Trading

  CHAPTER II.

  Supper was just served when they got downstairs. It was another varietyof this wonderful evening. The dining-room long table was so beautifulwith lights, fruits, greens, and confections, with setting of plate andglass, that to Matilda it was almost as much of a sight as theChristmas tree had been. But the others were accustomed to this sort ofthing, and fell to tasting, with very little rapture about the seeing.What a buzz the room was in, to be sure! Tongues were fairly unloosedover oysters and sandwiches; and all the glory of the Christmas treewas to talk about, with comparisons of presents, plans, and prospects.Matilda looked on, half bewildered, but so very happy that it hardlyoccurred to her to remember that she might like something to eat too.Everybody was attending upon the wants of the guests, though certainlyMatilda did notice that Judy had a plateful of something, and waseating as busily as she was talking. Doing neither, for she knew nobodyto talk to, Matilda waited, and thought of her watch, in a trance ofrapture.

  "Why, my dear, is nobody attending to you?" she heard the voice of Mrs.Lloyd say at last. "Have you had nothing all this while?"

  "No, ma'am--they are all so busy."

  But David came up at the minute, and Matilda had no longer anything tocomplain of. He served her very kindly, and Matilda found that she wasvery hungry. She got a chance, however, to thank David for her work-box.

  "I am sure you deserve it," he said. "What did Judy give you?"

  He looked very little pleased, Matilda thought, when she told him. Buthe only helped her carefully to everything she would have, and said nomore about it.

  A third wonder to Matilda that evening was the style and amount ofeating that went on. The ices were in beautiful fruit forms; and shethought when she had demolished one of them she had done enough,especially as caramel, and candied fruits, and other confections wereawaiting her attention. But the circulation of these little ices wenton at a rate that proved Matilda's moderation to be shared by few, andshe heard one little lady say to another, herself with a plateful, "Isthat your _third_ or your _fourth?_" Slowly munching candied grapes,Matilda looked on and marvelled. Presently Norton came to see if shewanted anything, and then Esther joined them, and the talk was of thewitch again.

  "We are going to see her now," said Norton. "Just as soon as we havedone with the table."

  "What's it all for?" inquired Esther.

  "I don't know," said Norton, shaking his head. "Some crotchet ofsomebody's. I don't know anything about it. Only everybody is invitedto go and see the witch; and the witch's den is in the little receptionroom on the other side of the hall; and we must go in one by one; andwe must answer every question we are asked, or we shall get no good ofour interview. So much I am informed of."

  "What good shall we get if we do answer all the questions?" Estherasked.

  "If I was a wizard, maybe I could tell you, Esther. You should askDavid. There used to be witches and wizards, too, among his people."

  "They were forbidden," said David gravely.

  "But they were there, all the same," said Norton.

  "Not all the same," said David; "for it was death by the law; and nogood ever came of them, and nobody good ever went to them."

  "O David," said Matilda timidly, but the occasion was too tempting tobe lost,--"do you know what they did? Did they only play tricks? or wasthere anything real about it?"

  Perhaps David took a different view of the occasion; for after oneearnest look into Matilda's face, as if he would answer her, he turnedit off with lightly saying that the witches were real, for Saul hadthem all put to death that he could find; and then saying that he wouldgo and look after this particular witch. And presently he came back andproclaimed that she was ready to receive visitors.

  "Who are to go, Davie? Who are to go to see her?" were the inquirieshuddled one upon another.

  "Everybody," said David. "One at a time."

  "What are we to do? What are we to say?"

  "Answer questions."

  "The witch's questions?"

  "Certainly."

  "Why must we answer her questions? and what will she ask us about?"

  "Really you must judge for yourselves, about the one thing; and findout for yourselves, about the other. I cannot tell you."

  "Will you answer her questions?"

  "Perhaps."

  "O come along!" was the cry then; "you can't get anything out of him.Who will go first?"

  Caramel and ices had done their utmost, and now the witch became theabsorbing interest. And as those who came back from the witch s den, itwas found, would tell nothing of what had transpired there, theinterest was kept up at white heat. First one went, and then another.Of course the young people of the household were the last.

  The witch's den, when Norton entered it, was a place he did notrecognize; though in reality it was manufactured out of the littlecorner reception room. Dark drapery enclosed and mystified the spaceinto which he was admitted; the light came from he could not see where,and was dim enough too; and the witch was not to be seen. Nor,distinctly, anything else. Norton took his stand as he had beendirected in front of a dark curtain and waited. The first questiondemanded his name, and when that had been answered the voice went on,--

  "What do you want of the witch?"

  "That depends on what she can do," said Norton.

  "Power unlimited."

  "Then I wish she would cast a spell upon Mrs. Lloyd."

  "To what effect?"

  "That she would let me have the little corner attic room for agreenhouse."

  "How would you warm it?"

  "It wouldn't want much more warming than it has now. A gas stove woulddo, I think."

  "You may go. You shall hear from me in the course of the week."

  Norton went out in high glee. "She's a brick, that witch!" heexclaimed. "Go along, Judy--and make haste; people are taking leavenow. I don't know whose the voice is, though," he went on; "I couldn'tmake it out. I guess"--But Norton stopped; and Judy went in.

  "Are you in want of anything, Judy Bartholomew?" the unseen witch asked.

  "I haven't got all I want," said Judy; "if you mean that."

  "State what is needed."

  "There are a great many things," said Judy unblushingly; "but the twothings I wish for most particularly are--to give a ball, for one; andto have a diamond ring, for the other."

  "Short of these two things, all your wishes are satisfied then?"

  "No," said Judy hesitatingly,--"I didn't say that. I want lots ofthings besides; but those two most."

  "You may go. The witch always wants time. Have you any debts to pay? ofmoney? of any other sort?"

  "No indeed," said Judy decidedly.

  "Is there anybody to whom you would like to do a kindness?"

  "Not that I know of."

  "You may go. Your wants shall be considered."

  Judy came out triumphant. She would have had her brother go next, buthe insisted that Matilda should precede him. So Matilda went into thedarkened, mysterious boudoir of the receptions.

  "Who is this?" said the voice.

  And a gentle answer came; not like Judy's proclaiming of herself, yetclear and frank too.

  "Matilda Laval, what would you like of all things, if you could haveit?"

  Matilda hesitated. "There are so many things"--she began,--"it isn'tvery easy"--

  "So many things you would like?"

  "Yes, ma'am. Not for _myself_," she added, in a kind of horror at beingsupposed to entertain such wishes under the flood of good things thathad come upon her that evening.

  "Well, go on. It is for yourself in one way. Say what, of all you canthink of, would give you most pleasure."

  Matilda's hands came together with a certain pang of hope, as sheanswered.

  "If I could make somebody comfortable that I know of;--a poor, _good_girl, who is not comfortable at all."

  "One of your sisters?"

  "O no, ma'am; no relation."

  "What is the matter with her, and how cou
ld you make her comfortable?"

  "She is a very poor girl," said Matilda, so eager that she did not knowwhat to bring out first;--"she lives in a cellar room with a wet mudfloor, and no bed to sleep on that is like a bed; of course she cannotbe very clean, nor have any comfort at all; and I should like to makethem comfortable."

  "Who is she?"

  "A very poor girl, that goes to Sunday school. But she is very good."

  "Does she live there alone?"

  "O there are three of them; her mother and little brother."

  "Then why does not the mother earn money and live better?"

  "She works for it; she sews; but the people give her almost nothing forher work; and Sarah sweeps a crossing."

  "How did you come to know all this?"

  "I saw Sarah in Sunday school; and I heard about her from my teacher,and he shewed me the place where she lives. He knows she is good."

  "And what do you want to do for her?"

  "I want to get her out of that place, and into a decent room, and giveher a comfortable bed."

  "What is her name?"

  "Sarah Staples."

  "How long would she keep decent, do you think?"

  "Always," said Matilda confidently. "I am sure she would be just asnice as she possibly could. Where she is, she has no chance."

  "Well, go; the witch will look into it."

  Matilda went out, hardly knowing what to think, or whether she mighthope anything from this very doubtful interview. Just as she reachedthe door, she was called back.

  "Have you no wishes for yourself, little girl?"

  "No, ma'am; thank you."

  "Is there nothing in the world you would like?"

  "I suppose, a great many things," said Matilda; "but I have got so manynow, I am afraid to wish."

  "Why?"

  "I don't think I _ought_ to wish for anything more, for myself."

  "You are the first person I ever saw, young or old, who put an 'ought'before his wishes. Most people put it after them. Well, as a reward,tell the one more thing, for yourself, that you would wish for if youcould have it."

  Matilda thought, and hesitated. She did not at all like to tell herthought. At last the witch urged her to speak out and be quick.

  "If I were to choose--and wish for anything more," Matilda saidslowly,--"which I don't; but if I _did_ wish for anything more, itwould be for a beautiful picture I have seen."

  "Aha!" said the witch. "Where did you see it?"

  "At Goupil's."

  "And what picture was it?"

  "It was the picture of the woman searching for the lost piece of money."

  "Well. You are an odd child. You may go; and if there is anybody elseto come, let them make haste. I am as tired as if I were not a witch."

  A minute after David entered the den.

  "I know who you are," said the witch. "Speak your heart's desire; andin one word, if you can."

  "In one word, Hebrew."

  "What of Hebrew?"

  "To learn it."

  "Learning is a thing I cannot do for you."

  "No, but the means."

  "What means?"

  "Permission, time, books, and a teacher."

  "You are another odd one. Is that your dearest heart's wish, DavidBartholomew?"

  "I think it is the greatest I have, at present."

  "Well. Leave it with me and go."

  "Hallo, David!" exclaimed Norton as he came out into the hall; "thepeople are all gone; the last one just had the door shut behind him."

  "It's time," said David.

  "Takes more than a party to shake you out of your gravity," saidNorton. "Time? why yes, it's past twelve."

  "Sunday!" exclaimed Matilda.

  The other three, they were together in the hall, all burst out laughing.

  "It's Sunday; and Christmas is over, and the Christmas tree," saidNorton. "But the fruits keep. Extraordinary tree! Well, Pink; we havegot to go and sleep now. Do you want to take another look at the tree?"

  They all went into the drawing-room which had been the scene of so muchfestivity. The tree stood there yet in its tub, with ribbands and giltwork hanging to it; but the lights were burnt out, and the splendourwas gone, and its riches were scattered. It was a thing of the pastalready.

  "The fruits will keep," Norton repeated. "Did you find out who thewitch was, David?"

  "I thought I knew."

  "I _knew_ I knew," said Norton; "but she had somebody else to speak forher. What a jolly witch! We shall hear from her some of these days.Well, good night."

  Kisses and thanks and good nights had to be exchanged with the oldermembers of the family; and Sunday was well begun when at last Matildashut her door behind her. She had to take one look at her watch; it wasno doubt a little beauty; and to Matilda's vision it was a very fruitand embodiment of fairyland. Beyond even her wildest dreams of what waspossible from a Christmas tree. Her own watch! She could scarcelybelieve it, even with the watch lying securely in her hand. And withthe delicate minute hand pointing but fifteen minutes off from one o'clock, she still stood gazing and rapt. Then as the hand went on tofourteen minutes, and thirteen, Matilda started and laid it down. Tohave her own watch telling her it was time to go to bed! But she mustjust look at Mrs. Bartholomew's present.

  Hurriedly she untied the box and pulled off the silver paper. Andwithin the silver paper inside the box lay a dainty gold bracelet.

  It was extremely pretty, and had cost a great deal, no doubt. It wasvery kind of Judy's mother to give it. Nevertheless round the braceletcrept a sort of cobweb of thoughts and feelings which were not all ofpleasure. It was too late to examine into them now. Matilda wrapped upthe trinket again and put it away, and went to bed; as happy as itseemed possible for her to be.

  Sunday morning was high and bright, it must be confessed, when sheawoke. Bells were ringing, the eight o' clock bells she thought theymust be; but indeed they were the bells for Sunday school. Matilda didnot guess that, and so was not in an immediate hurry to get out of bedand end the luxurious rest which the excitements and late hours of theday before had made so welcome and so long. She lay still, shut hereyes, and opened them upon the morning brightness, with a thrilling andbounding rapture of recollection that there was a little gold watch inher drawer which owned her for its mistress and would be herinseparable friend and servant--and adornment--thenceforward. Matildalay still for very happiness. Turning her head a little towards thewindow the next time she opened her eyes, it seemed to her that she sawa picture standing there against the wall. Matilda shut her eyes andtold herself that she was not dreaming and had no business to seevisions in broad daylight. "I have been thinking so much about thatpicture I suppose, and talking about it to the witch, that is thereason I thought I saw it. But what _did_ I see, that looked like apicture?" She opened her eyes now and raised herself on her elbow tolook, for this was curious. More curious still! there, against thewall, in plain view, in the broad light, stood the beautiful engravingthat had so captivated her.

  "It's there!" was Matilda's thought. "The very thing! But what is itthere for?"

  A half-formed suspicion made her jump out of bed very spryly and run tothe picture. There was a little ticket stuck in between the glass andthe frame.

  "_For Matilda Laval_--with Mrs. Lloyd's thanks and _approbation_."

  Matilda looked, rushed back into bed, and arranged herself so that shecould comfortably see the picture, while she thought about it.

  "Mrs. Lloyd's thanks"--thanks for what? She must know, she _must_ know,about the shawl. Yes, she must; I guess mamma told her. And it is mine!it is mine! There she is, that beautiful thing, the woman hunting forher lost money; the odd little lamp, and all. It is mine to keep.Certainly I ought not to wish for another thing for a whole year tocome; I have got so much. This and my watch. O delightful!--I ought tobe good! How lovely the light from that little old lamp is. And that isthe way Jesus looks for us--for people who are lost; lost in the dark.So he looked for _me_, and found me.
And there are such a great manymore lost, that are not found yet. Lost in the dark!--And if He caresfor them so, he must wish his servants to care too, and to look forthem, and save all they can. Then that woman with her pretty lamp justshews me what I ought to do and how I ought to feel.--

  Musing on in this way, very happy, leaning on her elbow to look at thepicture, too warm in the soft air of her room to be disturbed by thenecessity of getting dressed, Matilda noticed at last that the bellshad stopped ringing. It was eight o' clock past, she thought, and timeto get up; but she would look at her watch to see how eight o' clocklooked on its pretty white face. Lo, it was nine! Sunday schoolsalready beginning their services, while she stood there in hernight-gown; dressing and breakfast yet to be gone through. But theafternoon was the time for school in the place where Matilda went; soall was not lost.

  And so ended the doings of that Christmas night.