Norton ran off upstairs. His mother waited till he was safe in his room
and then followed him. But she stopped at Matilda's door and softly
went in. Matilda's hat was off; that was all; and on her knees beside a
chair the little girl was, with bowed head, and sobbing. Mrs. Laval's
arms came round her, gently drew her up and enfolded her. "What is all
this?" she whispered.
Matilda's face was hid.
"What's the matter, my darling?" Mrs. Laval repeated. "Norton has told
me all about it--there is nothing for you to cry about."
"Is he angry with me?" Matilda whispered.
"Angry with you! No, indeed. Norton could not be that. And there is
nothing else you need mind."
"I am very sorry!" said poor Matilda. "I hurt all their pleasure this
morning, and they thought I was--very disagreeable, I believe."
"Nobody ever thought that yet," said Mrs. Laval laughing a little; "and
no harm is done. It was nonsense for them to get you into that business
at all. It is all very well for them to give their grandmother a
present; but for you it is quite needless; it is her place to give to
you, and not yours to give to her; the cases are different. Norton
forgot that."
"Then she will not think it strange that I am not in it?" said Matilda
lifting up her face at last.
"Not at all. It would be more strange if you were in it."
"Norton proposed it."
"Yes, I know; but Norton is not infallible. He has made a mistake this
time."
"But I offended them, mamma," said Matilda.
"They will get over it. Now dry your eyes and take your coat off, and
we will go down to luncheon."
They went down together, and Mrs. Laval took care that no annoyance
came to Matilda during the meal. So after luncheon she was all ready to
take a new start with Norton for Tiffany's.
"You see, Pink," said Norton as they were riding down, "all you have to
do is to let people go their own way, and you go your's. That's all.
That's the way so many carts get through the streets. It isn't
necessary to knock up against every one you come to; and people don't
like it."
"I was only going my own way, Norton," Matilda said gently; "but I had
to give the reason for it; and that was what you all didn't like."
"Your reason interfered with our way, though," said Norton. "You as
good as said it is wrong to do something we all do."
"Well," said Matilda very slowly,--"ought you not to try to hinder
people from doing what is not right?"
"How do you know what is not right?" said Norton.
"The Bible tells."
"Where does the Bible say it is wrong to drink wine?" Norton asked
quickly.
"I'll shew you when we get home."
"Everybody does it, anyhow," said Norton; "and one must do what
everybody does."
"Mr. Richmond don't, Norton."
"Mr. Richmond! He's a minister."
"Well! Other people ought to be as good as ministers."
"They _can't_," said Norton. "Besides--Mr. Richmond is all very well;
he's a brick; but then he is not a fashionable man, and he don't know
the world."
"Are ministers ever fashionable men?" said Matilda, opening her eyes a
little.
"Certainly. Why not. Dr. Blandford likes a good glass of wine as well
as any one, and knows how to drink it. He likes a good dinner too."
"What do you mean, Norton? Anybody knows how to drink a glass of wine."
"Everybody don't know how to drink half a dozen glasses, though," said
Norton. "A wine may be out of place; and it is not good out of place."
"You take it at dinner," said Matilda.
"Yes, but different wines at different times of the dinner," said
Norton. "Everything in its place, as much as everything in its own
glass, and much more. For instance, you take light wines with the soup;
Hock, or Sauterne, or grandmamma's favorite Greek wine. Then champagne
with the dinner. Port goes with the cheese. Then claret is good with
the fruit; and sherry and madeira with the dessert, or any time. And
Dr. Blandford likes a bowl of whiskey punch to finish off with."
"Is he your minister?"
"Dr. Blandford? yes. That is, he's grand-mamma's."
"Do you think he is as good as Mr. Richmond?"
"He's better, for a dinner party," said Norton. "He knows what's what,
as well as anybody. Now Pink, jump out; here we are."
The stately brown-fronted store struck Matilda with a certain sense of
awe. Dr. Blandford was forgotten for the present. She followed Norton
in, and stood still to take breath.
"Now," said Norton, "what shall we look at first? What do you want? How
many things have you got to get, anyhow, Pink?"
"You know how many people there are at home. Then there are two or
three others I have to think of."
"Hm!--seven or eight, I declare," said Norton. "Well, let us walk round
and see everything generally."
There were a good many people who seemed to be doing just that; besides
a crowd who were undoubtedly purchasers. Slowly Norton and Matilda
began their round of the counters. Very slowly they went; for the loads
of rich plate were a great marvel to the unused eyes of the little
girl. She had to beg a great deal of explanation from Norton as to the
use and meaning of different articles. Pitchers and tureens and forks
and spoons she could understand; but what could possibly be the purpose
of a vast round vase, with doves sitting opposite each other on the lip
of it? doves with frosted wings, most beautiful to behold.
"That?" said Norton. "That's a punch bowl."
"A punch bowl! And how much would that cost, Norton?"
"Do you want it? Too much for your purse, Pink. That is marked two
hundred and fifty dollars."
"For a punch bowl!" said Matilda.
"Yes, why not?"
But Matilda did not say why not. What must be the rest of the dinner,
when the punch bowl was two hundred and fifty dollars?
"And here's an epergne," said Norton. "That is to stand in the centre
of the dinner table--for ornament. That's seven hundred and fifty."
"What's inside of the punch bowl, Norton? it is yellow."
"Gold," said Norton. "It is lined with gold--gold washed, that is. Gold
don't tarnish, you know."
They went on. It was a progress of wonders, to Matilda. She was
delighted with some wood carvings. Then highly amused with a show of
seals; Norton wished to buy one, and it took him some time to be
suited. Then Norton made her notice a great variety of useful articles
in morocco and leather and wood; satchels and portemonnaies, and
dressing boxes, and portfolios and card cases; and chains and rings and
watches. Bronzes and jewellery held them finally a very long time. The
crowd was great in the store; people were passing in and passing out
constantly; the little boys the door-openers were busy opening and
shutting all the time. At last they let out Matilda and Norton.
"Now, Pink," said the latter, well pleased, "do you know what you want?
Have you seen anything you want?"
"O yes, Norton; a great many things; but it is all confusion in my head
till I think about it at home."
"We have got other places to go to," said Norton. "Don't decide
anything till you have seen more. We can't go anywhere else to-day
though. We've got to go home to dinner."
Matilda's head was in a whirl of pleasure. For amidst so many beautiful
things she was sure she could do Christmas work charmingly; and at any
rate it was delightful only to look at them. She tried to get her
thoughts a little in order. For Norton, she would make the watch guard;
that was one thing fixed. A delicate bronze paperweight, a beautiful
obelisk, had greatly taken her fancy, and Norton had been describing to
her the use of its originals in old Egypt; it was not very costly, and
Matilda thought she would like to give that to Mrs. Laval. But she
would not decide till she saw more; and for her sisters, and for
everybody else indeed, she was quite uncertain yet what to choose. She
thought about it so hard all the evening that she was able to throw off
the gloom of David and Judy's darkened looks.
Next day, however, she had too much time to think. It was Sunday.
Matilda was up in good time, as usual, and came down for breakfast; but
there was no breakfast and nobody to eat it, till the clock shewed the
half hour before ten. Bells had been ringing long ago for Sunday
school, and had long ago stopped. Matilda was so hungry, that breakfast
when it came made some amends for other losses; but then it was church
time. And to her dismay she found that nobody was going to church. The
long morning had to be spent as it could, with reading and thinking.
Matilda persuaded Norton to take her to church in the afternoon, that
she might know the way.
"It don't pay, Pink," said Norton; "however, I'll go with you, and you
can see for yourself."
Matilda went and saw. A rich, splendid, luxuriously furnished church; a
warm close atmosphere which almost put her to sleep; and a
smooth-tongued speaker in the pulpit, every one of whose easy going
sentences seemed to pull her eyelids down. Matilda struggled, sat
upright, pinched her fingers, looked at the gay colours and intricate
patterns of a painted window near her, and after all had as much as she
could do to keep from nodding. She was very glad to feel the fresh air
outside again.
"Well," said Norton. "Do you feel better?"
"Is that Dr. Blandford?"
"That is he. A jolly parson, ain't he?"
"The church was so warm," said Matilda.
"_He_ keeps cool," said Norton. "That's one thing about Dr. Blandford.
You always know where to have him."
"I wish Mr. Richmond was here," said Matilda.
The wish must have been strong; for that very evening, when she went to
her room, earlier than usual because everybody was ready to go to bed
Sunday night, she wrote a letter to her minister at Shady walk.
"BLESSINGTON AVENUE, Dec. 6, 18--
"DEAR MR. RICHMOND,--I am here, you see, and I am very happy; but I am
very much troubled about some things. Everything is very different from
what it was at Shadywalk, and it is very difficult to know what is
right to do. So I think I had better ask you. Only there are so many
things I want to ask about, that I am afraid my letter will be too
long. Sometimes I do not know whether the trouble is in myself or in
the things; I think it is extremely difficult to tell. Perhaps you will
know; and I will try to explain what I mean as clearly as I can.
"One thing that puzzles me is this. Is it wrong to wish to be
fashionable? and how can one tell just how much it is wrong, or right.
Mrs. Laval is having some beautiful clothes made for me; ever so many;
silks and other dresses; they will be made and trimmed as fashionable
people have them; and I cannot help liking to have them so. I am
afraid, perhaps, I like it too much. But how can I tell, Mr. Richmond?
There is another little girl in the house here, Mrs. Laval's niece;
about as old as I am, or not much older; and she has all her things
made in these beautiful ways. Is it wrong for me to wish to have mine
as handsome as hers? because I do; and one reason why I am so glad of
mine is, that I shall be as fashionable as she is. She calls people who
are not fashionable, 'country people.'
"There is another thing. Having things made in this way costs a great
deal of money. I don't know about that. The other day I paid two
dollars more than I need, just to have the toes of my boots right. You
would not understand that; but the fashion is to have them narrow and
rounded, and last year they were square and wide. And it is so of other
things. I buy my own boots and gloves; and I could save a good deal if
I would buy the shapes and colours that are not fashionable. What ought
I to do? and how can I tell? It troubles me very much.
"I think that is the most of what troubles me, that and spending my
money; but that is part of it. I don't want to be unlike other people.
Is that wrong, or is it pride? I didn't know but it was pride, partly;
and then I thought I would ask you.
"Another thing is, ought I to speak to people about what they do that
is not right? I don't mean grown up people, of course; but the boys and
Judy. I don't like to do it; but yet I thought I must, as I had
promised to do all I could in the cause of temperance; and I did, and
some of them were very much offended. They drink wine a great deal
here, and I did not like to see Norton do it. So I spoke, and I don't
think it did any good.
"My letter is getting very long, but there is one other thing I want to
ask about. There are a great many poor children in the streets; boys
and girls; so dirty that you cannot imagine it; they sweep the street
crossings. What can I do for them? Ought I not to give pennies always?
all I can?
"I believe that is all. O and I wish you could tell me what to do
Sundays. The people here do not care about going to church; and I have
been once and I don't wonder. I could hardly keep my eyes open. I miss
the Sunday school and you very much. I wish I could see you. Give my
love to Miss Redwood. Your affectionate
"MATILDA ENGLEFIELD.
"It will be Matilda Laval after this, but I thought I would sign my own
old name once.
This letter was duly posted the next day. And almost as soon as the
mails up and down made it possible, Matilda received her answer.
"SHADYWALK PARSONAGE, Dec. 8, 18--.
"MY DEAR LITTLE TILLY,--I appreciate your difficulties to the full.
They _are_ difficulties, enough to puzzle an older head than yours. Yet
I think there is a simple way out of them, not through your head
however so much as your heart. Keep that right, and I think we can get
at the answer to your questions.
"The answer to them all is, Live by your motto. '_Whatsoever_ ye do, in
word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus.' Try everything by
this rule. In spending your money, in deciding between boot-tips and
dollars, in the question of reproving wrong in others, in the matter of
kindness to the street-sweepers, put your motto before you; and ask
yourself, how would the Lord Jesus do if he were here in person and had
the same point to decide? The answer to that will tell you how, doing
in his name, you ought to act yourself. Pray for direction; and whether
you dress or speak or spend money, take care that it is Christ you are
trying to please--not yourself, nor yet Miss Judy; but indeed let it be
your best pleasure to please Him.
"Now as to your Sundays. If your people do not go to church regularly,
you can probably do what you like on Sunday afternoons. Go up your
avenue two blocks, turn down then to your right for two blocks more,
and you will come to a plain looking brick building, not exactly like a
church, nor like a common house. There is Mr. Rush's Sunday school. Go
in there, and you will find work and pleasure. And then write again to
"Your very affectionate friend,
"F. RICHMOND."
It would be hazardous to say how many times Matilda read this letter. I
am afraid some tears were shed over it. For to tell truth, difficulties
rather thickened upon the little girl this week. In the first place,
Norton was away at school almost all day. David and he came home to
luncheon, which now became the dinner time of the young ones; but even
so, he was full of his studies and his mates, and his new skates, and
the merits of different styles of those instruments, and Matilda could
hardly get anything out of him. David talked little; but he was always
more self-absorbed. And with Judy, this week, Matilda had nothing to
do. That young lady ignored her. Matilda went out shopping a good deal
with Mrs. Laval; that was her best resource. The shops were an
unfailing amusement and occupation; for everywhere she had her
Christmas work to think of, and everywhere accordingly she kept her
eyes open and studied what was before her; weighed the merits and noted
the prices even of stuffs and ribbands; and left nothing unexamined
that eyes could examine in the fancy stores. And when she got home,
Matilda went to her room and made notes of the things she had seen and
liked that she thought might be good for a present to one or another of
the friends she had to reckon for. The obelisk held its place in her
favour for Mrs. Laval; but with respect to the other people a crowd of
images filled her imagination. Japanese paperweights, and little
tea-pots; so pretty, Matilda thought she _must_ buy one; ivory and
Scotch plaid and carved wood paper knives, and one with a deer's foot
handle. Little Shaker work-baskets, elegantly fitted up; scent-bottles;
a carved wood letter-holder at Goupil's; a bronze standish representing
a country well with pole and bucket. At Goupil's, where Mrs. Laval had
business to attend to, Matilda's happy eyes were full of treasure. She
wandered round the room gazing at the pictures, in a dream of delight;
finding soon some special favourites which she was sure to revisit with
fresh interest every time she had a chance; and Mrs. Laval took her
there several times. Once Mrs. Laval, having finished what she came to
do, was at a loss where to find Matilda; and only after going half
round the long gallery, discovered her, wrapt in contemplation,
standing before a large engraving which hung high above her on the
wall. Matilda's head was thrown back, gazing; her two little hands were
carelessly crossed at her back; she was a sort of picture herself. Mrs.
Laval came up softly.
"What are you looking at, my darling?"
Matilda started. "Have you got through, mamma? did you want me?"
"I have got through; but I do not want you unless you are ready. What
have you found that pleases you?"
"Look, mamma. That one--the woman holding a lamp--don't you see?"
It was Holman Hunt's figure of the woman searching for the lost piece
of money.
"What is it?" said Mrs. Laval.
"Don't you remember, mamma? the story of the woman who had ten pieces
of silver and lost one of them? how she swept the house, and looked
until she found it?"
"If I had nine left, I should not take so much trouble," said Mrs.
Laval.
"Ah, but, mamma, you know the Lord Jesus does not think so."
"The Lord! _What_ are you talking of, my child?"
"O you do not remember, mamma! It is a parable. The Lord Jesus means us
to know how _He_ cares for the lost ones."
Mrs. Laval looked from Matilda to the picture and back again.
"Do you like it so very much?" she said.
"O I do, mamma! it's beautiful. What an odd lamp she has."
"That is the shape lamps used to be," said Mrs. Laval. "Not so good as
ours."
"Prettier," said Matilda. "And it seems to give a good light. No, it
don't, though; it shines only on a little place. But it's pretty."
"You do love pretty things," said Mrs. Laval laughing. "We will come
and look at it again."
Matilda, it shewed how enterprising she was getting to be, had already
privately inquired the price of the picture. It was fifteen dollars
without a frame. Far up over her little head indeed. She drew a long
breath, and came away.
The latter part of the week another engrossment appeared, in the shape
of her new dresses from Mme. Fournissons. Mrs. Laval tried them all on;
and Matilda's head had almost more than it could stand. So many, so
handsome, so elegantly made and trimmed, so very becoming they were; it
was like a fairy tale. To these dresses Mrs. Laval had been all the
week adding riches of under-clothing; a supply so abundant that Matilda
had never dreamed of the like, and so elegant and fine in material and
make as she had never until then even seen. Now Matilda had a natural
liking for extreme neatness and particularity in all that concerned her
little person; and to have such plenty of things to wear, so nice of
their kind, and full liberty to put them on clean and fresh as often as
she pleased, fulfilled her utmost notions of what was desirable. Her
mental confusion arose from the articles furnished by Mme. Fournissons.
The lustre of the silk, the colour of the blue, the richness of the
green, the ruffles, the costly buttons, the tasteful trimmings, the
stylish make, all raised a whirl in Matilda's mind. She was a little
intoxicated. Nobody saw it; she was very demure about it all; made no
show of what she felt; all the same she felt it. She could not help a
deep satisfaction at being dressed to the full as well as Judy; a
feeling that was not lessened by a certain sense that the satisfaction
was on her part alone. Of the two, that is. Mrs. Laval openly expressed
hers. Mrs. Lloyd nodded her dignified head and remarked, "That child
will do you no discredit, Zara." Mrs. Bartholomew looked at her, which
was much; and Norton declared that from a pink she had bloomed out into
a carnation. All these things Matilda felt; and unconsciously in all
that concerned dress and equipment she began to set a new standard for
herself. One thing must match with another. "Of _course_, I must have
round-toed boots," she said to herself now. She began to doubt whether
she must not get at least one pair of gloves more elegant than any she
found at Shadywalk, to go with her silk dresses and her new coat. She
hesitated still, for the price was a dollar and a quarter.
Upon all this came Mr. Richmond's letter; and Matilda found it did not
exactly fit her mood of mind. She was confused already, and this made
the confusion worse. Then Saturday came; and Norton was free; and he
and Matilda made another round of shop-going. The matter was growing
imminent now; Christmas would be in a fortnight. But the difficulty of
deciding upon the choice of presents seemed as great as ever. Seeing
more things to choose from, only increased the difficulty. They went
this morning to Stewart's, to find out what might be displayed upon the
variety counter; they went to a place where Swiss carvings were shewn;
finally they went to Anthony's; and they could not get away from this
last place.
"It's long past one o'clock, Pink," said Norton as they were going down
the stairs.
"What shall we do, Norton? I'm very hungry."
"So am I. One can always do something in New York. We'll go and have
dinner."
"At home?"
"No indeed. Short of home. We'll jump into an omnibus and be at the
place in a minute."
It did not seem much more, and they went into a restaurant and took
their places at a little marble table, and Norton ordered what they
both liked; oyster pie and coffee.
"But mamma does not like me to drink coffee," said Matilda suddenly.
"No harm, just for once," said Norton. "She would let you, if she was
here, I know."
"But she isn't here, and I don't like to do it, Norton."
"I have ordered it. You'll have to take it," said Norton. "Judy takes
it every night, and her mother does not wish her to have any."
"What then?" said Matilda.
"Nothing; only that you two are not much alike."
"David don't look at me any more, since last week," said Matilda. "Do
you suppose he never will again?"
"No hurt if he don't," said Norton. "He has _my_ leave. Well, Pink,
what are you going to get?"
"I don't know a bit, Norton--except one or two things. I am certain of
nothing else but just one or two."
"I am going to get that ring for mamma; that's fixed. The one with that
pale malachite. Grandmamma is disposed of. Then for aunt Judy a box of
French bon-bons. I think I'll give Davy a standish--I haven't picked it
out yet; but I don't know about Judy. It's hard to please her, I never
did but once."
"Then I shall not," said Matilda.
"And it doesn't matter, either. Here's your coffee, Pink; and here's
mine."
But after a little struggle with herself, Matilda pushed her cup as far
away as she could, and drew the glass of ice-water up to her plate
instead. The dinner was good enough, even so; and Norton called for
ice-cream and fruit afterward. And all the time they consulted over
their Christmas work, which made it wonderfully relishing. It was
curious to see how other people too were evidently thinking of
Christmas. Here there was a brown paper parcel; there somebody had an
armful; crowds came to get their luncheon or dinner, as Norton and
Matilda were doing; stowed their packages on the chair or sofa beside
them and refitted themselves for more shop-going. All sorts of
people,--and all sorts of lunches! Some had soup and steak and
tartlets; some had coffee and muffins; some had oysters and ale; some
took cups of tea and an omelet. It was as good to see what was going
on, as to take her own part in it, almost, to Matilda; and yet her own
part was very satisfactory. They went home only to order the horses and
go to drive in the Park; Norton and she alone. It was a long afternoon
of enchantment. The place, and the people, and the horses and the
equipages; and the strange animals; and the lake and its boats;
everything was a delight, and Norton had as much pleasure as he
expected in seeing Matilda's enjoyment and answering her questions.
"Norton," said the little girl at length, "I don't believe anybody here
is having such a good time as we are."
"Why?" said Norton.
"They don't look so."
"You can't tell about people from their looks."
"Can't you? But I am sure you can, Norton, partly. People don't look
stupid when they feel bright, do they?"
Norton laughed a good deal at this. "But then, Pink," he remarked, "you
must remember people are used to it. You have never seen it before, you
know, and it's all fresh and new. It's an old story to them."
"Does everything grow to be an old story?" said Matilda rather
thoughtfully.
"I suppose so," said Norton. "That makes people always hunting up new
things."
Matilda wondered silently whether it was indeed so with _everything_.
Would her new dresses come to be an old story too, and she lose her
pleasure in them? Could the Park? could the flowers?
"Norton," she broke out, "there are _some_ things that never grow to be
an old story. Flowers don't."
"Flowers--no, they don't," said Norton; "that's a fact. But then,
they're always new, Pink. They don't last. They are always coming up
new; that's the beauty of them."
"I do not think _that_ is the beauty of them," Matilda answered slowly.
"Well, you'd get tired of them if they didn't," said Norton.
"Do people get tired of coming here?" Matilda asked again, as her eye
roved over the gay procession of carriages which just then they could
trace along several turns in the road before them.
"I suppose so," said Norton. "Why not?"
"I do not see how they ever could. Why it's beautiful, Norton! And the
air is so sweet."
"I never know how the air is."
"Don't you! But then you lose a great deal that I don't lose. I am
smelling it all the while. Are there any flowers here in summer time?"
"Lots."
"It must be lovely then. Norton, it must be nice to come here and walk."
"Walking is stupid," said Norton. "I can't see any use in walking,
except to get to a place."
"Norton, do you see a boy yonder, coming towards us, on a black pony?"
"I see him."
"It looks so like David Bartholomew."
"You'll see why, in another minute. It's himself."
"I didn't know he rode in the Park too," said Matilda, as David passed
them with a bow.
"Everybody rides in the Park--or drives."
"That is what we are doing?"
"Exactly."
"I should think it was pleasant to ride on horseback."
"This is better," said Norton.
"I wonder whether David will ever look pleasant at me again."
"It don't signify, so far as I see," said Norton. "David Bartholomew
has his own way of looking at every thing; the Park and all. He likes
to take that all alone by himself, and so he does other things. He
paddles his own canoe at school, in class and out of class; he don't
want help and he don't give it."
"Don't he play either, in any of your school games?"
"Yes--sometimes; but he keeps himself to himself through it all."
"Norton, do the other boys dislike him because he is a Jew?"
"No!" said Norton vehemently. "He dislikes _them_ because they are not
Jews; that is a nearer account of the matter. Pink, you and I are going
to have lessons together."
"Does mamma say so?"
"Yes; at last; because if you went to school you would be broken off
half way when we go home to Shadywalk. So mamma says we may try, and if
I teach well and you learn well, she will let it stand so. How do you
like it?"
"O very much, Norton! But when will you have time?"
"I'll find the time. Now Pink, how much do you know?"
"O Norton, you know I don't know any thing."
"That's all in the air," said Norton. "You can read, I suppose, and
write?"
"Yes, I can read and write. But then I haven't been to school in ever
so long."
"Never mind that. If we go nine miles an hour, how far shall we have
gone if we are out three hours and a half?"
Matilda answered this and several more puzzling questions with pretty
prompt correctness.
"You'll do," said Norton. "I knew you were sharp. You can always tell
whether a person has a head, by the way he takes hold of numbers." A
partial judgment, perhaps; for Norton himself was very quick at them.
"Can you read any thing except English, Pink?" he went on.
"No, Norton."
"Never tried?"
"No, Norton. How could I try without being taught?"
"Of course," said Norton. "There's a jolly dog cart--isn't it? Mamma
wants you to read a lot of things besides English, I can tell you."
"How many can you read, Norton?"
"Latin, and Greek, and German, and French, I am boring at now."
"Don't you like it? Is it boring?"
"I like figures better. David is great on languages. Well, Pink, you
shan't have 'em all at once. Now I want to ask you another question.
What do you think was the greatest battle that was ever fought in the
world?"
"Battle? O I don't know any thing about battles, Norton."
"Well, who was the greatest hero, then; the greatest man?"
Matilda pondered, and Norton watched her slyly in the intervals of
attending to his ponies.
"I think, Norton, the greatest man I ever heard about, was Moses."
Norton's face quivered with amusement, but he kept it a little turned
away from Matilda and asked why she thought so?
"I never heard of anybody who did such great things; nor who had such
great things?"
"Had? What did he have?" said Norton. "I never knew he had any thing
particular."
"Don't you remember? the Lord spoke with him face to face, as we speak
to each other; and once he had a sight of that wonderful glory. It must
have been something so wonderful, Norton, for it made Moses' face
itself shine with light."
"That's a figure of speech, Pink."
"What is a figure of speech?"
"I mean, that isn't to be taken for real and earnest, you know."
"Yes it is, Norton, for the people were frightened when they saw him,
and ran away."
"Pink, Pink, Pink!" exclaimed Norton, and stopped.
"What?" said Matilda.
"Nothing. And so Moses is your greatest man! That is all you know!"
"Why, who do you know that is greater?" said Matilda.
"You never read any history but the Bible?"
"Not much. Who do you know that is greater, Norton?"
"_Whom_ do I know. Well, Pink, if I were to tell you, you wouldn't
understand, till you have read about them. Why you have got all to read
about. I guess you'll have to begin back with Romulus and Remus."
"How far back were they?"
"How far back? Ages; almost before history."
"Before Moses?"
"Before Moses! No, I suppose not. I declare I don't know when that old
fellow was about."
"But there is history before Moses, Norton?"
"Not Roman history," said Norton; "and that is what we are talking
about."
"Were they great, Norton?"
"Who?"
"Those two men you spoke of."
"Romulus and Remus? O!--Well, Romulus founded Rome."
"And when was that?"
"Well, I don't know, that's a fact. I believe, somewhere about eight or
nine centuries before our era."
"I would like to read about it," said Matilda meekly.
"And you shall," said Norton, firing up; "and there's Grecian history
too, Pink; and French and English history; and German."
"And American history too?" ventured Matilda.
"Well, yes; but you see we haven't a great deal of history yet, Pink;
because we are a young people."
"A _young_ people?" said Matilda, puzzled. "What do you mean by that?"
"Why yes; it was only in 1776 that we set up for ourselves."
"Seventeen seventy six," repeated Matilda. "And now it is eighteen"--
"Near a hundred years; that is all."
Matilda pondered a little.
"Where must I begin, Norton?"
"O with Romulus and Remus, I guess. And then there's grammar, Pink; did
you ever study grammar?"
"A little. I didn't like it."
"No, and I don't like it; but you have to learn it, for all that. And
geography, Pink?"
"O I was drawing maps, Norton; but then I had to come away from school,
and I was busy at aunt Candy's, and I have forgot nearly all I knew, I
am afraid."
"Never mind," said Norton delightedly; "we'll find it again, and a
great deal more. I'll get you some nice sheets of paper for your maps,
and a box of colours; so that you can make a pretty affair of them. I
declare! I don't know whether we can begin, though, before Christmas."
"O yes, Norton. I have more time than I know what to do with. I would
like to begin about Romus"--
"Romulus. Yes, you shall. And now, if we turn round here we shall not
have too much time to get home, I'm thinking."