Trading

  "What shall _I_ do, now, Matilda?" he asked presently.

  "I don't know. O David, I am very much obliged to you for coming withme."

  "That won't help your poor people though," said he smiling. "What moredo you want to do, or to get, for them?"

  "Something to make a decent dress or two," Matilda said confidentially;"but I can do that myself. I don't know, David! things puzzle me. Mr.Wharncliffe says I must not try to do too much, because there are otherpoor people that suffer, and want the money."

  "There are so many, that all your money is but a very little drop on agreat desert, Matilda."

  "But that one drop will make one spot of the desert better, David."

  "Yes."

  "Just a little--twenty or thirty dollars--will do a great deal forthese poor people. And then, if Sarah learns to work on a machine, youknow, and she and her mother get better pay and better work, they willbe able to take care of themselves for ever after."

  "That's good sense," said David. "But just think of all that row oftenement houses."

  "David," said Matilda solemnly, "don't you think it is wrong?"

  "What?"

  "That people should be so poor, and live in such places?"

  "I suppose it is people's own fault, a good deal."

  "But no, very often it isn't. Now Mrs. Staples used to be a great dealbetter oil; but her husband died, and she got sick, and so she camedown to this."

  "But where is the wrong, then?" said David.

  "Why, just think how much money there is, and what it might do ifpeople tried. Suppose everybody did _all he could_, David? Supposeevery one did all he could?"

  "As you are doing. But then where should we stop?"

  "I wouldn't stop, till everybody that wasn't wicked was comfortable."

  "No, no. I mean, where would you stop in your own giving or spending?"

  "I don't know," said Matilda, looking down on the ground and thinkingvery hard as she walked. "I'll tell you, David. I think the money oughtto go to whoever wants it most!"

  "Who is to settle that?" said David laughing.

  They had got into deep waters of Christian ethics; and it was no wonderif even the theory of navigation was difficult. It served them formatter of busy discussion till they arrived at home. Norton and Judywere just consulting over some greenhouse plants in the hall. It gaveMatilda no pang. She passed them, with her own little heart so full ofpleasure that seemed far richer and sweeter, that she thought there wasno comparison.

  The pleasure lasted; for in a day or two there came a great package forMatilda which turned out to be the sheeting and muslin Mr. Wharncliffehad promised to get for her. Matilda had to explain what all thiscoarse stuff meant, coming to Mrs. Lloyd's elegant mansion; and Mrs.Laval then, amused enough, let her maid cut out the sheets andpillowcases which Matilda desired to make; and for days thereafterMatilda's room looked like a workshop. She was delightfully busy. Herlessons took a good deal of time and were eagerly attended to; andthen, at any hour of the day when she was free, Matilda might have beenfound sitting on a low seat and stitching away at one end of a mass ofcoarse unbleached cloth which lay on the floor. Mrs. Laval looked in ather and laughed at her; sometimes came and sat there with her. Matildawas in great state; with her workbox by her side, and her watch in herbosom warning her when it was time to leave off work and get ready togo downstairs.

  She was busy as usual one afternoon, when she was summoned down to seecompany; and found with a strange delight that it was her two sisters.Mrs. Laval had received them very kindly and now gave Matildapermission to take them up to her room, where, as she said, they couldhave a good talk and no interruption. So upstairs they all three went;Matilda had hardly spoken to them till they were in her room and thedoor shut. Then at first they sat down and used their eyes.

  "What in the world are you doing?" said Anne. "Do they make you theseamstress of the family?"

  "Seamstress? O Anne, I am doing this for myself."

  "Do you sleep on sheets like that?" said Letitia inquisitively. "_They_don't, I'll be bound."

  "Sheets? what do you mean? O Letty, I am not doing these for _myself_."

  "You said you were."

  "For myself--yes, in a way. I mean, I am doing this work for my ownpleasure; not for my own bed. It is for some poor people."

  "For some poor people," Letty repeated. "I think Mrs. Laval might havelet one of her servants do it, if she wanted to be charitable, or hireit done, even; and not save a penny by setting you at it."

  "She did not set me at it," said Matilda in despair. "O you don'tunderstand. She has nothing to do with it at all."

  "Are these yours, then?"

  "Yes."

  "_You_ bought them and paid for them?"

  "Yes. At least, a friend bought them for me, but I am going to pay himthe money back."

  "Is it your own money?"

  "Why yes, Anne; whose should it be?"

  "So you have more than you want, and can actually throw it away?"

  "Not throw it away, Anne; for these people, that these sheets are for,are miserably off. You would think so, if you saw them."

  "I don't want to see anybody worse off than myself," said Letitia."Why, what is that the child has got in her bosom, hanging to thatribband. What is it?--a watch, I declare! Gold? is it a gold watchreally? Think of it, Anne!"

  "It was one of my Christmas presents," said poor Matilda, hardlyknowing what to say.

  "How many other presents did you have?"

  Matilda had to tell, though she had a feeling it would not be to thegratification of her sisters. They listened and looked, said little,but by degrees drew out from her all the history of the evening'sentertainment.

  "That's the way _she_ lives," said Letitia to Anne. "That's the way sheis going on; while you and I are making people's dresses."

  "But aren't you getting on well?" asked their little sister, sorelybestead to make the conversation pleasant to them.

  "We get work, and we do it," said Letitia. "And so make out to havesome bread and butter with our tea."

  "But you have dinner, don't you?"

  "I don't know what you'd call it," said Letitia. "What do you have fordinner?"

  "O the boys and Judy Bartholomew and I, we have our dinner at one o'clock."

  "Well, what do you _have?_" said Letitia sharply. "What did you haveto-day?"

  "We had beefsteak."

  "Not all alone, I suppose. What did you have with it?"

  "We had oysters," said Matilda unwillingly, "and baked potatoes, andrice, and bananas and oranges."

  "There!" exclaimed Letitia. "That's what I call a dinner. What do yousuppose Anne and I had?"

  "Hush, Letty," said Anne. "Whatever we had, it was our own. We werebeholden to nobody for it."

  "Have you seen Maria since I have?" Matilda asked, trying to make adiversion.

  "No. How should we see Maria? We cannot go jaunting about. We have ourwork to do."

  "But it is nice work. I should think you would be very glad to haveit," Matilda ventured.

  "Yes, we are, of course," said Anne expressively. "People must live.How much did your watch cost?"

  Very unwillingly Matilda named the sum, which Norton had told her. Thetwo sisters looked at each other and rose to depart.

  "But you are not going?" cried Matilda. "You haven't said anything tome yet. And I have not seen you for ever so long."

  "We could not say anything that would be interesting to you," Anneanswered. "And we have to keep at our work, you know. We are busy."

  "So am I busy," said Matilda; "very; with my lessons and my otherthings I have to do."

  "And parties," added Letitia, "and poor people. How were you dressed atthe party, Matilda?"

  "Yes, let us see your dress," said Anne sitting down again.

  They scanned and measured and examined the dress, stuff and work, withbusiness as well as with curious eyes; Matilda saw they were takinghints from it. That led to the display of her whole wardrobe.
It wasnot agreeable to Matilda; she had a certain feeling that it was notimproving her sisters' peculiar mood of feeling towards her; however,it seemed to be the one way in which she could afford them any theleast pleasure. So silks and poplins and muslins, all her things, werebrought out and turned over; the fashion and the work minutely examinedand commented on; the price detailed where Matilda happened to know it.

  "Well, I have got something from that," said Anne, when at last theshow was done.

  "Yes," echoed Letitia; "I never could make out before, just how thatsort of trimming was managed. Now I have got it."

  They pulled up their cloaks again and tied their scarfs. Matilda lookedon sorrowfully.

  "I suppose it's no use to ask you to come and see us," said Letty.

  "I can't come often," Matilda answered, "because, you know, I cannotwalk there; and I cannot have the carriage except now and then."

  "How do you suppose we get along without a carriage?" said Letty.

  "You are older. Oh Anne and Letty!" cried their little sister, "I don'tknow why I have so much and you have so little; but it isn't my fault."

  Tears were in her eyes; but her sisters shewed no melting on theirpart. They answered, that nobody supposed it was her fault. The energyof Matilda's hugs and kisses seemed to impress them, at last.

  "Tell me!" said Anne, holding her off to look at her,--"are you happyhere? Do they treat you really as their own child? Would you like tocome back to us? Because if you would--"

  "O no, no, Anne! yes, they do. Yes, I am very happy. I don't wantanything but what I have got."

  "Well, then you are to be envied," said Anne, relapsing into her formertone; and the two went away. Matilda saw them out of the front door,and then went back to her room and stood at the window a long time,looking down the street by which they had gone. Why did they treat herso? Why was she such a trouble to them? They were much older than she,and her home sympathies had always been more particularly with Mariaand her mother in the old days; yet the family had been affectionateand harmonious. The strange barrier which her prosperity had built upbetween her and them was quite inexplicable to Matilda. At the sametime she was filled with sorrow for the contrast which she knew theyfelt between her circumstances and their own. She mused, how she couldgive them comfort or do them good in any way; but could not find it.She was a weak little child. And the help she was giving to the poorstreet sweeper and her mother was more needed and better bestowed therethan in any other direction. What would her small means avail towardsthe wants of Anne and Letitia? But Matilda cried about it some soretears, as she stood by her window in the growing dusk. Then she wentback to the joy of what was coming to Sarah and her mother through herinstrumentality.

  That joy grew sweeter and sweeter every day. The sheets and pillowcaseswere finished. The furniture and the stove were moved in. The strawbeds Mr. Wharncliffe's care had provided were in readiness. David andMatilda went again to look at the room; and cold and dull though it waswith no fire in the stove, there was great promise of comfort.

  "Now, David," said Matilda, after she had turned round and round,surveying every side and corner of the room again and again,--"_don't_you think we might put a little comfort inside that cupboard?"

  "Of what sort?" said David smiling.

  "It's bare," said Matilda.

  "Of everything."

  "Yes. Well, of course it wouldn't do to put any eatable things here,till just the day they are coming. David!--a thought has just struckme."

  "Go on," said David, smiling again. "The thoughts that strike you aregenerally very good thoughts."

  "Perhaps you will laugh at me. But I will tell you what I was thinking.Mr. Wharncliffe says we must not do too much at once; but I _should_like, David, to have a nice little supper ready for them the day theymove in. I don't suppose they have had one nice supper this winter."

  "Broiled oysters and salad?" said David.

  "No indeed; you know what sort of a supper I mean."

  "What would you get? for instance?"

  "Let me see," said Matilda, speaking slowly and considering the matterintently. "Some tea there should be, of course; and sugar. And milk.Then, some bread and butter--and herring--and perhaps, a loaf ofgingerbread."

  "What made you think of herring?" said David, looking very much amusedand curious.

  "O, I know such people like them very much, and they cost almostnothing."

  "If we are giving them a supper, I should say, give them something thatcosts a little more--something they could not get for themselves."

  "O these people don't get even herring, David."

  "What do you suppose they live upon?"

  "Bread,--and--I really don't know, David! In the country, they wouldhave cheese, and sometimes fish, I suppose; but these people are toopoor even for that."

  "That's being poorer than anybody ought to be," said David. "I go infor the supper. It's fun. I tell you what, Tilly,--I'll stand abeefsteak."

  "O thank you, David! But--there are so many more that want it," saidMatilda, looking sober and prudent in odd contrast with her years.

  "We can't help them too," said David.

  "Better keep the beefsteak, I guess," said Matilda. "O David, I know!Potatoes!"

  "What of potatoes?"

  "Just what they want. _Sure_ to want them, you know; and exactly thething. Let us have a good sack of potatoes."

  David seemed to be so much amused that he could hardly keep to thepractical soberness of the thing. However he agreed to the potatoes.And he and Matilda, moved by one impulse, set off for a hardware storedown in one of the avenues, not far to seek; and there spent a mostdelicious half hour. They chose some common cups and saucers andplates; a yellow pitcher, a sugar bowl and one or two dishes; half adozen knives and forks and spoons. It was difficult to stop in theirpurchases, for the poor friends they were thinking of had nothing. So atin tea-pot was added to the list.

  "O David!" Matilda exclaimed again--"we ought to have some soap."

  "I dare say," said David dryly. "But we do not get that here."

  "No; but seeing that toilet soap put me in mind of it. We get that atthe grocer's."

  "It won't do for us to send in our grocer's stores just yet. When doyour people come to take possession?"

  "Next week, I think. O no; not till the very day, David. Now is thereanything else we ought to get here?"

  "I don't know!" said David. "I could think of a great many things; butas you say, we must not do too much."

  "What did you think of?"

  "Nearly everything you see here," said David. "It seems to me they mustwant everything. A coffee pot, for instance; and lamps, and cookingutensils, and brooms and brushes and tubs and coal scuttles."

  "O David, stop! They can make coffee in the tea-pot."

  "Bad for the coffee I should say!" David responded, shrugging hisshoulders.

  "And lamps? They cannot buy oil. I guess they go to bed when it growsdark."

  "Do they! Great loss of time, for people who live by their labour."

  "And a tea-kettle, and a frying pan, and a water pot, came with thestove, you know."

  "What can they cook in a frying pan--besides fish?"

  "O a great many things. But they can't _get_ the things, David; theydon't want ways to cook them."

  "Must be a bad thing to be so poor," said David.

  "Mustn't it! And there are so many. It is dreadful."

  "Don't seem to me it ought to be," said David.

  "That is what I think," said Matilda. "And O David,--don't laugh at meas Norton does,--it seems to me it needn't be. If other people would dowithout having everything, these people need not want everything."

  David did smile, though, at Matilda's summary way of equalizing things.

  "What would you be willing to go without?" he asked. "Come, Tilly; whatof all we have had to-day?"

  "A great deal," said the little political economist steadily.

  "Meringues and bananas? for instance."

&
nbsp; "Why yes, David, and so would you, if it was to give somebody else adinner."

  But here they remembered that the shop man was still waiting theirorders, and they left talking to attend to business. David beganapparently to amuse himself. He bought a salt cellar, and a broom; andto Matilda's mingled doubt and delight, a rocking-chair. And then theyordered the things home and went home themselves.