“Amy, what are you pondering?”

“Men and things in general and their iniquities in particular; my own not being included, they being nothing worth speaking of,” I answered, rather evasively, not being disposed at present to make public the nature of my cogitations, which really had to do with my own shortcomings.

“We will pass over the modesty of the remark,” said Bessie Sanford, “but we insist upon knowing do we not, Milly? the tenor of the meditations which have actually kept you quiet for let me see I think it must be full two minutes by the clock.”

“That inquisitive spirit of yours needs repression, Elizabeth,” I said: “therefore I shall not yield to your demands.”

“Then bid farewell to peace,” was the rejoinder. And knowing Elizabeth Sanford well, I meditated a precipitate flight; but she divined my intention, and, seizing upon me, held me prisoner, and made good her threat until I succumbed, first freeing my mind of my opinion as to the conduct of my captor.

“Never mind. We will leave the results of that case to the future,” she said; “the present question has only to do with yourself, and the unburdening of your secrets. Your inward communings are of such rare occurrence, that when you do indulge in them, your friends are entitled to benefit by them. Is it not so, Milly?”

“Reap what benefit you may, then,” I answered. “I was thinking how I was going to waste.”

“H’m’m,” said Bessie, releasing her grasp upon my shoulders, and gazing with an air of deep meditation out of the window near which we sat. “Fred Winston would doubtless feel complimented by that sage conclusion; but if you feel so decidedly that you are throwing yourself away, it is not yet too late for you to draw back, and ”

“Your remarks are too frivolous to bear the consideration of a well-balanced mind, Elizabeth,” I interrupted, “and therefore I decline to notice them further than to say that you are entirely wide of the mark. Perhaps I did not express myself in language as choice as I might have used; but what I meant to say was to quote the copy-books that ‘opportunities imply obligations,’ and that, while my opportunities are many, the obligations arising therefrom have not been fulfilled.”

I had spoken jokingly, almost mockingly, nevertheless I really meant what I said; but any thing like a sober reflection or solemn view of life’s duties was so new from me, that for a moment my sister and friend were struck dumb with astonishment.

Then Bessie gave vent to a smothered groan.

“Listen to the words of wisdom!” she ejaculated. “The depth of her! And whence and since when, may I inquire, arises thus suddenly so solemn a view of your responsibilities? They are not wont to weigh upon your mind.”

“That is just it,” I said. “I am in earnest, not in joke, whatever you may think. It has, rather suddenly I allow, dawned upon me, that I am a perfectly useless member of society; or rather, the conviction has been forced upon me by the words of Allie, whom I overheard informing Daisy that I was very nice and lovely, but the uselessest person in the house. Loyal Daisy was indignant, and questioned the justice of the remark; but it opened up a field of reflection to me, and I am obliged to admit its truth. Since I left school last spring, what have I done but amuse myself, and attend readings and lectures, which amounts to the same thing, as the motive is purely selfish?”

“You have made ‘food for the gods,’” said Bessie demurely.

I turned upon her.

“For that remark you shall have cause to regret that you ever were born,” I retorted, “and I would not have believed it of you, Bessie. But seriously, girls, I am longing for an object in life on which I can expend some of the capabilities of which I feel myself possessed.”

“I thought you had been supplied with one since the 15th of last November,” said Bessie, “but ”

“Will you leave that subject out of the question?” I again interrupted. “If not, there will be trouble between the houses of Sanford and Livingstone.”

“Why can’t you two be what Daisy calls ‘common-sensible,’ and tell what is at the bottom of all this?” said Milly, joining for the first time in the conversation.

“I am sure that I am showing an unusual amount of common-sense,” I rejoined, “for I have in all seriousness just awakened to a sense of my shortcomings towards humanity in general, and am longing for an object on which to expend my superfluous energies. You, Milly, have your charges, Bill and Jim, whom you have rescued from lives of shame and crime, and who are standing monuments of the efficacy of your zeal, self-sacrifice, and good sense in their behalf (no, you need not courtesy); and Bessie has her old ladies to whom she so religiously devotes one afternoon in every week, no matter what temptations assail her in other directions, and who simply adore her, and for whom she does many a little kind office at divers other times. But who, outside of our family, to whose happiness I add, of course, because I am their own Amy; and and Fred; yes, and you, dear Bessie,” as a soft little reminding hand was laid upon my arm, “who except these is any the better or happier for my existence?”

“Lots of friends and relations, you foolish child,” said Bessie, while Milly dropped a re-assuring kiss upon my forehead. “What nonsense, Amy! I do not know any one who is a more general favorite.”

“Well, allowing that it is so,” I said, “is it not only because I am merry and full of life, and make things a little cheerful around me? Point to one thing useful or of real lasting benefit that I have ever done, and I will thank you. I have loved Aunt Emily’s hospital cottage by the sea, for her sake and for dear little Amy’s, and have worked a little for that; but it has been a real pleasure and enjoyment to me, and has never involved one moment’s self-sacrifice.”

Modesty will not allow me to put down here all that Milly and Bessie in their partial affection said to persuade me that I was not altogether a useless member of society at large. Delightful as it was to hear, it did not succeed in quieting my newly awakened conscience or sense of responsibility; and perhaps Milly on her part did not intend that it should do so.

“She evidently must be furnished with an object,” said Bessie; “nothing else will satisfy her; and as she seems to have something of the feeling of the monks and nuns of old, that the more disagreeable the duty the greater the credit, let us satisfy her by finding her a most unpleasant one. Oh, charming! I have thought of just the thing. Why not adopt as your particular charge, Amy, that most unattractive young cripple, Matty Blair? She will probably satisfy all your longings for self-sacrifice, in a way which can leave nothing to be desired.”

“The very thing,” I answered, delighted to have found so soon an “object” on which to expend the benevolent yearnings with which I had been seized, not so suddenly as Milly and Bessie believed; for, for some time past, I had had a secret and rather unwelcome consciousness that I was not doing my share toward mitigating the general load of human misery and ignorance, a consciousness which Allie’s words had only quickened into more active life. “But, girls, I assure you that I am not at all moved by the ascetic notion of taking up the most disagreeable work I can find, as a penance for former shortcomings. I wish from my heart that Matty Blair was pretty and straight and sweet, a typical little story-book pauper, whom it would be a pleasure to befriend, and who would respond amicably to my advances. Matty, from what I know of her, will be far from being all that; nevertheless I shall take her up, and see what can be done for her.”

“Consult mother first, dear,” said Milly. “She may see objections: they say that Matty’s parents are dreadful people, and they may choose to make trouble for you. There are cases, you know, where people expect you to pay for being allowed to confer benefits upon them.”

“I wish that we could remove the child, or both the children, entirely from the father and mother,” I said.

“They will never allow that while the poor little things continue to be profitable to them,” said Milly.

“You have taken up something of a task, truly,” said Bessie. “First you will have those wretched parents to win over, and then that unattractive little creature. And, Amy, although I would not wish to throw cold water upon your enthusiasm, I feel sure that your father and mother will never let you go to such a place as the home of the child must be. Milly’s mission came to her, as it were, heaven-sent, it seems to me,” she added in a reverent tone; “but you must seek this out to do Matty any good, and face those dreadful relations of hers. Your father and mother will never listen to it, and they will be right. Do not try to run a tilt against windmills, dear.”

“No, neither will I make mountains out of mole-hills,” I answered lightly, although I did feel the force, yes, and the truth too, of Bessie’s reasoning, and had my own doubts; “and certainly I shall not have more unpromising material to deal with than Milly had when she undertook to bring up her charges in the way they should go. Moreover, I shall not attempt to beard the lions in their den; but I suppose I have to win my way into Matty’s affections or confidence, or whatever it may be that proves assailable, and if I find any way to help her, I shall ask cousin Serena to go into partnership with me. She will be protection enough anywhere, for no one could think of troubling or annoying her in any way.”

“Well, I’m not so sure of that, either,” said Bessie; “but I’m not going to discourage you further, and time will show. But how do you mean to set to work, Amy?”

“I do not know yet; how can I?” I answered. “I have only just thought of this, and of course I have not had time to make any plans or to think of what I shall do. I shall firstly go this very afternoon to cousin Serena; and if she thinks me, as she doubtless will, a prodigy of benevolence, self-sacrifice, and generosity, and agrees to all I ask of her, I shall attack father and mother to-night. I mean to act while the frenzy is on me, lest my ardor cool, and I see the many lions in the way which you bad girls are trying to conjure up.”

Knowing myself in this respect pretty well, I was really afraid that if I gave myself too much time for consideration of my new scheme, I might become appalled by the difficulty and disagreeableness which were prophesied; and I was determined to place myself in a position where unless a higher authority interfered I could not in pride or conscience draw back.

Milly had taken almost no part in the little discussion between Bessie and me, generally speaking only when she was appealed to; and I knew by this that she did not altogether approve. But I was a little self-willed, a state of mind not altogether of rare occurrence with me, I am afraid; and I chose to ignore the disapprobation which was implied by this silence, and asked her no questions.

And now for cousin Serena, to whom I bent my steps at once, accompanied by Bessie, who volunteered to go with me; though, to tell the truth, I could have dispensed with her society for this occasion, being afraid of the discouraging objections and criticisms she might raise. But she ventured none; on the contrary, she seemed rather inclined to aid and abet me when I broached the subject to cousin Serena, in whom I was not disappointed. She proved herself the blessed soul the most willing co-adjutor, even more so than I desired; for, running to a closet where she kept a bountiful provision of such articles, she began to bring forth flannel, calico, and stout muslin suitable to make clothes for poor people; whereupon my spirit shrank appalled, for, if there was one occupation which I hated more than another, it was plain sewing, especially upon coarse material.

“O cousin Serena!” I said, “I am not going to sew and make clothes for Matty. It is so much easier and more convenient to buy them ready-made.”

This speech, I was sorry to see, damped cousin Serena’s ardor; for this working by proxy, as it were, did not at all coincide with her old-fashioned notions; and “ready-made garments” were to her a delusion and a snare, giving opportunity to Satan to find mischief for idle hands to do. I hated to disappoint her when she was so enthusiastically preparing to cut put work for both Bessie and me; but I hated still more to sew, and held my ground, being borne out by Bessie, who was not any more partial to such work than I was. Cousin Serena shook her head, and sighed over the degeneracy of the age which could content itself with other than such exquisite “hand-sewing” as she did herself.

Having gained my point, and made her promise all that I wished, I insisted that she should go home with us to dinner, taking the little bower of Dutch Johnny, the florist, by the way for a glimpse of Matty. Cousin Serena had never seen her; but I was not afraid to have her do so, unpromising object for one’s charitable sympathies though she certainly was, for, the more helpless and repulsive-looking, the more would cousin Serena’s tender heart warm toward her.

Our errand to Johnny’s was nominally to purchase flowers, and, of course, we did invest therein, and came out bearing some of his choicest blossoms; but cousin Serena made use of the opportunity to take a close observation of Matty as she sat at her little peanut-stand in the corner, sullen and lowering, the picture of discontent and misery, as usual.

But cousin Serena did more than this; for, with the tact which she always showed in dealing with people of this class, she succeeded in arousing a slight feeling of interest in the sullen, disagreeable little cripple.

The one gift which had been granted to Matty was a profusion of beautiful hair, which, however, was never seen to perfection, as it was always braided tightly and wound in a close coil about her head, giving to the wizened, shrunken face an even older look than was natural to it. If she had any pride in any thing, it must have been in this hair, indeed, she had little else to be proud of, for it was always fairly tidy. Johnny, it seemed, always exacted a certain amount of cleanliness and decency as the price of her admission into his shop; not, perhaps, that he had any inherent love for this virtue, as such, or that his own comfort and happiness depended upon them, but because he feared that his trade might be injured if his customers found there such a dirty, ragged little object as Matty had formerly been. Clean hands and faces, well-brushed hair, and as much patching of ragged clothes as the neglected, worse than motherless creatures could compass, were required from Matty and Tony. His good-natured wife sometimes befriended them in this way, and put in a few stitches for them; the result being profitable in more ways than one. It was she, and not the miserable, intemperate mother, who plaited Matty’s glossy locks in the heavy braid which she then wound round her head.

Cousin Serena went up to the peanut-stand, invested in Matty’s wares, the child serving her in the dull, mechanical way usual with her, and smiled kindly down at her, eliciting, however, no response.

“What pretty hair you have, Matty!” was Miss Craven’s next advance; and, as she spoke, she lightly touched with her gloved finger the shining coil which many a society belle might have envied.

A gleam lighted up the dull, heavy eyes, and Matty raised them to the dear old lady’s face.

“It is almost a pity to wear it so closely bound up,” continued cousin Serena; while Bessie and I, apparently making an inspection of Johnny’s stock while he was engaged with another customer, lent attentive ears to what passed, I feeling rather that my intended mission work had been taken up by other hands; “it would show so nicely if you wore it loose and flowing as most little girls do now. I would like to see it when it is down.”

With a motion marvellously quick in one so crippled, the child raised her hands, unbound the coil from about her head, and drawing her fingers through the plait, let the rippling, waving masses fall flowing over her poor, twisted, mis-shapen shoulders.

“Amy and Bessie,” said cousin Serena, pursuing her advantage of playing upon the only vanity in poor Matty’s nature, “Amy and Bessie, come here and see what beautiful hair this child has. It is a good deal like yours, Amy, both in color and quantity.”

With another sudden motion, Matty drew the shining waves in front of her, glanced at them lovingly, and then raising her eyes to me with the first appearance of any thing like interest in them which I had ever seen, scanned my locks, and said with something of malicious triumph in her tone and look,

“It’s prettier nor her’n.”

“So it is, Matty,” I said, ignoring what Daisy would have called the “discompliment” to myself, and determined to strike while the iron was hot, or at least approaching an unusual degree of warmth, “so it is; you have the very prettiest hair I ever saw.”

Matty did not smile, I never but once saw the light of a smile on her face, but she gave a low chuckle. Evidently we had touched a chord that would respond; an ignoble one it might be, but it was something to have gained even this.

Having dismissed his customer, Johnny now came to the front.

“’Tis goot,” he said, pointing to the beautiful locks; “’tis goot. Mine wife she say ’tis pest cut off dat head; bud Maddy she so moosh lofe dat head, an’ ’tis so goot, I say, leaf her keep her head. So mine wife, she say, ’yes, ‘tis too pad to cut dat nice head,’ an’ she leafs it on her, an’ mine wife she comb an’ prush it for Maddy. But I tells Maddy she shall sell dat head for so moosh as fife tollars if she schuse.”

“Don’t ye be after tellin’ me mother that,” said Matty, with a sudden look of angry alarm, which was really pathetic, as one gathered from it that the child felt she would no longer be allowed to keep her one cherished possession, if any idea of its pecuniary value were suggested to her mother.

“Nein, nein,” answered Johnny, shaking his head and speaking with emphasis, as if to say that this was a secret he would carefully guard from the unnatural parent. “Nein, nein,” he repeated. “If I tells dat mutter any tings, ’tis as dat head is so pad as is not vort notings.”

“But you would not say what is not true, even to save Matty’s hair, would you?” said Miss Craven, unable to allow this more than doubtful morality to pass.

Again Johnny wagged his head, this time as one quite convinced that he was in the right, and answered: “If I tells shust one nice, leetle pit of a lie” (Johnny did not mince matters, even to his own conscience), “’tis for to keep away a great pig wrong; for if I tells dat mutter de shild’s head is vort so moosh, she put dat head in de scissors de negst minit.”

The kindly old Dutchman was plainly convinced that the end justified the means, and cousin Serena felt that any further discussion of the question was useless, and that it would not tend to improve Matty’s moral views or those of her brother Tony, who had just come in, as both were sure to side with their friend and benefactor.

“We will hope that no one will ever touch Matty’s pretty hair,” she said; and I, seized with a sudden inspiration, and still appealing to Matty’s vanity, said,

“I would like to see Matty’s hair flowing over a dark-blue dress. How it would set it off! Would you like a blue dress, Matty? Your hair will look so pretty over it if you wear it down.”

Matty looked rather askance at me. She evidently regarded me as a rival in the matter of hair, and was not inclined to accept any advances on my part; but friendly, jolly little Tony answered for her; while she hesitated, evidently meditating some ungracious answer.

“Oh, wouldn’t she though, miss! I guess she would like it, an’ her hair would look awful pooty on it, an’ when we goes to the Sunday-school festival, when it’s Easter, ye know, Matty’ll wear the blue dress, an’ her hair down on it, an’ she’ll look as good as any of the girls there, an’ better, ’cause there isn’t one of ’em has hair like Matty’s. An’ I’ll tell ye, Matty, if the lady, she’s one of Jim’s young ladies, if she gives ye the blue dress, we’ll keep it to Mrs. Petersen’s if she’ll let us, so ma can’t get it for the drink. Are ye goin’ to give it to her, miss?”

“Indeed I am,” I answered to the eager question. “Come now, Matty, stand up, and we’ll measure you for the dress. Perhaps I can find one ready-made, and you shall have it to-morrow. Johnny, can you lend me a yard-measure?”

Johnny produced one; and Matty, still half doubtful whether or no to be gracious, and eying me with a gaze which had some lingering viciousness in it, rose half reluctantly to her feet. Standing so, her deformity was even more visible than it was when she was seated; and it took all my nerve and power of will to take the measure of the mis-shapen shoulders without shrinking from the touch. And then I saw the improbability, I might say the impossibility, of finding in any ready-made-clothing store, a dress which would fit the twisted form. One must be made on purpose; one which would set at defiance all rules of symmetry; and how to have it completed to-morrow, even late in the day to-morrow? Where should I go to have such an order filled by the time I desired it? And I believed from what I had seen of Matty that the non-fulfilment or postponement of my hasty, ill-considered promise would be enough to excite all her enmity again. However, I said nothing until we were out of the little shop, when I exclaimed at my own want of fore-thought, and asked where I could go to have my order fulfilled without delay.

“You can’t do it,” said Bessie. “Even at the stores where they profess to furnish costumes at twenty-four hours’ notice, they would not agree to give you, in so short a time, a dress for which they can use no ordinary pattern. Amy,” with what seemed to be a most irrelevant change of subject, “is any one coming to your house to dinner to-night?”

“Cousin Serena, and yourself if you will,” I answered.

“Yes, I intended to suggest that you should invite me,” answered Bessie, “and, had you proved obdurate, should have appealed to Milly or your mother. Well, there will be four of us: yourself, cousin Serena, Milly, and myself; and we will press the mother and Mrs. Rutherford into the service. Let us go to Arnold’s, buy some suitable material, and we all know what cousin Serena is with scissors and thimble, coax her to cut out a dress for Matty, and we will all devote the evening, perhaps the whole night, to it. By our united exertions, I think that we can surely accomplish it in time for you to take it to her to-morrow, and your credit will be saved.”

“If we were not in the street, I should fall upon you with kisses and tears of gratitude,” I answered ecstatically; “as it is, consider yourself embraced. Cousin Serena, will you help us?”

There was no question of that: cousin Serena was only too glad to give us her services; and although, as I have said, she needed to be guided and tyrannized over in the matter of style and fashion where her own dress was concerned, she was an expert in fashioning garments for the poor.

Bessie’s idea was acted upon forthwith. We took our way down to Arnold’s, purchased the necessary material, and, lest it should not be sent home in time, bid pride hide its head, and carried the parcels ourselves.

Jim beamed upon us when he gathered, from the conversation around the dinner-table, to what the evening was to be devoted, and became quite an overpowering nuisance with his pressing attentions to the young ladies.

The dress was so nearly completed that night that Milly and I had but little difficulty in finishing it for the next afternoon.

Father and mother gave consent to my pursuing my benevolent intentions with regard to Matty, so far as I could do it without venturing into the abode of her wretched parents, but positively forbade my going there even under the guidance and protection of cousin Serena. Indeed, the fear of them which Tony and Matty showed augured little good or encouragement for those who would benefit these children, unless some profit therefrom, was to accrue to the elder Blairs themselves.

The dress was ready in good time, and supplemented by the addition of a warm sack of the same color from mother and a little cloth cap from aunt Emily. A hood had been in the thoughts of the latter, as warmer and more suitable; but I had begged for the cap as affording better opportunity for the display of Matty’s hair. “Poor little object!” I pleaded: “why not allow her the gratification of this small vanity?” and aunt Emily yielded, as she was sure to do when any one’s small whims and fancies were to be satisfied.

Maria made the garments into a neat parcel for me; and I, thinking to give Jim a pleasure, summoned him on his return from school to be the bearer thereof, and to accompany me to Johnny’s. That Jim was pleased, was an assured fact; and his tongue wagged incessantly though respectfully all the way until we arrived at our destination. Then while I opened the parcel, and presented Matty with the dress and other articles, he stood by in delighted contemplation, looking from me to Matty as if he would say to her, “This is my young mistress;” to me, “This is my protegee.”

As for Matty, she appeared, so far as she showed any feeling at all, to consider that the gifts were altogether due to him; and she vouchsafed no word of thanks to me. Not that I cared for expressions of gratitude; but I felt a little hopeless as I saw how entirely I had failed to make any impression on her.

Tony, however, who was present again, was profuse in his thanks, and really seemed to feel all that he said.

The shining hair fell like a shielding veil over Matty’s deformity again to-day; and after this it became her practice to wear it so when she was away from home. There she wore it tightly bound up, and kept it as much out of sight as possible; fearing, poor little creature, that she might be bereft of it, should any idea of its pecuniary value enter her mother’s mind.