad to see you as courteous, and as graceful about it,"
said Mrs. Bartholomew. Whereat Judy tossed her head spitefully and
meditated mischief.
They did not know how it was. All was true they had said respecting
Matilda's manners; and this was the secret of them; she was most simply
trying to live up to her motto. For this Matilda studied her Bible,
watched, and prayed. It was not herself she was thinking of, or trying
to please; her obedience and her pleasantness and her smallest actions
were full of the very spirit of reverence and good-will; no wonder it
was all done gracefully. The days and weeks of sickness and feebleness
had been a good time for the little girl, and the kindness she received
made her heart very tender. She sought ways to please; above all, ways
to please God. It was in doing "all in the name of the Lord Jesus" that
her manners became so lovely and her presence so welcome to almost all
the family; and her happy little face was an attraction for even old
Mrs. Lloyd, who did not confess to finding many things in the whole
world attractive now. But Judy vowed in secret she would disturb this
opinion of Matilda, if she could manage it.
So she chose her time. Mrs. Lloyd, and indeed all the elders of the
family, were extremely particular and punctilious about table manners;
exacting the utmost care and elegance in everything that was done. One
Sunday there was company at dinner; only one or two gentlemen who were
familiar friends, however, so that the young people were not debarred
their weekly pleasure and privilege of dining with their grandmother.
Judy managed to place herself next to Matilda, and held her position,
though Norton as openly as he dared reminded her she had no right to be
there. It was impossible to make a disturbance and he was obliged to
give up the point. Matilda wondered at what she supposed an uncommon
mark of favour in Judy; and resolved to be as nice a neighbour as she
could. There was not much chance, for of course talking, except a low
word now and then, was out of the question. It happened that one of the
servants was for some reason out of the way, and there was not the
usual abundant service of the table. Just when everybody was helped,
Judy somewhat officiously handed somebody's plate to Matilda to be
passed for some oysters. The plate came back to her full; it had meat
and gravy and oysters and maccaroni on it, and was heavy as well as
full. Carefully giving it, as she thought, into Judy's hand, Matilda
was dismayed to find it seemingly slip from her own; and down it went,
taking impartially Judy's dress and her own in its way. Turkey gravy
and oysters lodged on Judy's blue silk; while the maccaroni, rich with
butter and cheese, made an impression never to be effaced on Matilda's
crimson. The little girl absolutely grew pale as she looked down at the
disastrous state of things, and then up at Judy. Judy's eyes were
snapping.
"Did I do that?" said Matilda, in a bewildered consciousness that she
had _not_ done it.
"O, I guess not," replied Judy; in a tone which civilly said, "Of
course you did!" Matilda dared not look at anybody else.
"You had better go up and change your dress, Matilda," said Mrs. Laval
gravely. And Matilda went, greatly disconcerted. She was a very dainty
child herself; rudeness and awkwardness were almost as abhorrent to her
as they were even to Mrs. Lloyd; and now she felt that she had
disgraced herself, mortified Mrs. Laval, and displeased the old lady;
besides drawing down the censure and slighting remark of Mrs.
Bartholomew. But _had_ she done the thing? She was supposed to have
done it, that was clear, from the tone of Mrs. Lloyd's voice and from
Mrs. Laval's command, as well as from Judy's words; that young lady
herself had kept her place in the dining room, for all that appeared.
And Matilda's beautiful crimson dress was spoiled. No doubt about it;
when she had got it off and looked at it she saw that the butter and
cheese had done their work too thoroughly to leave any hope that it
might be undone. No acid or French chalk would be of any avail there.
Poor Matilda! she was very much dismayed. She had a particular fancy
for the colour of that dress; it was a beautiful shade; and Mrs. Laval
liked it; and Matilda wondered if she was displeased; and wondered with
still increasing persuasion that the fault had not lain with her. But
who could prove that? And as it was, the charge of gross carelessness
and inelegance lay at her door; a charge above others that she was
unwilling to bear.
She would not venture down to the dining-room again, not knowing
whether she would be welcome; she sat in the dark thinking, and crying
a little. But when there came a knock at her door, she got rid of all
traces of tears. There was Norton, who had brought her some Chantilly
cake which she was very fond of; and close behind him stood David,
smiling, and bearing on a plate a great slice of ice cream. Matilda's
hands were both filled.
"Oh thank you!" she said from the bottom of her heart; "O how kind you
are!" Then as she glanced again at David's benign face, she half
exclaimed, "Did I do that?"
"No," said David, the smile vanishing.
"She didn't?" cried Norton. "Who did?"
"Judy."
"Judy!" echoed Norton.
"I _thought_ I didn't do it," said Matilda, forgetting her ice cream;
"but I was so bewildered, and Judy seemed to think it was I--"
"I saw the whole thing," said David. "It was not you. You were not to
blame at all. Your fingers had unclosed from the plate before hers did."
"Did she do it on purpose?" said Norton wrathfully, "and let Pink bear
the blame? She shan't bear it two minutes longer!"
He was rushing away, but Matilda made one spring and planted herself
right in his way.
"What are you going to do?"
"Set this thing to rights."
"How?"
"How? Why by telling the truth."
"Stop, Norton; there is company."
"All the more reason. Should you be disgraced before company?"
"Hush, Norton, stop," said Matilda eagerly, and getting both her plates
in one hand that she might lay hold of him with the other. "You
mustn't, Norton. Don't stir, or you'll make me throw down my ice cream,
and then I _shall_ be disgraced."
To prevent the possibility of such a catastrophe, David took the plates
from her, and Matilda grasped Norton with both her little hands.
"I'm going!" he said.
"No, you aren't."
"I am, I tell you, Pink. I'll not stand by and allow it. I'll expose
Judy and clear you, before everybody, this minute."
"Stop, Norton. You can't do it. Listen to me. You mustn't."
"Now is the very time."
"You mustn't do it at all. I'll tell mamma. I may do that; but you must
not say one word about Judy to anybody. I shall get mamma to keep quiet
too. You must, Norton."
"She's right, old fellow, that this isn't the time," said David.
"Grandmamma would stop your argument very short."
"And you must not say a word, Norton. For my sake! You couldn't prove
anything, Norton, and it would only make mischief and do harm. Let it
alone, and then it is nothing."
"Nothing!" cried Norton in great dudgeon.
"Nothing but a little inconvenience to me, and that will be all over by
to-morrow. Promise me, Norton; and then I can eat my ice cream in
peace."
"You must promise quickly then," said David, "for it is beginning to
melt."
Norton scolded and grumbled yet, however Matilda saw that she might
take her cake and cream; and she eat it looking at him, and enjoying it
very much.
"What's the use of being right then," said Norton, "if nobody is to
know it? And you are provoking, Pink! you look just as if nothing was
the matter."
"Nothing is the matter, thank you," said the little girl.
"You don't look angry."
"I don't think I am angry."
"You ought to be."
"I think I'm too happy to be angry," said Matilda, finishing her ice.
And she looked so cool that Norton could not keep hot. He and David
took her empty plates away for her; and so ended that day's trouble.
Nevertheless, fruits of it appeared afterwards.
A little while after this Sunday, Norton sickened with the same fever
Matilda had had. There followed a long, very quiet time, during which
she was much left to herself. Mrs. Laval was in the sick room; for if
she was not a skilled nurse, she was a most affectionate mother; and in
the cases of both her children, she either did herself or watched over
everything that was done. Matilda was not allowed to be with Norton and
help, which she would have liked; it was thought that her strength was
not sufficiently recovered. So the little girl lived in her room; crept
down and up for her meals; was as quiet as a mouse; and endured not a
little mischief from Judy's hands. Judy revelled. She was as full of
life as of mischief, and she made Matilda her butt. The children
generally dining together alone, she had a fair field; for David could
not interpose to prevent Judy's sly provocations. They were too sly,
and too quick and shifting, and too various and unlooked for. Sometimes
she patronized Matilda, as a little country girl; sometimes she
admonished her, very unnecessarily, in the same character; sometimes
Judy took a tone more offensive still and accused her of artful
practices to gain Mrs. Laval's favour. David and others were present;
but they did not always see what was going on; or if they attempted to
put Judy in order, the attempt was too apt to provoke more trouble than
it stopped. Matilda bore a good deal of trial, those weeks; for she was
naturally a spirited child, ready to resent injuries; and besides that,
she was a clever child, quite able to return Judy's sharp speeches. She
said very little to them, however, except what was good-humoured. Her
cheek flushed now and then; sometimes her little head took its old set
on her shoulders, extremely expressive, and equally graceful and
unconscious; the boys would laugh, and Judy toss her own head in a
different fashion. These things gave Matilda a good deal of work in her
own room. She used to hunt out passages that spoke of forgiveness and
kindness and the management of the tongue and the bridling of anger;
and then she used to pray over them, and not once or twice. So Judy
never could prevail much with her. However, Matilda wished for many
reasons that Norton would get strong and well again and Mrs. Laval be
in her old place. As he grew better, she began to be very much in his
room; taking care of him, reading or talking to him, and having very
nice times planning garden for Briery Bank when they should go home.
That would not be early this year, Norton said he was afraid, because
of his school; but at any rate they would run up at the Easter holidays
and set things in train.
One day Matilda was coming upstairs, after an uncomfortable lunch with
Judy alone. She came slowly, for she was weak yet, thinking that Judy
was a very difficult person to get along with. David had not appeared
at the meal. Just as Matilda reached the head of the stairs at her own
door, he came out of his room.
"Tilly," said he in a choked kind of voice, "come here! I want you."
A very odd way for David to speak, she thought; and looking at him she
perceived that he had not his usual calmness and gravity, in face any
more than in voice. He was flushed and agitated, and troubled, it
seemed to her. Matilda obeyed his call instantly and he led the way
into his room and shut the door. Then she waited for him to speak and
tell what he wanted of her; but that seemed to be somehow difficult.
David hesitated, struggling with himself, she could see; yet no words
came. Matilda was too much in awe of him to speak first. David had been
very kind to her lately; but he was older, older even than Norton, and
much graver; and she did not know him so well. She waited.
As for David, he could hardly speak, or he had great difficulty in the
choice of words. He fidgeted a little, taking one or two turns across
the room, flushed and paled again, then faced Matilda and spoke with
desperate resolution.
"Tilly, what do you know about--that person--I mean the One you think
so much of, and call your Messiah?"
Matilda was extremely astonished. "Do you mean--Jesus?" she asked
doubtfully and not a little afraid.
"Yes--yes. What do you know about him?"
Matilda hesitated.
"I know he loves me," she said softly.
"_Loves_ you! How do you know that? how can you know that?"
"Because I love him, David; and I know he loves me. He has said so."
"Said so! I beg your pardon. How has be said so?"
"In a great many places. And in a great many ways, David. He died for
me."
"Died!" repeated David again; then controlling his excitement, which
was very great, he again asked Matilda's pardon. "What do you mean by
saying he died for you? for _you_, or anybody? He was put to death by
the Romans, because he set himself up for a king."
"He didn't," said Matilda eagerly; "not in the way the people said. He
told Pilate himself that his kingdom was not of this world; and he told
the Jews to pay tribute to Caesar. They accused him for envy."
"Anyhow, he was put to death like any other criminal. Why should you
say he died _for you?_ Have you any reason?"
"Have you got a Bible here, David?"
"Not your Bible. I have the Scriptures of Moses and the prophets."
"Those are what Jesus said told about him. But just let me run and get
my Bible, David; I want to shew you something. I'll be back in one
minute."
He made no objection; and Matilda rushed out to her own room, threw off
her cloak and hat, dropped down on her knees for one instant to pray
that the Lord would teach her what to say to David; then seized her
Bible and ran back to him. She was almost as excited now, outwardly, as
he seemed; her little fingers trembled as she turned the leaves over.
"See here, David," she said. "That night, the night of the passover,
you know; the night before he died; he was at supper with the twelve
disciples--"
"What twelve disciples?"
"Those who were always with him; they were the apostles afterwards.
Look here. He broke bread and told them to eat it, and said it was his
body broken for them; and then a cup of wine; and this is what he said
about that. See."
"Read it," said David.
"'This is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the
remission of sins.' Testament is the same word as covenant, Mr.
Wharncliffe says."
"Covenant!" cried David.
"Yes. In this other place he says, 'This cup is the new testament or
covenant, in my blood, which is shed for you.' That is the new covenant
that Jeremiah promised."
"Jeremiah!" cried David again; "what do you know of Jeremiah? Is _that_
in your Bible?"
"Certainly it is. Isaiah and Jeremiah, and all of them."
"But what do you mean about that new covenant? you don't know what you
are talking of, Tilly."
"O yes, I do, David. Look here; here is the place in Jeremiah; we had
all about this in our lesson last Sunday. Look here, David. 'Behold,
the days come, saith the Lord, that I will make a new covenant with the
house of Israel and with the house of Judah; not according to the
covenant that I made with their fathers, in the day that I took them by
the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt; which my covenant they
brake, although I was a husband unto them, saith the Lord.
"'But this shall be the covenant that I will make with the house of
Israel; After those days, saith the Lord, I will put my law in their
inward parts, and write it in their hearts; and will be their God, and
they shall be my people. And they shall teach no more every man his
neighbour, and every man his brother, saying, Know the Lord: for they
shall all know me, from the least of them unto the greatest of them,
saith the Lord: for I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember
their sin no more.'"
Matilda stopped and looked up at David.
"I know all that very well," he replied; "that will be in the days of
Messiah."
"Jesus said it was then. He said, 'This cup is the new covenant _in my
blood_.'"
"How could that be? what meaning is there in that?"
"Why, David,--don't you see? His blood did it."
"Did what?"
"Why! bought forgiveness for us, so that God could give us the new
covenant. It is a covenant to forgive us and make us holy for Jesus'
sake. Mr. Wharncliffe was explaining it only last Sunday."
"I don't want to hear what Mr. Wharncliffe said. Tell me only what you
know."
"Well, David, I know it's all true."
"Tilly, how can you?"
"Why, David,--I know Jesus has taken away my sins; and I think he is
writing his laws on my heart."
"But Tilly!" David exclaimed with a sort of anxious impatience, "you
don't know what you are talking about. You mean that this--Jesus--was
our Messiah."
"Yes," said Matilda. "He said he was."
"_He_ said he was?" exclaimed David.
"Yes, to be sure he did."
"But you don't know. The Scriptures of the prophets declare that
Messiah will be a great king."
"Yes," Matilda answered slowly, looking at him. "Jesus is a great King."
"No!" said David quickly. "He was crucified."
"But he rose again, and went back to heaven."
"They stole his body away," said David, "and made believe he was risen."
"O no, that was what the priests told the soldiers to say; but we
_know_ he rose again, David, for they saw him--the apostles and Mary
Magdalene, and all of them; over and over again."
"But the Scriptures say he shall, I mean Messiah, he shall conquer the
enemies of Israel and deliver us."
"I think that means the _true_ Israel," said Matilda.
"The true Israel!" said David. "Who are the true Israel? I am one of
them. Abraham's children."
The boy spoke proudly, defiantly, as if he felt the noble blood of
kings and prophets in his veins, and the inheritance his own. Matilda
found it very difficult to go on. So far she had been able to answer
him, having given attention to her Sunday school teaching and that
teaching having lately run in a course fitted to instruct her on some
of the points that David started. But she did not know what to say now.
She was silent.
"Look here," said David in the same tone. He seized his Bible which lay
at hand, and turning over the leaves stopped at the prophecy of Daniel,
and read, not after the common English version--
"'I was seeing in the visions of the night, and lo, with the clouds of
the heavens as a son of man was one coming, and unto the Ancient of
Days he hath come, and before him they have brought him near. And to
him is given dominion, and glory, and a kingdom, and all peoples,
nations and languages do serve him; his dominion is a dominion
age-during, that passeth not away, and his kingdom that which is not
destroyed.'" David read, and paused, and looked up at Matilda.
"Yes," said Matilda nodding; "that is just what the angel said about
Jesus."
"What angel?"
"The angel that came to tell that he was coming. See, David,
wait,--I'll find it; here it is! 'He shall be great; and shall be
called the Son of the Highest; and the Lord God shall give unto him the
throne of his father David; _and he shall reign over the house of Jacob
for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end_.'" And in her turn
Matilda looked up at David.
"But what kingdom has _he?_" David asked, between anxiously and
scornfully.
"Why, I remember he said, 'All power is given unto me, in heaven and in
earth.'"
"It don't shew," said David. "Christians are a small part of the world,
and not the strongest part by any means."
"No, I didn't say they were. I only said Jesus is the King."
"And I say again, Tilly; you have nothing but words to shew for it. How
is he king?"
"O but, David, wait; look here,--I'll find the place in a minute or
two--"
She sought it eagerly, but it took a little while to find any of the
words she wanted. David waited patiently, having evidently much on his
mind. At last Matilda's face lighted up.
"Here, David; this is what I mean; I was afraid to put it in my own
words. 'And when he was demanded of the Pharisees, when the kingdom of
God should come,'--you see they thought as you do;--'he answered them
and said, The kingdom of God cometh not with observation; neither shall
they say, Lo, here! or Lo, there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is
within you.' That's it, David, don't you see? He is king in people's
hearts."
"The Messiah is to reign in another fashion than that," David returned.
"The Targum says, 'a King shall arise from Jacob, and Messiah be
exalted from Israel; then he shall kill the great ones of Moab, and he
shall rule over all the children of men;' and 'to him are all the
kingdoms of earth to be subjected.' The Lord will destroy his enemies
who rise to put his people to shame; he will thunder upon them with a
loud voice from the heavens; the Lord shall exact vengeance from Magog,
and from the army of the thundering nations who come with him from the
ends of the earth, and he will give strength to his King, and magnify
the kingdom of his Messiah.'"
"That isn't out of the Bible, is it?" said Matilda, bewildered.
"No; it's the Targums."
"I don't know what the Targum is."
"It is a book, or books rather, of the words of our wise Rabbis;
explaining the Scripture."
"I don't know anything but the Bible," said Matilda meekly; "and I
don't know but a little of that."
"Well, you see, Tilly, that _our_ Messiah is to be King in a grand
fashion, and rule over all kingdoms; and make his people rule with him."
"O _that's_ like the New Testament!" Matilda cried.
"What part of it?"
"I don't know exactly where it is; I'll look; but David, Jesus is going
to reign so by and by, I know."
"You know!" said David.
"Yes; for he said so."
"Who said so?"
"Why, Jesus. Here--stop!--no, here it is, one place. Listen, David,
just to this. 'And as they heard these things, he added and spake a
parable, because he was nigh to Jerusalem, and because they thought
that the kingdom of God should immediately appear.'--That's what you
thought, David."
"Well, but,--" David began.
"Just listen. 'He said therefore, A certain nobleman went into a far
country to receive for himself a kingdom and to return.'"
"What's that?" said David.
"Why, don't you understand?"
"No. Not what it has to do with what I was talking about."
"Why, David, the far country is heaven; and Jesus is gone there until
the kingdom is ready, or till he is ready to take it."
"You have nothing but words to shew for it."
"No, of course; but they are God's words, David; so they are true."
"Take care!" said he, and his dark eye fired and glowed; "you mustn't
talk so. You know I don't believe that."
"Believe what?
"That _his_ words are God's words."
"But don't you remember," said Matilda, to whom the words seemed to
come in her puzzle, to help her out,--"don't you remember in the
Psalms--"
"The Psalms of David?"
"Yes, to be sure, the Psalms of David; don't you remember how it
says--Oh, I wish I could find it!--something about 'sitting at my right
hand' till his enemies shall be,--I forget what."
"I know!" said David with a curious change of countenance; and in his
own book he immediately turned to the place.
"'The affirmation of Jehovah to my Lord: Sit at my right hand, till I
make thine enemies thy footstool.'"
"That's it!" cried Matilda. "Jesus is there now, and by and by he is
coming to take the kingdom."
It did not seem as if David heard her; so deep was his pondering over
the passage he had just read. Little Matilda watched him curiously; his
brow was dark, with what sort of thoughts she could not guess; his eye
sometimes flashed and at other times grew intense with looking into
what he was studying. But what struck Matilda most was the look of
trouble; the expression of grave care upon his lip. He lifted up his
head at last, and his eye met her eye, and he was going to speak; when
the clang of the dinner bell pealed through the house. That day, for
some reason, the children were to dine with their elders. Mrs. Lloyd
was particular about attendance at the minute; David and Matilda parted
with one consent and without another word, to make themselves ready to
go down.