CHAPTER XII.
The atmosphere of the house was very quiet during several successivedays, as far as Matilda could observe it. The boys were extremely busyat school; and at home there was no public recurrence of Monday night'sdiscussion. In private Mrs. Laval questioned Matilda very closely as toall the particulars of their Shadywalk expedition and all that she hadknown for weeks past of David's state of mind. She made no comment onthe answers; and Matilda heard no more about the matter, until Saturdaymorning came. Then when they were at breakfast, Mrs. Bartholomew saidin a conciliating tone,
"David, my son, I don't see any necessity for that communication youare proposing to make to your uncles."
"I must go to see them, mamma."
"Certainly; that is all just and proper; but there is no occasion totalk to them about your change of views."
"Then they would believe me what I am not."
"Well--" said Mrs. Bartholomew; "they would a great deal rather believeso than know the truth."
"Would you have liked me to hide it from you, mamma?"
"I don't know; yes,--I think I should."
"What would have been your opinion of me by and by, when you came tofind it out?"
"Just the truth," said Judy languidly. "Nothing can make you more of asneak than you are already."
"One thing," said David firmly. "To get, or try to get, my uncles'money under false pretences. You know they would never give it to aChristian."
"Judy," said Mrs. Lloyd, "another ill-bred word like that, and I sendyou from the table."
"But my dear boy," Mrs. Bartholomew went on, "you said Monday nightthat you were as much of a Jew as ever."
"The poor fellow was afraid of falling between two stools," said Judy;"so he clutched at 'em both, without thinking."
"And you are very young; and you do not know what your opinions may bein a few years more. And in the mean while, I am very unwilling thatyou should offend your uncles. _They_ would never get over it."
"I guess they wouldn't," said Judy. "What a time David will have with'em!"
"Don't you see, my dear," pursued Mrs. Bartholomew, "it is unnecessary,and may be premature, and so unwise?"
"Mother," said David, evidently struggling with his feelings, "Messiahhas said that he will not own those who do not own him."
"You'll get nothing out of him, mamma," said Judy. "He is one ofMatilda's crazy kind. He is going to get rid of his money as fast as hecan; and then he will turn chaplain of some jail, I should think; orelse he will get a place as a Methodist parson and go poking into allthe poor places of the earth; and then we shall see his name up inbills--'Preaching at the cross corners to-night--Rev. David Bartholomewwill speak to the people from a candle box.'"
David changed colour once or twice, but he said nothing.
"Matilda Laval," said Judy sharply, "eat your breakfast! He won't want_you_ to help him preach."
Matilda wondered privately that the elders were so patient of Judy'stongue and so very silent themselves. They seemed to have thoughts notready for utterance. At any rate the breakfast party broke up with Judyhaving the last word, and scattered their several ways; and Matildaheard no more on David's subject for some time. How the Saturday's workissued she did not know; nothing was said about it in her hearing; andDavid looked as happy and as calm as he had done before Saturday. Shewatched him, and she was sure of that.
One afternoon, it was a Sunday, and the ladies of the family were shutup in their rooms, resting or dressing, Matilda and David were alone inthe little reception room. It was the hour before dinner; Matilda hadcome in from Sunday school and was sitting there with a new book, whenDavid joined her. He sat down beside her, Matilda knew immediately, fora talk; and she shut up her book.
"Matilda, I have been reading about the men with the talents; the fivetalents, and the ten talents, you know?"
"Yes, I know."
"I am afraid I don't know all my talents."
"What do you mean, David?"
"The talents are whatever is given to us to use for God--and that is,whatever is given to us; for we may use it all for him."
"Yes, David."
"Well--that means a great deal, Tilly."
"Yes, I know it does."
"And one might easily have talents that one didn't think of; lying byso, and not used at all."
"I dare say they often do," Matilda said thoughtfully.
"I want you to help me, if you can."
"_I_ help _you?_" said Matilda very humbly.
"You have been longer in the way than I. You ought to know more aboutit."
"I am afraid I don't, though, David. But I guess Jesus will teach us,if we ask him."
"I am sure of that; but I think he means that we should help oneanother. What can I do, that I am not doing?"
Matilda thought a little, and then went upstairs and fetched the cardof covenant and work of the old Band at Shadywalk. She put it inDavid's hands, and he studied it with great interest.
"There is help in this," he said. "There are things here I neverthought of. 'Carrying the message'--of course I needn't wait till Ihave finished my studies and am grown up, to do that; it is easy tobegin now."
"Are you going to do _that_, when you are grown up?" said Matilda alittle timidly.
"As a profession, you mean. I don't know, Tilly; if the Lord pleases. Iam all his anyway; I don't care how he uses me. What I want to know ismy duty now. Then, Tilly, I have plenty of money."
"That's a very good thing," said Matilda smiling.
"What shall I do with it? Do your poor people want anything?"
"Sarah Staples? O no! they are getting on nicely. Sarah has learned howto sew on a machine, or partly learned; and she gets work to do now;and Mrs. Staples is stronger, and is able to take in washing. O no;they are getting along very well."
"There must be others," said David thoughtfully.
"Yes, plenty I suppose; only we don't know them, David! perhaps Sarahknows or her mother."
"What if we were to go and ask them?"
Matilda decided that it was a capital plan; and they arranged to go thenext Saturday afternoon, when David would be at leisure. And the weekseemed long till the Saturday came.
"Pink," said Norton at their dinner, "I will take you into the Parkthis afternoon."
"O thank you, Norton! But--I can't go. I have an engagement to go tosee Sarah Staples."
"Sarah Staples! Sarah Staples can wait, and I can't. I have only oneSaturday afternoon a week. It'll be splendid this afternoon, Pink. ThePark is all green and flowery, and it's sure to be full. I'm going justat the fullest time."
"I should like to go with you; but I have business, and I can't put itoff."
"I'll wait, Tilly, if you wish," David said.
"I don't wish it at all, David. I would rather not wait."
"O it's _your_ business too, is it!" said Norton. "And Pink wouldrather not wait. Very good."
"It is important business, really, Norton," Matilda pleaded; "it is notfor myself."
"That's just what proves it of no importance," said Norton. "What isit?"
"David and I want to see Mrs. Staples to find out something we want toknow."
"Might as well ask the Sphinx," said Norton discontentedly.
"I would just as lief tell you what, Norton; only it is something youdon't care about, and it would give you no pleasure."
"May as well let 'em go, Norton," remarked Judy, eating strawberries ata tremendous rate; it was not strawberry time by any means, but thesecame from the South. "May as well let 'em go; there's a pair of 'em;and they'll run, I guess, till they run their heads against somethingor other and pull up so; or till they get swamped. _I_ hope they'll getswamped."
"What do you mean?" said Norton, gruffly enough.
Judy nodded her head at him in a very lively way over her strawberries.
"They are latter-day saints, don't you know? They are going to feedeverybody on custards--not us, you know; we've got strawberries; butthe peo
ple that haven't. Matilda's going to make them, and Davy's goingto carry them round; and they're going out to buy eggs this afternoon.They expect you and me to give 'em the sugar they want."
"Not so sanguine as that, Judy," said her brother good-humouredly.
Norton looked very much discomposed; but David and Matilda had no timeto spend in further talking.
They found Mrs. Staples at home, and Sarah too, as it was Saturdayafternoon. The little room looked cosy and comfortable; for it was verytidy and very clean, and the mother and daughter were peacefully atwork. The pleasure manifested at sight of David and Matilda was verylively. Sarah set chairs, and her mother looked to the fire in thestove.
"How does the oven work, Mrs. Staples?" Matilda asked.
"Couldn't be no better, and couldn't do no better. I declare! it'sbeautiful. Why after I got my hand in, I baked a pan o' biscuits theother day; and they riz up and browned, you never see! and the boys wastoo happy for anything. I wisht you'd seen 'em, just. They thoughtnothin' ever was so good, afore or since. Yes 'm, it's a first-rateoven; bakes apples too, in the most likely manner."
"How is the neighbourhood, Mrs. Staples?" David asked.
"Well, sir, there's nothin' agin' the neighbourhood. They be's a littlenoisy, by times; you can't expect they wouldn't; now the sun's warm inthe streets and the children gets out o' their holes and corners. Isometimes think, what a mercy it is the sun shines! and specially tothem as hain't no fire or next to none. I often think the Lord's moremerciful than what men is."
"Do you think it is men's fault then, other men's, that such poorpeople haven't fire to keep them warm?"
"Well whose should it be, sir, if it wouldn't?"
"Might it not be the people's own fault?"
"Sartain!" cried Mrs. Staples, "when the money goes for drink. But whydoes it go for drink? I tell you, sir, folks loses heart when theyknows there ain't enough to make a fire and buy somethin' to cook onthe fire; and they goes off for what'll be meat and fire andforgetfulness too, for a time. And that's because of the great rents,that people that has no mercy lays on; and the mean little prices forwork that is all one can get often, and be thankful for that. It's justrunnin' a race with your strength givin' out every foot o' the way. Andit's allays the rich folks does it," added Mrs. Staples, not verycoherently.
"Rich people that give the low wages and put on the high rents, do youmean?"
"That's what I just do mean; and I ought to know. If a body once getsdown, there's no chance to get up again, and then the drink comes easy."
"Do you know of anybody in distress near here, Mrs. Staples?" Matildaasked.
"Half of 'em is, I guess," was the answer.
"But is there anybody you know?"
"Mrs. Binn's little boy is sick," remarked Sarah, as her mother waspondering.
"What's the matter with him?"
"It's a kind o' waste, they say."
"Not a fever, or anything of that kind?" inquired David.
"O no, sir; he's been wasting, now, these three or four months."
"And they are not comfortable, Sarah?" Matilda asked.
"There's few is, livin' where those lives," said Mrs. Staples; "and ofcourse, sickness makes things wuss. No, they're fur from comfortable, Ishould say."
"They haven't anything to give him," said Sarah low to Matilda.
"Any medicine, you mean?"
"No, Miss Matilda; nothing to eat, that he can eat."
"O David!" exclaimed Matilda, "let us go there. Where is it?"
David inquired again carefully about the sickness, to be sure that hemight take Matilda there; and then they went. Sarah volunteered toguide them. But how shall I tell what they found. It was not far off, afew blocks only; in one of a tall row of tenement houses, grim anddismal, confronted by a like row on the other side of the street. Everyone like every other. But inside, Matilda only remembered how unlike itwas to all she had ever seen in her life before. Even Lilac lane waspleasantness and comfort comparatively. The house was sound indeed;there was no tumble-down condition of staircase or walls; the stepswere safe, as they mounted flight after flight. But the entries werenarrow and dirty; the stairways had _never_ seen water; the walls werebegrimed with the countless touches of countless dirty hands and withthe sweeping by of foul draperies. Instinctively Matilda drew her ownclose round her. And as they went up and up, further from the streetdoor, the air grew more close and unbearable; heavy with vapours andodours that had no chance at any time to feel the purification of adraught of free air. Poor cookery, soapsuds, unclean humanity anddirty still life, mingled their various smell in one heavyundistinguishable oppression.
"Oh, why do people build houses so high!" said little Matilda, as shetoiled with her tired feet up the fourth staircase.
"For more rents, Miss Matilda," said Sarah who preceded them.
"For money!" said Matilda. "How tired the people must be that livehere."
"They don't go down often," Sarah remarked.
At the very top of the house they were at last. There, in the end ofthe narrow entry-way, on the floor, was--what? A tumbled heap of dirtyclothes, Matilda thought at first, and was about to pass it to go tothe door which she supposed Sarah was making for; when Sarah stoppedand drew aside a piece of netting that was stretched there. And thenthey saw, on the rags which served for his bed covers, the child theyhad come to see. A little, withered, shrunken piece of humanity, sonearly the colour of the rags he lay upon that his dark shock of mattedcurly hair made a startling spot in the picture.
"What's the matter, Sarah?" said Matilda in a distressed whisper.
"This is Mrs. Binn's boy, Miss Matilda, that you came to see."
"_That?_ Why does he--why do they put him there?"
"Mrs. Binn's room is so small and so hot. It's there, Miss Matilda;you'll see it. When she's doing her washing and ironing, the place isso full of steam and so hot; and there ain't no room for the bedneither; and so she put Josh here."
Sarah led the way to Mrs. Binn's room, and Matilda followed her in abewildered state of mind. She saw as soon as the door was opened thetruth of Sarah's statements. The attic room was so small that Mrs.Binn's operations must have been carried on with the greatestdifficulty; impossible Matilda would have thought them, but there werethe facts. One dormer window in the roof was effectually shut up andhindered from its office of admitting air, by the pipe of the stovewhich passed out through the sash. As it was the end of the week, nowashing encumbered the six feet clear of space; but the stove was firedup and Mrs. Binn was ironing and some clothes were hung up to air. Itwas neither desirable nor very practicable to go in; only Matilda edgeda little way within the door, and David and Sarah stood at the opening.
"What's all to do?" said Mrs. Binn at this unlooked-for interruption,stopping iron in hand and peering at them between shirts and overallshanging on the cords stretched across the room. She was a red-facedwoman; no wonder! a small, incapable-looking, worn-out-seeming womanbesides.
"This lady has come to see Josh, Mrs. Binn."
"What does she want of him?"
"Nothing," said Matilda gently; "Sarah told us how he had been sick along while; and we came to see how he was and what he wanted."
"He won't want anything soon, but a coffin and a grave," said hismother. Matilda wondered how she could speak so; she did not know yethow long misery makes people seem hard. "How he'll get them, I don'tknow," Mrs. Binn went on; "but I s'pose--"
Her voice choked; she stopped there.
"Have you no place to put him but where he is lying?" Matilda asked, byway of leading on to something else.
"No, miss; no place," said the woman, feeling of her iron and taking upanother one from the stove. "He'd perish in here, if he wouldn't beunder my feet. An' I must stand, to live."
"Where do you dry the clothes you wash?"
"Here. I haven't an inch besides."
"I don't see how you can."
"Rich folks don't see a sight o' things," said poor Mrs. Binn; "don'
tlike to, I guess."
"Is there not another room in the house that you could have for thesick boy, or that you could do your washing in and give him this?"
"Room in this house?" repeated the woman. "I'll tell you. There's nighupon three hundred people living in it; do you think there'd be a roomto spare?"
"Three hundred people in _this_ house?" repeated Matilda.
"Nigh upon that. O it's close livin', and all sorts, and all ways o'livin', too. I like my room, cause it's so high and atop o' everything;but I hear thunder below me sometimes. I wouldn't care, only for thechild," she said in a tone a little subdued.
"David, what can we do?" said Matilda, in a half despairing whisper.David edged himself a little forward and put his question.
"What does the doctor say about him?"
"Doctor!" echoed Mrs. Binn. "Did you say doctor? There's no doctor hasseen him. Is it likely one would walk up to this chimbley top to see apoor boy like that? No, no; doctors has to be paid, and I can't dothat."
"What do you give him to eat? what does he like?"
"What does he like!" the woman repeated. "He don't like nothin' he has,and he don't eat nothin'. 'Tain't 'what we like,' young sir, that livesin these places. Some days he can't swaller dry bread, and he don'tcare for mush; he'll take a sup o' milk now and then, when I can getit; but it's poor thin stuff; somethin' you call milk, and that's all."
"Good bye," said David. "I'll bring him something he will like,perhaps. I hope we haven't hindered you."
"I don't have so many visits I need quarrel with this one," said thewoman, coming to her door to shew them so much civility; "Sarahwouldn't bring anybody to make a spectacle of me."
They cast looks on the poor little brown heap in the corner of theentry, and groped their way down stairs again. But when they got outinto the street and drew breaths of fresh air, David and Matilda stoodstill and looked at each other.
"I never knew what good air meant before," said the latter.
"And even this is not _good_," replied David.
"How does he live, that poor little creature, with not one breath ofit?"
"He doesn't live; he is dying slowly," said David.
"Oh David, what can we do?"
"We'll think, Tilly. I'll carry him some grapes presently. I fancy hewants nothing but food and air. We will contrive something."
"I wonder if there are any other sick children in that house, Sarah?"Matilda asked.
"I can't say, Miss Matilda; I don't know nobody there but Mrs. Binn;and we used to know her before she moved there. Do you want to know ofanybody else in trouble?"
"Do you think of somebody else?"
"Not a child," said Sarah; "she's an old woman, or kind of old."
"Well; who is she?"
"She's Mrs. Kitteredge; her husband's a brick mason. Mother used toknow her long ago, and she was a smart woman; but she's had a deal o'pulling down."
"What does she want now, Sarah?"
"It's too bad to tell you, Miss Matilda; you've done so much for usalready."
"Never mind," said David; "go on; let us hear."
"Well"--Sarah hesitated.
"Is she sick too?"
"No, she ain't sick; she has been."
"What then?"
"I don't feel as if I had no right to tell you, sir; you and MissMatilda. I spoke before I thought enough about it. She ain't nowayssick; but she has had some sort o' sickness that has made her fingersall crumple up, like; they have bent in _so_, and she can't straighten'em out, not a bit; and if you take hold of 'em you can only pull 'emopen a little bit. And it hurts her so to do her work, poor thing!"
"Do what work?"
"All her work, Miss Matilda--same as if her hands was good. She washesand irons her clothes and his, and cooks for him, and makes her roomclean; but it takes her all day 'most; and sometimes, she says, shegets out o' heart and feels like sittin' down and givin' up; but shenever does, leastways when I see her. I go in and make her bed when Ican; that's what she hardly can do for herself."
"I should think not!" said Matilda.
"She can't lift her hands to her head to put up her hair; and shesuffers a deal."
"Is she so very poor too, Sarah?"
"No, Miss Matilda, it ain't that. He gets good wages and brings 'emhome; but he's a pertiklar man and he expects she'll have everythingjust as smart as if she had her fingers."
"Then what can we do for her, Sarah?"
"I don't know, ma'am;--I was thinkin', if she could have one o' themrollers that wrings clothes--it tries her awful to wring 'em with herhands."
"A clothes-wringer! O yes," cried Matilda.
"What is that?" said David.
"I will shew you. Thank you, Sarah; it was quite right to tell us.We'll see what we can do."
But after they had parted from Sarah the little girl walked quitesilently and soberly homeward. David stopped at a grocer's to get somewhite grapes, and turned back to carry them to the sick child; andMatilda went the rest of her way alone.