Matilda thought so much over Lilac Lane and the words Mr. Richmond had given her, that Maria charged her with being unsociable.  Much Matilda wished that she could have talked with her sister about those same words; but Maria was in another line.

“You are getting so wrapped up in yourself,” she said, “there is no comfort in you.  I might as well have no sister; and I guess Aunt Candy means I shan’t.  She gives you all the good times, up in her room, among the pretty things; I am only fit for washing dishes.  Well, it’s her opinion; it isn’t mine.”

“I don’t have a good time up there, Maria, indeed.  I would a great deal rather be down here washing dishes, or doing anything.”

“What do you go there for, then?”

“I have to go.”

“We didn’t use to have to do anything, when mamma was living.  I wouldn’t do it, if I were you, if I didn’t like it.”

“I don’t like it,” said Matilda; “but I think I ought to do what Aunt Candy wishes, as long as it is not something wrong.”

“She’ll come to that,” said Maria; “or it’ll be something you will think wrong; and then we shall have a time!  I declare, I believe I shall be glad!”

“What for, Maria?”

“Why!  Then I shall have you again.  You’ll come on my side.  It’s lonely to have the dirty work all to myself.  I don’t suppose you mind it.”

“Indeed, but I do,” said Matilda.  “I don’t like to sit up-stairs darning stockings.”

“And reading.  And I don’t know what.”

“The reading is worse,” said Matilda, sighing.  “It is something I do not understand.”

“What does she make you do it for?”

“I don’t know,” said Matilda, with another sigh.  “But I want to do something else dreadfully, all the time.”

The darning was very tedious indeed the morning after this talk.  Matilda had got her head full of schemes and plans that looked pleasant; and she was eager to turn her visions into reality.  It was stupid to sit in her aunt’s room, taking up threads on her long needle exactly and patiently, row after row.  It had to be done exactly, or Mrs. Candy would have made her pick it all out again.

“Yes, that is very well; that is neat,” said Mrs. Candy, when Matilda brought her the stocking she had been at work on, with the heel smoothly run.  “That will do.  Now you may begin upon another one.  There they are, in that basket.”

“But, Aunt Candy,” said Matilda, in dismay, “don’t you think I have learned now how to do it?”

“Yes, pretty well.”

“Then, need I do any more?”

“A little further practice will not hurt you.  Practice makes perfect, you know.”

“But do you mean that I must darn all those stockings.”

“Aren’t they yours?”

“Yes, ma’am; I believe they are.”

“Who should darn them, then?”

Matilda very sorrowfully remembered the hand which did darn them once and thought it no hardship.  Her hand went swiftly up to her eyes before she spoke again.

“I think it is right I should do them, and I will.  May I take them away and do them in my own room?”

“You may do exactly what I tell you, my dear.”

“Does it make any difference, Aunt Candy?”

“That is something you need not consider.  All you have to do is to obey orders.  The more promptly and quietly, the easier for you, Matilda.”

Matilda coloured, bridled, kept down the wish to cry, and began upon the second heel of her stockings.  She was tired of that long needle and its long needleful of double thread.

“Matilda,” said her aunt, “put down your stocking and look at me.”

Which Matilda did, much surprised.

“When you wish to answer any thing I say, I prefer always that you should answer me in words.”

“Ma’am?” said Matilda.

“You heard me.”

“But I did not understand you.”

“Again!” said Clarissa.

“I do not like to be answered by gestures.  Do you understand that?”

“No, ma’am; I do not know what you mean by saying it.”

“You do not know that you answered me by a toss of your head just now?”

“No, ma’am; certainly not.”

“I am very glad to hear it.  Don’t do it again.”

It would have been very like Matilda to do it again just there; but bewilderment quite put down other emotions for the time, except the sense of being wronged, and that is a feeling very hard to bear.  Matilda had scarcely known it before in her little life; the sensation was as new as it was painful.  She was utterly unconscious of having done anything that ought to be found fault with.  The darning needle went very fast for the next half-hour; and Matilda’s cheek was bright.

“They haven’t got a fire up-stairs, have they?” Maria questioned, when her little sister rejoined her.

“No, not to-day.  Why?”

“You look as if you had been somewhere where it was warm.”

But Matilda did not say what sort of fire had warmed her.

She forgot all about it, and about all other grievances, as soon as she was free to go out in the afternoon; for now some of her visions were to be realised.  Yesterday afternoon had been so pleasant, on the whole, that Matilda determined to seek a renewal of the pleasure.  And first and foremost, she had determined to get Mrs. Eldridge a tea-kettle.  She had money enough yet; only her Bible and yesterday’s purchases had come out of her twenty-five dollars.  “A tea-kettle ­and what else?” thought Matilda.  “Some towels?  She does dreadfully want some towels.  But then, I cannot get everything!”

Slowly going towards the corner, with her eyes on the ground, her two hands were suddenly seized by somebody, and she was brought to a stand-still.

“Norton!” cried Matilda, joyously.

“Yes.  What has become of you?”

“Oh, I have been so busy!”

“School?” said Norton.

“Oh no!  I don’t go to school.  I have things to do at home.”

“Things!” said Norton.  “Why don’t you speak straight?  What things? your lessons?”

“I don’t have lessons, Norton,” said the child, patiently, lifting her eyes to Norton’s face.  “My aunt gives me other things to do.”

“Don’t you have lessons at all?” said Norton.

“Not now.  I wish I did.”

“Where are you going now, Pink?”

“Pink!” echoed Matilda.

“Yes, that’s your name.  Where are you going?  Come home with me.”

“I have got business, Norton.”

“You haven’t got” ­said Norton, peering round ­“yes, I declare she has got ­that Bible tucked under her arm!  Are you going to see nobody again?”

Matilda nodded.

“I’ll go too,” said Norton, “and find out what it all means.  Give me the book, and I’ll carry it.”

“But, Norton!” said Matilda, holding the Bible fast, “I would like to have you, but I am afraid you wouldn’t like it.”

“Like what, Pink?  The Bible?”

“Oh no.  Oh yes, I wish you did like that; but I mean, where I am going.”

“Do you like it?”

“I like to go.  I don’t like the place, Norton, for the place is very disagreeable.”

“So I should think.  But I might like to go too, you know.  I’m going to try.”

Matilda stood still and looked very dubious.

“I’m going,” Norton repeated, laughing.  “You want me to go, don’t you?”

“Why, I would like it very much, if you would not” ­

“What?  No, I will not,” said Norton, shaking his head.

“But, Norton, I am going into Mr. Forshew’s, first.”

“Well; I can go into Mr. Forshew’s too.  I’ve been there before.”

“I am going to buy a tea-kettle.”

“I shall not interfere with that,” said Norton.

“But I am going to get a tea-kettle and take it along with me ­to Lilac Lane.”

“What for?  They’ll send it if you want it.”

“I want it immediately, and Mr. Forshew’s boy is never there when he is wanted, you know.”

“You want the tea-kettle immediately.  You are not going to make tea immediately, are you?”

“Exactly that, Norton.  That is one of the things I am going to do.  And the poor old woman I am going to see has no tea-kettle.”

“Then I don’t believe she has tea.”

“Oh yes, but I know she has tea, Norton.”

“And bread and butter?”

“Yes, and bread and butter too,” said Matilda, nodding her little head positively.  Norton looked at her with a perfectly grave face.

“It must be a very odd house,” said he, “I don’t see how you can be so sure of things.”

Matilda began to walk on towards the corner.

“Who took her tea and bread and butter?” said Norton.  “I suppose you know, if you know the rest.”

“Of course, somebody must have done it,” said Matilda, hesitating.

“I wonder if there was a Pink anywhere among the things,” said Norton.  “Did you see anything of it?”

Matilda could not help laughing, and they both laughed; and so they went into Mr. Forshew’s shop.  It was a little, low shop, just on the corner; but, to be sure, there was a great variety, and a good collection of things there.  All sorts of iron things, and a great many sorts of tin things; with iron dust, and street dust, plentifully overlying the shop and everything in it.  Stoves were there in variety; chains, and brooms, and coal-skuttles; coffee-mills, and axes, and lamps; tin pails, and earthen batter jars; screws, and nails, and hinges, and locks; and a telegraph operator was at work in a corner.  Several customers were there too; Matilda had to wait.

“It is odd now,” said Norton.  “I suppose, if I wanted to spend money here, I should buy everything else in the world but a tea-kettle.  That’s what it is to be a girl.”

“Nonsense!” said Matilda, and the set of her head was inimitable.  Norton laughed.

“That’s what it is to be a Pink,” he said.  “I forgot.  I don’t believe there is another girl in town wants a tea-kettle but you.  What else do you want, Pink?”

“A great deal,” said Matilda; “but I can’t get all I want.”

“You don’t want an axe, for instance; nor a coffee-mill; nor a tin pail, nor an iron chain, nor a dipper; nor screws, nor tacks; nor a lamp, do you? nor a box of matches” ­

“Oh yes, Norton!  Oh yes, that is just what I do want; a box of matches.  I never should have thought of it.”

“How about stoves, Pink?  Here are plenty.”

“She has a stove.  Don’t be ridiculous, Norton.”

And Mr. Forshew being just then at leisure, Matilda purchased a little tin tea-kettle, and came out with it in triumph.

“Now is that all?” said Norton.  “How about the bread and butter?  Perhaps it has given out.”

“No, I think not.  I guess there is enough.  Perhaps we had better take another loaf of bread, though.  We shall pass the baker’s on our way.”

“Have you got money enough for every thing you want, Pink? does your aunt give you whatever you ask for?”

“Oh, I never ask her for anything,” said Matilda.

“Take it without asking?”

“I do not ask, and she does not give me, Norton.  But once she did, when she first came; she gave me, each of us, twenty-five dollars.  I have got that, all that is left of it.”

“How much is left of it?”

“Why, I don’t know exactly.  I spent four dollars for something else; then eighty-five cents yesterday; and a dollar just, to-day.  That makes” ­

“Five eighty-five,” said Norton.  “And that out of twenty-five, leaves nineteen fifteen.”

“I’ve got that, then,” said Matilda.

“And no hope of more?  That won’t do, Pink.  Nineteen dollars won’t last for ever at this rate.  Here’s the baker’s.”

The bread Norton paid for and carried off, and the two stepped along briskly to Lilac Lane.

Matilda was very glad privately that she had swept Mrs. Eldridge’s floor yesterday.  The place looked so much the more decent; though as it was, Norton cast his eyes around him whistling low, and Matilda knew well enough that he regarded it as a very odd place for either himself or Pink to find themselves in.

“What’s to be done now?” he inquired of her, as she was putting the bread and matches on a shelf of the cupboard.

“The first thing is to make a fire, Norton.  I’ve got wood enough here.  And the matches.”

“You have got,” said Norton, stooping to fetch out the sticks from the lower cupboard where Matilda had stowed them.  “Did you get it?  Where did you get it?”

“Mr. Swain split it up for me, ­at the iron shop, you know.”

“Did you go to the iron shop for it?  And bring it back yourself?”

“There was nobody else to do it,” said Matilda.

“You’re a brick!” said Norton.  “That’s what I said.  But is this all, Pink?”

“It is plenty, Norton.”

“Plenty for to-day.  It won’t last for any more.  What then?”

“I don’t know,” said Matilda.  “O Norton, are you going to make the fire?”

Norton showed that such was his intention, and showed besides that he knew very well what he was about.  Matilda, after looking on admiringly, ran off to the pump with her kettle.  The pump was at some distance; before she could fill her kettle and come back, Norton overtook her.  He quietly assumed the tea-kettle, as a matter of course.

“Oh, thank you, Norton! how good you are,” Matilda exclaimed.  “It was heavy.”

“Look here.  Do you come here to do this sort of thing all by yourself?” said Norton.

“I cannot help that,” said Matilda.  “And I like to do it, too.”

“You mustn’t,” said Norton.

“Who will, then, Norton?  And the poor old woman cannot do anything for herself.”

“Isn’t there somebody in the world to take care of her?”

“No; nobody.”

“That’s a shame.  And I don’t believe it, either.”

“Oh, but there is nobody, Norton.  She is quite alone.  And if some one will not help her, she must go without everything.”

Norton said no more, but he looked very much disgusted with this state of society.  He silently watched what Matilda was doing, without putting in any hinderance or hinting at any annoyance further, which, she thought, was very good of him.  Instead of that, he looked after the fire, and lifted the kettle when it was needful.  Matilda, as yesterday, made the tea, and spread bread and butter, and cooked a herring; and then had the satisfaction of seeing the poor old woman luxuriating over what was to her a delicious meal.  She had said very little since their coming in, but eyed all they did, with a gradual relaxing of the lines of her face.  Something like pleasure, something like comfort, was stealing into her heart, and working to soften those hard lines.  Matilda waited now until the meal should be quite finished before she brought forward anything of different interest.

“That’s a new kettle,” was the first remark, made while Matilda was clearing away the remains of the supper.

“How do you like it?” said Norton.

The old woman looked at him, she had done that a great deal already, and answered, “Who be you?”

“I’m the fellow that brought the kettle from the shop,” said Norton.

“Whose kettle is it?”

“It ought to be your’s ­it’s on your stove.”

“It is your’s, Mrs. Eldridge,” said Matilda.

“Well, I hain’t had a tea-kettle,” said the old woman, meditatively, “since ­I declare, I don’t know when ’twas.  I hain’t had a tea-kettle, not since my old un fell down the well.  I never could get it out.  That one hadn’t no kiver.”

“Don’t let this one get down in the well,” said Norton.

“I shan’t go to the well no more,” said Mrs. Eldridge.  “When I had a place, and a well, and a bucket, it was good times!  That ain’t my kettle.”

“Yes, Mrs. Eldridge, it is,” said Matilda.  “It is your’s; and it just fits the stove hole.”

“A kettle’s a good thing,” said the old woman.  “It looks good.”

“Now would you like to have a little reading again?” Matilda inquired, bringing out her Bible.

“Have you got anything more about the ­what was it?  I don’ know what ’twas.”

“About the shepherd? the Good Shepherd?”

“You may read a bit about that,” said the old woman.  “There ain’t no shepherds now, is there?”

“Plenty of ’em,” said Norton.

“It don’t seem as if there was no place for ’em to keep the sheep. I don’t see none.  But he used for to be a shepherd; and he took good care of ’em, he did.”

“The Lord Jesus is the Good Shepherd; and He takes good care of His sheep,” said Matilda.  “He cares for them always.  He cares for you, Mrs. Eldridge.”

The old woman made no answer to this; but instead, sat with so meditative a look upon her face that Matilda, though she had her book open to read, forbore, and waited.

“Did He send you?” said Mrs. Eldridge.

Norton glanced a quick look of amusement at Matilda, but Matilda simply answered.  “Yes.”

“I didn’t know as there was any one as cared,” she said, slowly.

Matilda began to read, upon that; giving her the twenty-third psalm again; then the tenth chapter of John; finishing with one or two passages in the Revelation.  Norton stood in the doorway while she read, looking out and looking in, very quiet; and Mrs. Eldridge sat and listened and gave tremulous shakes of her old head, and was very quiet too.

“I must go now,” said Matilda, when she had done and had paused a few minutes.

“It has a good sound,” said the old woman.

“It’s true,” said Matilda.

And she and Norton took their leave.  Then began a joyous walk home.

“Pink,” said Norton, when they were got a little way from the house, “you made your tea in a tea-cup.”

“Yes; there is only a wretched little tin tea-pot there, not fit to be used; it is in such a state.”

“No spoons either?”

“No, and no spoons.  There is hardly anything there at all, Norton.”

“I don’t see how people come to be so poor,” said Norton.

“No, I don’t,” said Matilda.  “But she is old, you see, and cannot help herself, and has no one left that does care about her.  Nobody in the world, I mean.”

“That house is in a tremendous condition,” said Norton.  “For dirt I mean.”

“Yes, I know it.”

“I don’t see why somebody hasn’t cleaned it before now.”

“Why, Norton, who should do it?  None of the neighbours care anything about her.”

“Is she bad?”

“No, Norton, not bad at all; but they are poor too, and ill, some of them, and they have their own work to do, and their own things to get, and they haven’t anything to spare for her.”

“She was glad of that tea-kettle.”

“Wasn’t she!  I could see that.”

“But I say, Pink!  I don’t see how people come to be so poor.  There’s money enough.”

“For some people,” said Matilda.

“Money enough for everybody.”

“Perhaps, if it was divided,” said Matilda.  “But, Norton, it isn’t.  The rich people have got it almost all.”

“Have they?” said Norton.  “Then they ought to look out for such poor chaps as this.”

“So I think, Norton,” said Matilda, eagerly.

“But, Pink, you can’t do it.  You are only one, and you can’t take care of all Lilac Lane, to begin with.  That’s what I am thinking about.”

“No, not all the lane.  But I can do something.  I can read to Mrs. Eldridge, and Mrs. Rogers.”

“You can’t buy tea-kettles, though, for Mrs. Eldridge and Mrs. Rogers, with the tea, and the sugar, and the bread and butter, and the fish, and the mutton-chops they will all want.  Your nineteen dollars will soon be gone at that rate.”

“Mutton-chops!” echoed Matilda.  “Norton, they do not see anything so good as mutton-chops.”

“They ought to,” said Norton.  “They have as much right as other folks.”

“But they can’t, Norton.”

“Yes, they can, Pink.  We’ll take ’em some for once.  They shall know how mutton tastes.”

“O Norton!” said Matilda in a low voice of delight, “how good that would be!”

“But what I say,” continued the boy, with emphasis, ­“you cannot go on doing this.  Your money will not last.”

“I can do what I can,” said Matilda, softly.

“But what’s the use, Pink?  All you can do will just touch one old woman, perhaps, a few times; and then Lilac Lane will not be any better off than it was.  And anyhow, you only touch one.  What’s the use?”

“Why ­the use of that one.”

“Yes, but it don’t really make any difference to speak of, when you think of all the people that you cannot help.  The world won’t be any better; don’t you see?”

“If I was the one to be helped, I should think it made a great deal of difference, Norton.”

Norton could not dispute that view of the case, though he whistled over it.

“Pink, will you come and play croquet to-morrow?”

“To-morrow?  I will see if I can,” said Matilda, with a brightening face.

“What’s to hinder you?”

“I don’t know that anything.  If Aunt Candy will let me.”

“Does she hinder you?”

“Sometimes,” Matilda said, hesitating.

“What for?”

“I do not know.  That puzzles me, Norton.”

“How does she hinder you?” said the boy, stopping short with a scowl upon his brow.

“She won’t let me go out, sometimes; I don’t know why.  Then besides, I have to spend a good deal of time reading to her, and darning stockings; and I have a great many other things to do, Norton.”

“Well, come to-morrow, Pink; or I shall come after you.  Hulloa! see that squirrel” ­

And Norton set off on such a race and chase after the squirrel, that Matilda stopped to look on in sheer admiration.  The race was not fruitful of anything, however, but admiration, and the rest of the way they hurried home.

It was a trembling question with Matilda, could she go to play croquet the next day?  She could not go in her work dress; and she feared to change her dress and so draw attention, lest her aunt should put a stop to her going out at all.  She debated the matter a good deal, and finally concluded to make an open affair of it and ask leave.

“To go to Mrs. Laval’s,” said Mrs. Candy, meditating.

“Who is going to play croquet, besides you?” inquired Clarissa.

“I do not think anybody is to be there besides me,” said Matilda.

“Well,” said Mrs. Candy, “I suppose you had better go, with my compliments and thanks to Mrs. Laval.  Put on your white dress, Matilda, and I will tie a ribband round your waist.”

The white dress and the black ribband were duly put on, and Matilda set out, very happy indeed, only sorry that Maria was left behind.  She got a glad welcome from Norton, who was at the iron gate watching for her.  And when she came to the door of the house, Matilda was fain to stand still and look, everything was so beautiful.  It was very different from last winter, when the snow covered all the world.  Now the grass was soft and green, cut short and rolled smooth, and the sunlight made it seem almost golden.  The rose-bushes were heavy and sweet with great cabbage roses and delicate white roses, and gay yellow roses made an elegant variety.  Overhead, the golden clusters of a laburnum tree dropped as if to meet them.  Then there were pinks, and violets, and daisies; and locust trees a little way off, standing between the house and the sun, made the air sweet with their blossoms.  Every breath was charged with some delicious perfume or other.  The house stood hospitably and gaily open in summer dress; the farm country lay rich in the sun towards the west; and the mountains beyond, having lost all their white coating of snow long ago, were clothed in a kind of drapery of purple mist.

“What’s the matter?” said Norton.

“It’s so beautiful!” said Matilda.

“Oh, is that all!  Come in.  Mamma wants to see you.”

In the house, over floors marble and matted, through rooms green with the light that came through the blinds, cool in shadow, but from which the world without looked like a glittering fairyland, so they went passing from one to another, till they found the mistress of the house.  She was not in the house, but in a deep wicker chair on the shady side of the verandah.

“Here she is!” the lady exclaimed as she saw them, throwing aside the book which had been in her hands, and drawing Matilda into her arms instead.  “My dear child ­so you’ve come.  Norton and I are very glad.  How do you do?  You are thin.”

“Am I?” said Matilda.

“I am afraid you are.  What are you going to do? play croquet? it’s too warm yet.  Sit down here and have some strawberries first.  Norton, you get her some strawberries.”

She put Matilda affectionately into a chair and took off her hat.

“And how do you like croquet?”

“Oh, very much!  But I do not know how to play yet,” said Matilda.

“Norton will teach you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Matilda said, with a happy look.

“I think Norton is making a little sister of you,” Mrs. Laval said tenderly, drawing her hand down Matilda’s cheek.  “Do you know, Norton once had a little sister as old as you?”

The lady’s tone had changed.  Matilda only looked, she dared not speak in answer to this.

“I think he wants to make a sister of you,” Mrs. Laval repeated wistfully, her hand dropping to Matilda’s hand and taking hold of that.  “How would you like to be Norton’s sister?”

“Oh, I should like it very much!” Matilda answered, half eagerly, but her answer touched with a soberness that belonged to the little sister and daughter that Norton and Mrs. Laval had lost.  There was a delicate, sensitive manner about both her face and her voice as she spoke, perfectly intelligible to the eyes that were watching her; and the response to it was startling, for Mrs. Laval suddenly took the child in her arms, upon her lap, though Matilda never knew how she got there, and clasping her close, half smothered her with kisses, some of which Matilda felt were wetted with tears.  It was a passion of remembered tenderness and unsatisfied longing.  Matilda was astonished and passive under caresses she could not return, so close was the clasp of the arms that held her, so earnest the pressure of the lips that seemed to devour every part of her face by turns.  In the midst of this, Norton came with the strawberries, and he too stood still and offered no interruption.  But when a pause in Mrs. Laval’s ecstasy gave him a chance, he said low, ­

“Mrs. Beechy, mamma, and Miss Beechys, are there.”

Mrs. Laval was quiet a moment, hiding her face in Matilda’s neck; then she put her gently down, rose up, and met some ladies who were coming round the corner of the verandah, with a tone and bearing so cool, and careless, and light, that Matilda asked her ears if it was possible.  The guests were carried off into the house; Matilda and Norton were left alone.

It was Matilda’s turn then.  She set down the plate of strawberries Norton had given her, and hid her face in her hands.

Norton bore this for a minute, and no more.  Then one of his hands came upon one of Matilda’s, and the other upon the other, very gently but decidedly suggesting that they should come down.

“Pink!” said he, “this may do for mamma and you, but it is very poor entertainment for me.  Come! leave that, and eat your strawberries, and let us go on the lawn.  The sun will do now.”

Matilda felt that this was reasonable, and she put by her own gratification.  Nevertheless her eyes and eyelashes were all glittering when she lifted them up.

“What has mamma done to you?” said Norton, wondering.  “Here, Pink, do you like strawberries?”

“If you please, Norton,” said Matilda, “couldn’t I have them another time?  I don’t want them now.”

“Then they may wait till we have done playing,” said Norton; “and then I’ll have some too.  Now come.”

The great trees cast a flickering shadow on the grass before the house.  Norton planted his hoops and distributed colours, and presently Matilda’s sober thoughts were driven as many ways as the balls; and they went very widely indeed.

“You must take aim, Matilda?” Norton cried.

“At what?”

“Why, you must learn at what; that’s the game.  You must fight; just as I fight you.  You ought to touch my ball now, if you can.  I don’t believe you can.  You might try.”

Matilda tried, and hit it.  The game went on prosperously.  The sun got lower, and the sunbeams came more scattering, and the breeze just stirred over the lawn, not enough to bend the little short blades of grass.  Mrs. Laval’s visitors went away, and she came out on the verandah to look at the children; they were too much engaged to look at her.  At last the hard-fought battle came to an end.  Norton brought out another plate of strawberries for himself along with Matilda’s, and the two sat down on the bank under the locust trees to eat them.  The sun was near going down beyond the mountains by this time, and his setting rays changed the purple mist into a bath of golden haze.

“How nice and cold these are,” said Matilda.

“They have been in the ice.  That makes things cold,” observed Norton.

“And being warm one’s self makes them seem colder,” said Matilda.

“Why, are you warm, Pink?”

“Yes, indeed.  I have had to fight you so hard, you know.”

“You did very well,” said Norton, in a satisfied tone.

“Norton, how pretty it all is to-night.”

Norton ate strawberries.

“Very different from Lilac Lane,” said Matilda, looking at the china plate in her hand, on which the painting was very fine and delicate.

“Rather different,” said Norton.

“Norton, ­I was thinking of what you said yesterday; how odd it is that some people should be rich and others poor.”

“I am glad I am one of the first sort,” said Norton, disposing of a very large strawberry.

“But isn’t it strange?”

“That is what I said, Pink.”

“It don’t seem right,” said Matilda, thoughtfully

“Yes, it does.”

“It doesn’t to me.”

“How can you help it?”

“Why I cannot help it, Norton; but if everybody that is rich chose, they could help it.”

“How?”

“Don’t you think they ought?”

“Well how, Pink?  If people were industrious and behaved right, they wouldn’t be poor, you see.”

“Oh, but, Norton, they would sometimes.  There is Mrs. Eldridge, and there are the poor women at Mrs. Rogers’, and a great many more like them.”

“Well if somebody hadn’t behaved wrong,” said Norton, “they wouldn’t be so hard up.”

“Oh, but that does not help them.”

“Not much.”

“And they ought to be helped,” said Matilda, slowly examining the painted flowers on the china in her hand, and remembering Mrs. Eldridge’s cracked delf tea-cup.

“That plate would buy up the whole concern where we were yesterday, wouldn’t it?”

Matilda looked up suddenly, at Norton’s thus touching her thought; but she did not like to pursue it.  Norton, however, had no scruples.

“Yes; and these strawberries, I suppose, would feed her for a week ­the old woman, I mean.  And one of our drawing-room chairs would furnish her house, pretty near.  Yes, I guess it would.  And I really think one week of the coal we burned a few months ago would keep her, and Mrs. Rogers too, warm all winter.  And I am certain one of mamma’s dresses would clothe her for a year.  Seems queer, don’t it.”

“And she is cold, and hungry, and uncomfortable,” said Matilda.  The two looked at each other.

“But then, you know, if mamma gave one of her dresses to clothe this old woman, she would have to give another to clothe some other old woman; and the end would be, she would have no dresses for herself.  And if she tried to warm all the cold houses, she wouldn’t have firing to cook her own dinner.  You see it has to be so, Pink; some rich and some poor.  And suppose these strawberries had been changed into some poor somebody’s dinner, I couldn’t have had them to give to you.  Do you see, Pink?”

“But, O Norton!” Matilda began, and stopped.  “These strawberries are very nice.”

“But you would rather turn them into mutton-chops and give them away?” said Norton.  “I dare say you would!  Wouldn’t you?”

“Norton,” said Matilda, cautiously, “do you think anything I could have bought with that dollar would have given me so much pleasure as that tea-kettle yesterday?”

“It was a good investment,” said Norton.  “But it is right to eat strawberries, Pink.  Where are you going to stop?”

“I’ll take Mrs. Eldridge some strawberries,” said Matilda, smiling, “when they get plenty.”

“Well, agreed,” said Norton.  “Let us take her some other things too.  I’ve got money.  Stop ­let me put these plates in the house and fetch a piece of paper; ­then we’ll see what we’ll take her.”

Matilda sat while he was gone, looking at the golden mist on the mountains and dreaming.

“Now,” said Norton, throwing himself on the turf beside her, with his piece of paper, and thrusting his hand deep down in his pocket to get at his pencil, “Now, let us see what we will do.”

“Norton,” said Matilda, joyously, “this is better than croquet.”

Norton looked up with those bright eyes of his, but his reply was to proceed to business.

“Now for it, Pink.  What shall we do for the old lady?  What does she want?  Pooh! she wants everything; but what to begin with?”

“Strawberries, you said.”

“Strawberries!  Not at all.  That’s the last thing.  I mean we’ll fix her up, Pink.  Now what does she want to be comfortable.  It is only one old woman; but we shall feel better if she is comfortable.  Or you will.”

“But what do you mean, Norton? how much can we do?”

“Just as much as we’ve a mind to.  I’ve got money, I tell you.  Come; begin.  What goes down first?”

“Why, Norton,” said Matilda, in an ecstasy, “it is like a fairy story.”

“What?”

“This, that we are doing.  It is like a fairy story exactly.”

“How is it like fairy stories?” said Norton. “I don’t know.”

“Did you never read fairy stories?”

“Never.  What are they like?”

“Why some of them are just like this,” said Matilda.  “People are rich, and can do what they please; and they set out to get things together for a feast, or to prepare a palace for some princess; and first one nice thing is got, and then another, and then some thing else; until by and by you feel as if you had been at the feast, or seen the palace, or had done the shopping.  I do.”

“This isn’t for a princess,” said Norton.

“No, nor a palace,” said Matilda; “but it seems just as good.”

“Go on, Pink; let us quit princesses and get to the real business.  What do you want to get, first thing?”

“First thing,” said Matilda, “I think would be to get somebody to clean the house.  There are only two little rooms.  It wouldn’t be much.  Don’t you think so, Norton?”

“As we cannot build a palace, and have it new, I should say the old one had better be cleaned.”

“Sabrina Rogers would do it, I dare say,” Matilda went on; “and maybe that would be something good for her.”

“Teach her to clean her own?” said Norton.

“Why no, Norton; her own is clean.  I meant, maybe she would be glad of the pay.”

“There’s another princess, eh, that wants a palace?” said Norton.  “If we could, we would new build Lilac Lane, wouldn’t we?  But then, I should want to make over the people that live in it.”

“So should I, and that is the hardest.  But perhaps, don’t you think the people would be different, if they had things different?”

“I’m certain I should be different, if I lived where they do,” said Norton.  “But go on, Pink; let us try it on ­what’s her name.  We have only cleaned her house yet.”

“The first thing, then, is a bedstead, Norton.”

“A bedstead!  What does she sleep on?”

“On the floor; with rags and straw, and I think a miserable make-believe of a bed.  No sheets, no blankets, nor anything.  It is dreadful.”

“Rags and straw,” said Norton.  “Then a bedstead wants a bed on it, Pink; and blankets or coverlets or something, and sheets, and all that.”

Matilda watched Norton’s pencil as it noted the articles.

“Then she wants some towels, and a basin of some sort to wash in.”

“H’m!” said Norton.  “Herself, I hope?”

“Yes, I hope so.  But she has nothing to make herself clean with.”

“Then a stand, and basin, and towels; and a pitcher, Pink, I suppose, to hold water.”

“Yes, a pitcher, or jug, or something.  We want to get the cheapest things we can.  And soap.”

“Let’s have plenty of that,” said Norton, putting down soap.  “Now then ­what next?”

“A little wooden table, Norton; she has nothing but a chair to set her tea on.”

“A table.  And a carpet?”

“Oh, no, Norton; that’s not necessary.  It is warm weather now.  She does not want that.  But she does want a pail for water.  I have to take the tea-kettle to the pump.”

Norton at this laughed, and rolled over on the grass in his amusement.  Having thus refreshed himself, he came back to business.

“Has she got anything to go on her fire, except a tea-kettle?”

“Not much.  A saucepan would be a very useful thing, and not cost much.  I bought one the other day; so I know.”

“What’s a saucepan?” said Norton.  “A pan to make sauce in?”

It was Matilda’s turn to laugh.  “Poor Mrs. Eldridge don’t have many puddings, I guess, to make sauce for,” she said.

“Well, Pink, now we come, don’t we, to the eating line.  We must stock her up.”

“Put down a broom first, Norton.”

“A broom! here goes.”

“Yes, you can’t think how much I have wanted a broom there.  And a tea-pot.  Oh yes, and a little milk pitcher, and sugar bowl.  Can’t we?”

“I should think we could,” said Norton.  “Tea-cups?”

“I guess not.  She’s got two; and three plates.  Now, Norton ­the eatables.  What did you think of?”

“I suppose there isn’t anything in the house,” said Norton.

“Nothing at all, except what we took there.”

“Then she wants everything.”

“But you see, Norton, she can’t do any thing herself; she couldn’t use some things.  There would be no use ­”

“No use in what?”

“Flour, for instance.  She couldn’t make bread.”

“I don’t know anything about flour,” said Norton.  “But she can use bread when she sees it, I will take my affidavit.”

“Oh yes, bread, Norton.  We will take her some bread, and a little butter; and sugar; and tea.  She has got some, but it won’t last long.”

“And I said she should have a mutton-chop.”

“I dare say she would like it.”

“I wonder if a bushel of potatoes wouldn’t be the best thing of all.”

“Potatoes would be excellent,” said Matilda, delightedly.  “I suppose she would be very glad of anything of that sort.  Let’s take her some cheese, Norton.”

“Cheese.  And strawberries.  And cake, Pink.”

“I am afraid we should be taking too much at once.  We had better leave the cake to another time.”

“There’s something we forgot,” said Norton.  “Mr. What’s-his-name will not split up box covers for your fire every day; we must send in a load of firing.  Wood, I guess.”

“Oh, how good!” said Matilda.  “You see, Norton, she has had no wood to make a fire even to boil her kettle.”

“And no kettle to boil,” added Norton.

“So that she went without even tea.  I don’t know how she lived.  Did you see how she enjoyed the tea yesterday?”

“Pink,” said Norton, “do you expect to go there to make her fire every day?”

“No, Norton, I cannot every day; I cannot always get away from home.  But I was thinking ­I know some other girls that I guess would help; and if there were several of us, you know, it would be very easy.”

“Well,” said Norton, “we have fixed up this palace and princess now.  What do you think of getting the princess a new dress or two?”

“Oh, it would be very nice, Norton.  She wants it.”

“Mamma will do that.  Could you get it, Pink? would you know how? supposing your purse was long enough.”

“Oh yes, Norton.  Of course I could!”

“Then you shall do it.  Who will see to all the rest?”

“To buy the things, do you mean?”

“To buy them, and to choose them, and to get them to their place, and all that?”

“Why, you and I, Norton.  Shan’t we?”

“I think that is a good arrangement.  The next question is, when?  When shall we send the things there?”

“We must get the rooms cleaned.  I will see about that.  Then, Norton, the sooner the better; don’t you think so?”

“How is it in the fairy stories?”

“Oh, it’s all done with a breath there; that is one of the delightful things about it.  You speak, and the genie comes; and you tell him what you want, and he goes and fetches it; there is no waiting.  And yet, I don’t know,” Matilda added; “I don’t wish this could be done in a breath.”

“What?” said a voice close behind her.  The two looked up, laughing, to see Mrs. Laval.  She was laughing too.

“What is it, that is not to be done in a breath?”

“Furnishing a palace, mamma ­(getting it cleaned first,) and setting up a princess.”

Mrs. Laval wanted to hear about it, and gradually she slipped down on the grass beside Matilda, and drew an arm round her, while she listened to Norton’s story.  Norton made quite a story of it, and told his mother what Matilda had been doing the day before in Lilac Lane, and what schemes they had presently on hand.  Mrs. Laval listened curiously.

“Dear, is it quite safe for you to go to such a place?” she asked Matilda then.

“Oh yes, ma’am.”

“But it cannot be pleasant.”

“Oh yes, ma’am!” Matilda answered, more earnestly.

“How can it be?”

“I thought it would not be pleasant, at first,” said Matilda; “but I found it was.”

“What made it pleasant, dear?”

“If you saw the poor old woman, Mrs. Laval, and how much she wanted comfort, I think you would understand it.”

“Would you come and see me, if I wanted comfort?” the lady inquired.  Matilda smiled at the possibility.  Then something in Mrs. Laval’s face reminded her that even with such a beautiful house and so rich abundance of things that money can buy, there might be a sad want of something that money cannot buy; and she grew grave again.

“Would you?” Mrs. Laval repeated.

And Matilda said “Yes.”  And Mrs. Laval again put her face down to Matilda’s face and pressed her lips upon hers, again and again, as if she drew some sweetness from them.  Not so passionately as the time before; yet with quiet earnestness.  Then with one hand she stroked the hair from Matilda’s forehead, and drew it forward, and passed her fingers through it, caressing it in a tender, thoughtful way.  Norton knelt on the grass beside them and looked on, watching and satisfied.  Matilda was happy and passive.

“Have you got money enough, love, for all you want to do?” Mrs. Laval asked at length.

“I haven’t much,” said Matilda; “but Norton is going to help.”

“Have you got enough, Norton?”

“I guess so, mamma.”

Mrs. Laval put her hand in her pocket and drew out a little morocco pocket-book.  She put it in Matilda’s hand.

“Norton shall not do it all,” she said.  “I don’t know exactly how much is in this; you can use what you choose on this fairy palace you and Norton are building.”

“Oh, ma’am!” Matilda began, flushing and delighted.  Mrs. Laval stopped her mouth with a kiss.

“But, ma’am, won’t you please take out what you wish I should spend for Mrs. Eldridge.”

“Spend just what you like.”

“I might take too much,” said Matilda.

“It is all your’s.  Do just what you like with it.  Spend what you like in Lilac Lane, and the rest for something else.”

“Oh, ma’am!” ­Matilda began again in utter bewildered delight.

“No, darling, don’t say anything about it,” Mrs. Laval answered, finding Matilda’s pocket and slipping the pocket-book in.  “You shall talk to me about it another time.  I wish you could give me your secret.”

“What secret, ma’am?” said Matilda, who for the very delight that flushed her could hardly speak.

“How to get so much satisfaction out of a little money.”

Matilda wished she could give Mrs. Laval anything that would do her a pleasure, and she began to think, could she let her into this secret?  It seemed a simple secret enough to Matilda; but she had a certain consciousness that for the great lady it might be more difficult to understand than it was for her.  Was it possible that elegant pocket-book was in her pocket?

But now came the summons to tea, and they got up off the grass and went in.  So beautiful a table Matilda had never seen, and more thorough petting no little girl ever had.  No one else was there but those three, so she was quite at home.  Such a pleasant home it was, too.  The windows all open, of the large, airy, pretty dining-room; the blue mountains seen through the windows at one side; from the others, the green of the trees and the gay colours of flowers; the evening air drew gently through the room, and flowers and fruit and all sorts of delicacies and all sorts of elegances on the table made Matilda feel she was in fairyland.

“When are you coming again?” said Mrs. Laval, taking her in her arms when she was about going.

“Whenever you will let me, ma’am.”

“Could you learn to love me a little bit, some day?”

Matilda did not know how to answer.  She looked into the handsome dark eyes that were watching her, and with the thought of the secret sympathy between the lady and herself, her own watered.

“I see you will,” said Mrs. Laval, kissing her.  “Now kiss me.”

She sat quite still while Matilda did so; then returned it warmly, and bade Norton take care of her home.