Matilda found her aunt, cousin, and sister gathered in the parlour.
"Well!" said Maria. "I suppose you have had a time."
"A good time?" Mrs. Candy asked. Matilda replied "Yes."
"You stayed late," observed Clarissa. This did not seem to need an
answer.
"What have you been doing?" Maria asked.
"Playing."
"You sigh over it, as if there were some melancholy associations
connected with the fact," said Clarissa.
So there were, taken with the contrast at home. Matilda could not
explain that.
"Any company there?" inquired Mrs. Candy.
"No, ma'am."
"You are wonderfully taciturn," said Clarissa. "Do tell us what you
have been about, and whether you have enjoyed yourself."
"I enjoyed myself," said Matilda, repressing another sigh.
"Did you bring any message for me?" asked her aunt.
"No, Aunt Candy."
"Did you deliver mine to Mrs. Laval?"
"What, ma'am?"
"My message. Did you deliver it?"
"No, aunt Candy."
"Did you forget it, Matilda?"
"I did not forget it."
Both mother and daughter lifted up their heads at this.
"Why did you not give the message, then?"
Matilda was in sore difficulty. There was nothing she could think of to
say. So she said nothing.
"Speak, child!" said her aunt. "Why did you not give my message as I
charged you?"
"I did not like to do it, Aunt Candy."
"You did not like to do it! Please to say why you did not like to do
it."
It was so impossible to answer, that Matilda took refuge in silence
again.
"It would have been civil in Mrs. Laval to have sent her message,
whether or no," said Clarissa.
"Go up-stairs, Matilda," said her aunt; "and don't come down again
to-night. No, Maria," for Maria rose, muttering that she would go too,
"no, you do _not_ go now. Sit down, till the usual time. Go to bed,
Matilda. I will talk to you to-morrow."
It was no punishment, the being sent off; though her aunt's words and
manner were. In all her little life, till now, Matilda had never known
any but gentle and tender treatment. She had not been a child to
require other; and though a more decided government might have been
good, perhaps, the soft and easy affection in the midst of which she
had grown up was far better for her than harshness, which indeed she
never deserved. As she went up the stairs to-night, she felt like a
person suddenly removed, in the space of an hour, from the atmosphere
of some balmy, tropical clime, to the sharp rigours of the north pole.
She shivered, mentally.
But the effect of the tropics returned when she had closed the door of
her room. The treasures of comfort and pleasure stored up that
afternoon were not lost; and being a secret treasure, they were not
within anybody's power. Matilda kneeled down and gave thanks for it
all; then took out her pocket-book and admired it; she would not count
the money this evening, the outside was quite enough. She stowed it
away in a safe place, and slowly undressed; her heart so full of
pleasant things enjoyed and other pleasant things hoped for, that she
soon utterly forgot Mrs. Candy, message and all. Sweet visions of what
was to be done in Lilac Lane rose before her eyes; what might _not_ be
done, between Norton and her, now? and with these came in other
visions--of those kisses of Mrs. Laval, which had been such mother's
kisses. Matilda stood still to remember and feel them over again.
Nobody had ever kissed her so, but her mother. And so, in a little warm
heart-glow of her own which enveloped everything, like the golden haze
on the mountains that evening, Matilda undressed leisurely, and read
her Bible, and prayed, and went to sleep. And her waking mood was like
the morning light upon the mountains, so clear and quiet.
Maria, however, was in complete contrast. This was not very unusual.
She was crusty, and ironical, and disposed to find fault.
"I wonder how long this is going to last?" she said, in the interval
between complaining and fault-finding.
"What?" Matilda asked.
"This state of things. Not going to school, nor learning anything;
cooking and scrubbing for Aunt Candy; and you petted and taken
up-stairs to be taught, and asked out to tea, and made much of. Nobody
remembers that I am alive."
"Dear Maria, I have been asked out to tea just once."
"You'll be asked again."
"And I am sure people come to see you. Frances Barth was here
yesterday; and Sarah Haight and Esther Trembleton two days ago; and
Esther asked you to tea too."
"I couldn't go."
"But people remember you are alive. O Maria, they remember you too. Mr.
Richmond don't forget you; and Miss Benton asked you to come to tea
with her."
"It is all very well talking," said Maria. "I know what I know; and I
am getting tired of it. You are the only one that has any really good
times."
It soon appeared that one of Matilda's good times was not to be to-day.
Mrs. Candy and Clarissa looked on her coldly, spoke to her dryly, and
made her feel that she was not in favour. Matilda could bear this
down-stairs pretty well; but when she found her self in Mrs. Candy's
room for her morning hours of reading and darning, it became heavy.
Reading was not the first thing to-day. Mrs. Candy called Matilda to
stand before her, while she proceeded to give her a species of
correction in words.
"You were baptized a few weeks ago, Matilda."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And by so being, you became a member of the Church;--of your church."
"Yes, ma'am."
"What do you think are the duties of a member of the Church?"
A comprehensive question, Matilda thought. She hesitated.
"I ask you, what do you think are the duties of a member of the Church?
in any branch of it."
"I suppose they are the same as anybody else's duties," Matilda
answered.
"The same as anybody else's duties."
"Yes, Aunt Candy."
"You think it makes no change in one's duties?"
"What change does it make, aunt Candy?"
Matilda spoke in all innocence; but Mrs. Candy flushed and frowned. It
did not sweeten her mood that she could not readily find an answer for
the child.
"You allow, at least, that it is one of your duties to obey the fifth
commandment?"
"Yes, Aunt Candy. I try to do it."
"Did you try last night?"
Matilda was silent.
"You made me guilty of rudeness by not delivering the message I had
charged you with; and you confessed it was not through forgetfulness.
Will you tell me now why it was?"
It had been through a certain nice sense on Matilda's part that the
message was uncalled for, and even a little officious. She would have
been mortified to be obliged to repeat it to Mrs. Laval. There had
never been the least intercourse between the ladies, and Mrs. Laval had
sought none. If Mrs. Candy sought it, Matilda was unwilling it should
be through her means. But she could not explain this to her aunt.
"You did not choose it," that lady said again, with kindling anger.
"I did not mean to offend you, Aunt Candy."
"No, because you thought I would never hear of it. I have a great mind,
as ever I had to eat, to whip you, Matilda. You are not at all too old
for it, and I believe it would do you a great deal of good. You haven't
had quite enough of that sort of thing."
Whether Matilda had or had not had enough of that sort of thing, it
seemed to her that it was very far from Mrs. Candy's place to propose
or even hint at it. The indignity of the proposal flushed the child
with a sense of injury almost too strong to be borne. Mrs. Candy, in
all her years of life, had never known the sort of keen pain that her
words gave now to a sensitive nature, up to that time held in the most
dainty and tender consideration. Matilda did not speak nor stir; but
she grew pale.
"The next time you shall have it," Mrs. Candy went on. "I should have
no hesitation at all, Matilda, about whipping you; and my hand is not a
light one. I advise you, as your friend, not to come under it. Your
present punishment shall be, that I shall refuse you permission to go
any more to Mrs. Laval's."
The child was motionless and gave no sign, further than the paleness of
her cheeks; which indeed caught Clarissa's observant eye, and made her
uneasy. But she did not tremble nor weep. Probably the rush of feeling
made such a storm in her little breast that she could not accurately
measure the value of this new announcement, or know fairly what it
meant. Perhaps, too, it was like some other things to her limited
experience, too bad to be believed; and Matilda did not really receive
it as a fact, that her visits to Mrs. Laval had ceased. She realised
enough, however, poor child, to make it extremely difficult to bear up
and maintain her dignity; but she did that. Nothing but the paleness
told. Matilda was quite erect and steady before her aunt; and when she
was at last bidden to go to her seat and begin her reading, her
graceful little head took a set upon her shoulders which was very
incensing to Mrs. Candy.
"I advise you to take care!" she said, threateningly.
But Matilda could not imagine what new cause of offence she had given.
It was very hard to read aloud. She made two or three efforts to get
voice, and then went stiffly on.
"You are not reading well," her aunt broke in. "You are not thinking of
what you are reading."
Matilda was silent.
"Why do you not speak? I say you do not read well. Why don't you attend
to your book?"
"I never understand this book," said Matilda.
"Of course not, if you do not attend. Go on!"
"She can't read, mamma," whispered Clarissa.
"She shall read," Mrs. Candy returned, in an answering whisper.
And recognising that necessity, Matilda put a force on herself and read
on, at the imminent peril of choking every now and then, as one thought
and another came up to grasp her. She put it by or put it down, and
went on; obliged herself to go on; wouldn't think, till the weary pages
were come to an end at last, and the hoarse voice had leave to be
still, and she took up her darning. Thoughts would have overcome her
self-control then, in all nature; but that, happily for Matilda's
dignity as she wished to maintain it, Mrs. Candy was pleased to
interrupt the darning of stockings to give Matilda a lesson in patching
linen--an entirely new thing to the child, requiring her best attention
and care; for Mrs. Candy insisted upon the patch being straight to a
thread, and even as a double web would have been. Matilda had to baste
and take out again, baste and take out again; she had enough to do
without going back upon her own grievances; it was extremely difficult
to make a large patch of linen lie straight on all sides and not pucker
itself or the cloth somewhere. Matilda pulled out her basting threads
the third time, with a sigh.
"You will do it, when you come to taking pains enough," said Mrs. Candy.
Now Matilda knew that she was taking the utmost pains possible. She
said nothing, but her hands grew more unsteady.
"Mamma, may I help her?" said Clarissa.
"No. She can do it if she tries," said Mrs. Candy.
Matilda queried within herself how it would do to throw up the work,
and declare open rebellion; how would the fight go? She was conscious
that to provoke a fight would be wrong; but passion just now had got
the upper hand of wisdom in the child. She concluded, however, that it
would not do; Mrs. Candy could hold out better than she could; but the
last atom of goodwill was gone out of her obedience.
"Matilda," said Mrs. Candy.
"Yes, ma'am."
"You have been an hour and a half trying to fix that patch."
"Isn't it long enough for one day?" said Matilda, wearily, sitting back
on her heels.
She had got down on the floor the better to manage the work; a large
garment with a large patch to be laid.
"Too long, by an hour; but not long enough, inasmuch as it is not yet
done."
"I am too tired to do it."
"We will see that."
Matilda sat back on her heels, looking at the hopeless piece of linen.
She was flushed, and tired, and angry; but she only sat there looking
at the linen.
"It has got to be done," said Mrs. Candy.
"I must get rested first," said Matilda.
"You are not to say 'must' to me," said her aunt. "My dear, I shall
make you do whatever I order. You shall do exactly what I tell you in
everything. Your times of having your own way are ended. You will do my
way now. And you will put on that patch neatly before you eat."
"Maria will want me."
"Maria will do very well without."
Matilda looked at her aunt in equal surprise and dismay. Mrs. Candy had
not seemed like this before. Nothing had prepared her for it. But Mrs.
Candy was a cold-natured woman, not the less fiery and proud when
roused. She could be pleasant enough on the surface, and in general
intercourse with people; she could have petted Matilda and made much of
her, and was, indeed, quite inclined that way. If only Mrs. Laval had
not taken her up, and if Matilda had not been so independent. The two
things together touched her on the wrong side. She was nettled that the
wish of Mrs. Laval was to see only Matilda, of the whole family; and
upon the back of that, she was displeased beyond endurance that Matilda
should withstand her authority and differ from her opinion. There was
no fine and delicate nature in her to read that of the child; only a
coarse pride that was bent upon having itself regarded. She thought
herself disregarded. She was determined to put that down with a high
hand.
Seeing or feeling dimly somewhat of all this, Matilda sat on the floor
in a kind of despair, looking at her patch.
"You had better not sit so, but go about it," said Mrs. Candy.
"Yes. I am tired," said Matilda.
"You will not go down to dinner," said Mrs. Candy.
Could she stand it? Matilda thought. Could she bear it, and not cry?
She was getting so tired and down-hearted. It was quite plain there
would be no going out this afternoon to buy things for Lilac Lane. That
delightful shopping must be postponed; that hope was put further in the
distance. She sat moodily still. She ceased to care when the patching
got done.
"Losing time," said Mrs. Candy at length, getting up and putting by her
own basket. "The bell will ring in a few minutes, Matilda; and I shall
leave you here to do your work at your leisure."
The child looked at her and looked down again, with what slight air of
her little head it is impossible to describe, though it undoubtedly and
unmistakably signified her disapproval. It was Matilda's habitual
gesture, but resented by Mrs. Candy. She stepped up to her and gave the
side of her head a smart stroke with the palm of her hand.
"You are not to answer me by gestures, you know I told you," she
exclaimed. And she and Clarissa quitting the room, the door was locked
on the outside.
Matilda's condition at first was one of simple bewilderment. The
indignity, the injury, the wrong, were so unwonted and so
unintelligible, that the child felt as if she were in a dream. What did
it mean? and was it real? The locked door was a hard fact, that
constantly asserted itself; perhaps so did Matilda's want of dinner;
the linen patches on the floor were another tangible fact. And as
Matilda came to realise that she was alone and could indulge herself,
at last a flood of bitter tears came to wash, they could not wash away,
her hurt feeling and her despair. Every bond was broken, to Matilda's
thinking, between her and her aunt; all friendship was gone that had
been from one to the other; and she was in the power of one who would
use it. That was the hardest to realise; for if Matilda had been in her
mother's power once, it had also been power never exercised. The child
had been always practically her own mistress. Was that ended? Was Mrs.
Candy her mistress now? her freedom gone? and was there no escape? It
made Matilda almost wild to think these thoughts, wild and frightened
together; and with all that, very angry. Not passionately, which was
not her nature, but with a deep sense of displeasure and dislike. The
patch and the linen to be patched lay untouched on the floor, it is
need less to say, when Mrs. Candy came up from dinner.
Mrs. Candy came up alone. She surveyed the state of things in silence.
Matilda had been crying, she saw. She left her time to recover from
that and take up her work. But Matilda sat despairing and careless,
looking at it and not thinking of it.
"You do not mean to do that, do you?" she said at last.
"Yes, ma'am--sometime," Matilda answered.
"Not now?"
"When I get a little rested."
"You want something," said Mrs. Candy, looking at her; "and I know what
it is. You want bringing down. You never were brought down in your
life, I believe, or you would not dare me so now!"
"I did not mean to dare you, Aunt Candy," said Matilda, lifting her
head.
"You will not do it after to-day," said Mrs. Candy. "I am not going to
give you what I threatened. I leave that for another time. I don't
believe we shall ever come to that. But you want bringing down, all the
same; and I know what will do it, too. Cold water will do it."
"What do you mean, Aunt Candy?"
"I mean cold water. I have heard you say you don't like it; but it
would be very good for you, in two ways. I am going to bathe you with
it from your head to your feet. Here is my bath-tub, and I'll have it
ready in a minute. Take off your clothes, Matilda."
It was with nothing less than horror that Matilda now earnestly
besought her aunt to think better of this determination. She did
dislike cold water, and after a child's luxurious fashion had always
been allowed to use warm water. But worse than cold water was the idea
of her aunt, or anybody, presuming to apply it in the capacity of
bather. Matilda refused and pleaded, alternately; pleaded very humbly
at last; but in vain.
"I thought I knew something that would bring you down," Mrs. Candy said
composedly and pleased; and in the same manner proceeded to strip off
Matilda's clothes, put her in the bath-tub, and make thorough
application of the hated element as she had said, from head to foot;
scrubbing and dousing and sponging; till if Matilda had been in the sea
she would not better have known how cold water felt all over her. It
was done in five minutes, too; and then, after being well rubbed down,
Matilda was directed to put on her clothes again and finish her
patching.
"I fancy you will feel refreshed for it now," said her aunt. "This will
be a good thing for you. I used to give it to Clarissa always when she
was a little thing; and now I will do the same by you, my love. Every
day, you shall come to me in the morning when you first get up."
No announcement could have been more dismayful; but this time Matilda
said nothing. She bent herself to her patching, the one uppermost
desire being to finish it and get out of the room. The cold water _had_
refreshed and strengthened her, much as she disliked and hated it; at
the same time the sense of hunger, from the same cause, grew keener
than ever. Matilda tried her very best to lay the patch straight, and
get it basted so. And so keen the endeavour was, so earnest the
attention, that though laying a linen patch by the thread _is_ a nice
piece of business, she succeeded at last. Mrs. Candy was content with
the work, satisfied with its being only basted for that time, and let
her go.
Matilda slowly made her way down to the lower regions, where Maria was
still at work, and asked for something to eat. Maria looked very black,
and demanded explanations of what was going on up-stairs. Matilda would
say nothing, until she had found something to satisfy her hunger, and
had partially devoured a slice of bread and meat. In the midst of that
she broke off, and wrapping her arms round her sister in a clinging
way, exclaimed suddenly--
"O Maria, keep me, keep me!"
"Keep you! from what? What do you mean, Tilly?" said the astonished
Maria.
"From Aunt Candy. _Can't_ you keep me?"
"What has she done?" Maria asked, growing very wrathful.
"Can't you keep me from her, Maria?"
"And I say, what has she done to you, Tilly? Do hold up and answer me.
How can I tell anything when you act like that? What has she done?"
"She says she'll give me a cold bath every morning," Matilda said,
seeming to shrink and shiver as she said it.
"A cold bath!" exclaimed Maria.
"Yes. Oh, can't you keep me from it?"
"What has put the notion in her head?"
"She used to do it to Clarissa, she says; but I think she wants to do
it to me because I don't like it. Oh, I don't like it, Maria!"
"She's too mean for anything," said Maria. "I never saw anything like
her. But maybe it won't be so bad as you think, Tilly. She and Clarissa
both take a cold bath every morning, you know; and they like it."
"I don't like it!" said Matilda, with the extremest accent of
repugnance.
"Maybe it won't seem so bad when you've tried."
"I have tried," said Matilda, bursting into tears; "she gave me one
to-day, and I don't like it; and I can't _bear_ to have her bathe me!"
Matilda's tears came now in a shower, with sobs of the most heartfelt
trouble. Maria looked black as a thunder-cloud.
"O Maria, can't you keep me from her?"
"Not without killing her," said Maria. "I feel as if I would almost
like to do that sometimes."
"O Maria, you mustn't speak so!" said Matilda, shocked even in the
midst of her grief.
"Well, and I don't mean it," said Maria; "but what can I do, Tilly? If
she takes a notion in her head, she will follow it, you know; and it
would take more than ever I saw to turn her. And you see, she thinks
cold water is the best thing in the world."
"Yes, but I _can't_ bear to have her bathe me!" Matilda repeated. "And
I don't like cold water. She rubs, and she scrubs, and she throws the
water over me, and the soap-suds, and she don't care at all whether I
like it or not. I wish I could get away! I wish I could get away,
Maria! Oh, I wish I could get away!"
"So do I wish I could," said Maria, gloomily eyeing her little sister's
sobs. "We've got to stand it, Tilly, for the present. I haven't
anywhere to go to, and you haven't. Come, don't cry. Eat your bread and
meat. I dare say you will get used to cold water."
"I shall not get used to _her_," said Matilda.
However, a part of Maria's prediction did come true. Cold water is less
terrible, the more acquaintance one has with it; and probably Mrs.
Candy's assertion was also true, that it was capital for Matilda. And
Matilda would not have much minded it at last, if only the
administration could have been left to herself. But Mrs. Candy kept
that in her own hands, knowing, probably, that it was one effectual
means of keeping Matilda herself in her hands. Every morning, when Mrs.
Candy's bell rang, Matilda was obliged to run down-stairs and submit
herself to her aunt's manipulations, which were pretty much as she had
described them; and under those energetic unscrupulous hands, which
dealt with her as they listed, and regarded her wishes in no sort nor
respect, Matilda was quite helpless; and she was subdued. Mrs. Candy
had attained that end; she no longer thought of resisting her aunt in
any way. It was the first time in Matilda's life that she had been
obliged to obey another. Between her mother and herself the question
had hardly arisen, except upon isolated occasions. She dared not let
the question ever arise now with Mrs. Candy. She read, and darned, and
patched, and grew skilful in those latter arts; she never objected now.
She came to her bath, and never uttered now the vain pleadings which at
first even her dignity gave way to make. Mrs. Candy had quite put down
the question of dignity. Matilda did not venture to disobey her any
more in anything. She went no more to walk without asking leave; she
visited no more at Mrs. Laval's; Mrs. Candy even took Matilda in her
triumph to her own church in the morning. Matilda suffered, but
submitted without a word.
How much the child suffered, nobody knew or guessed. She kept it to
herself. Mrs. Candy did not even suspect that there was much suffering
in the case, beyond a little enforced submission, and a little
disappointment now and then about going to see somebody. Mrs. Laval's
house was forbidden, that was all; and for a few days Matilda did not
get time, or leave, to go out to walk.
She was kept very busy. And she was pleasant about her work with Maria,
and gentle and well-behaved when at her work with her aunt. Not gay,
certainly, as she had begun to be sometimes lately, before this time;
but Maria was so far from gaiety herself that she did not miss it in
her sister; and Mrs. Candy saw no change but the change she had wished
for. Nevertheless they did not see all. There were hours, when Matilda
could shut herself up in her room and be alone, and Maria was asleep in
her bed at night; when the little head bent over her Bible, and tears
fell like rain, and struggles that nobody dreamed of went on in the
child's heart. The thing she lived on, was the hope of getting out and
doing that beloved shopping; meeting Norton, somehow, somewhere, as one
does impossible things in a dream, and arranging with him to go to
Lilac Lane together. The little pocket-book lay all safe and ready
waiting for the time; and when Matilda could let herself think pleasant
thoughts, she went into rapturous fancies of the wonderful changes to
be wrought in Mrs. Eldridge's house.
She saw nothing meanwhile of Lemuel Dow. The Sunday following her
afternoon at Mrs. Laval's had been a little rainy in the latter part of
it. Perhaps the little Dow boy, who minded rain no more than a duck on
other days, might be afraid of a wetting on Sunday. Other people often
are. But Matilda meant to look for him next time, and have her sugared
almonds in readiness.
One of the days of that week, it happened that Mrs. Candy took Matilda
out with her for a walk. It was not at all agreeable to Matilda; but
she was learning to submit to what was not agreeable, and she made no
objection. On the way they stopped at Mr. Sample's store; Mrs. Candy
wanted to get some smoked salmon. Mr. Sample served her himself.
"How did you like the tea I sent you?" he asked, while he was weighing
the fish.
"Tea?" said Mrs. Candy. "You sent me no tea."
"Why, yes I did, last week; it was Monday or Tuesday, I think. You
wanted to try another kind, I understood."
"I wanted nothing of the sort. I have plenty of tea on hand, and am
perfectly suited with it. You have made some mistake."
"I am glad you are suited," Mr. Sample rejoined; "but I have made no
mistake. This little girl came for it, and I weighed it out myself and
gave it to her. And a loaf of bread at the same time."
"It was not for you, Aunt Candy; it was for myself," said Matilda. "I
paid for it, Mr. Sample; it was not charged."
"You did not pay me, Miss Matilda."
"No, Mr. Sample; I paid Patrick."
"What did you buy tea and bread for?" her aunt inquired.
"I wanted it," Matilda answered.
"What for?"
"I wanted it to give away," Matilda said, in a low voice, being obliged
to speak.
Mrs. Candy waited till they were out of the shop, and then desired to
know particulars. For whom Matilda wanted it; where she took it; when
she went; who went with her.
"Is it a clean place?" was her inquiry at last. Matilda was obliged to
confess it was not.
"Don't go there again without my knowledge, Matilda. Do you hear?"
"I hear. But Aunt Candy," said Matilda, in great dismay, "it doesn't
hurt me."
"No; I mean it shall not. Have you always gone wandering just where you
liked?"
"Yes, always. Shadywalk is a perfectly safe place."
"For common children, perhaps. Not for you. Do not go near Lilac Lane
again. It is a mercy you have escaped safe as it is."
Escaped from what, Matilda wondered. Even a little soil to her clothes
might be washed off, and she did not think she had got so much harm as
that. If she could only meet Norton now, before reaching home; there
would never be another chance. Matilda longed to see him, with an
intensity which seemed almost as if it must bring him before her; but
it did not. In vain she watched every corner and every group of boys or
cluster of people they passed; Norton's trim figure was not to be seen;
and the house door shut upon Matilda in her despair. She went up to her
room, and kneeling down, laid her head on the table.
"It's almost tea-time," said Maria. "What is the matter now?"
But Matilda was not crying; she was in despair.
"Come!" said Maria. "Come, what ails you? Tired?--It is time to get
tea, Matilda, and I want your help. What _is_ the matter now?"
Matilda lifted a perfectly forlorn face to her sister.
"I can't go anywhere!" she said. "I am in prison. I can't go to Lilac
Lane any more. I cannot do anything any more. And they want me so!"
Down went Matilda's head. Maria stood, perhaps a little conscience
struck.
"_Who_ wants you so much?"
"The poor people there. Mrs. Eldridge and Mrs. Rogers. They want me so
much."
"What for, Tilly?" said Maria, a little more gently than her wont.
"Oh, for a great many things," said Matilda, brushing away a tear or
two; "and now I can go no more--I cannot do anything--Oh dear!"
The little girl broke down.
"She's the most hateful, spiteful, masterful woman, that ever was!"
Maria exclaimed; "too mean to live, and too cunning to breathe. She's
an old witch!"
"Oh don't, Maria!"
"I will," said Maria. "I will talk. It is the only comfort I have. What
is she up to now?"
"Just that," said Matilda. "She found I had been to Lilac Lane, and she
said I must not go again without her knowing; and she will never let me
go. I needn't ask her. She doesn't like me to go there. And I wanted to
do so much! If she could only have waited--only have waited----"
"What made you let her know you had been there?"
"She found out. I couldn't help it. Now she will not let me go ever
again. Never, never!"
"What did you want to do in Lilac Lane, Tilly?"
"Oh, things. I wanted to do a great deal. Things.--They'll never be
done!" cried Matilda, in bitter distress. "I cannot do them now. I
cannot do anything."
"She is as mean as she can live!" said Maria again. "But Tilly, I don't
believe Lilac Lane is a good place for you, neither. What did you want
to do there? what _could_ you do?"
"Things," said Matilda, indefinitely.
"You are not old enough to go poking about Lilac Lane by yourself."
"I can't go any way," said Matilda.
She cried a long while to wash down this disappointment, and the
effects of it did not go off in the tears. The child became very silent
and sober. Her duties she did, as she had done them, about the house
and in Mrs. Candy's room; but the bright face and the glad ways were
gone. In the secret of her private hours Matilda had struggles to go
through that left her with the marks of care upon her all the rest of
the time.
The next Sunday she was made to go to church with her aunt. She went to
her own Sunday-school in the afternoon; but she was not allowed to get
off early enough for the reading and talk with Mary and Ailie. Lem Dow,
however, was on hand; that was one single drop of comfort. He looked
for his sugared almonds and they were on hand too; and besides that,
Matilda was able to see that he was quite pleased with the place and
the singing and the doings in his class, and making friends with the
boys.
"Will you come next Sunday?" Matilda asked him, as they were going out.
He nodded.
"Won't Jemima come too, if you ask her?"
"I won't ask her."
"No? why not?"
"I don't want her to come."
"You don't want her to come? Why it is a pleasant place, isn't it?"
"It's a heap more jolly if she ain't here," said Lem, knowingly.
It was a difficult argument to answer, with one whose general
benevolence was not very full grown yet. Matilda went home thinking how
many people wanted something done for them, and how she could touch
nobody. She was not allowed to go to church in the evening.