CHAPTER VIII.
"Tilly, that money burns my pocket," Maria said the next morning.
"Then you had better put it somewhere else."
"I suppose you think that is smart," said Maria, "but it isn't; forthat is just what I mean to do. I mean to spend it, somehow."
"What for?"
"That's just what I don't know. There are so many things I want; and Ido not know what I want most. I have a good mind to buy a writing-desk,for one thing."
"Why, you have got one already."
"I mean a handsome one--a real beauty, large, you know, and witheverything in it. That lock of mine isn't good. Anybody could open it."
"But there is nobody to do that," said Matilda. "Nobody comes here butyou and me."
"That don't make any difference!" said Maria, impatiently. "Don't be sostupid. I would like to have a nice thing, anyhow. Then sometimes Ithink I would rather have a gold chain--like Clarissa's."
"You could not get that for twenty-five dollars," said Matilda.
"How do you know?"
"Hers cost three or four times as much as that."
"Did it?--Well, then I guess I will have the desk, or a whole lot ofhandsome summer dresses. I guess I will have that."
"Maria," said her little sister, facing round upon her, "how much areyou going to give to the Missionary Fund?"
"The Missionary Fund?" said Maria.
"Yes. You promised to help that, you know."
"Not with my twenty-five dollars!" said Maria, energetically. "I thinkyou are crazy, Matilda."
"Why?"
"Because! To ask me such a question as that. Aunt Candy's present!"
"Didn't you promise?"
"I did not promise to give my money any more than I usually give. I puta penny in every Sunday."
"Then I don't see how you are going to help the Fund," said Matilda. "Idon't see why you promised, either."
"I promised, because I wanted to join the Band; and I am going to doeverything I ought to do. I think I am just as good as you, Matilda."
Matilda let the matter drop.
It did not appear what _she_ was going to do with her money. She alwayssaid she had not decided. Only, one day soon after the last meetingrecorded, Matilda was seen in one of the small bookstores of Shadywalk.There was not reading enough in the village to support a bookstoreproper; so the books crept into one corner of the apothecaries' shops,with supplies of stationery to form a connecting link between them andthe toilet articles on the opposite counter. To one of these modestretreats of literature, Matilda came this day and requested to look atBibles. She chose one and paid for it; but she took a long time to makeher choice; was excessively particular about the goodness of thebinding and the clearness of the type; detecting an incipient looseleaf in one that was given her to examine; and finally going awayperfectly satisfied. She said nothing about it at home; but of courseMaria saw the new purchase immediately.
"So you have been to get a Bible!" she said. "Did you get it with partof your twenty-five dollars?"
"Yes. I had no other money, Maria, to get it with."
"I think you are very foolish. What do you want a Bible for?"
"I had none."
"You could always read mine."
"Not always. And Maria, you know, if we are to follow Jesus, we want toknow very well, indeed, how He went and what He did and what He wantsus to do; and we cannot know all that without a _great deal_ of study."
"I have studying enough to do already, for my part," said Maria.
"But you must study this."
"I haven't a minute of time, Matilda--not a minute."
"Then how will you know what to do?"
"Just as well as you will, perhaps. I've got my map of South America todo all over, from the beginning."
"And all the rest of the class?"
"Yes."
"Then you are no worse off than the others. And Ailie Swan reads herBible, I know."
"I think I am just as good as Ailie Swan," said Maria, with a toss ofher head.
"But, Maria," said Maria's little sister, leaning her elbows on thetable and looking earnestly up at her.
"Well, what?"
"Is that the right way to talk?"
"Why not?"
"I don't see what Ailie has to do with your being good."
"Nor I, I am sure," said Maria. "It was you brought her up."
"Because, if she has time, I thought you might have time."
"Well, I haven't time," said Maria. "It is as much as I can do, tostudy my lesson for Sunday-School."
"Then, Maria, how _can_ you know how to be good?"
"It is no part of goodness to go preaching to other people, I wouldhave you know," said Maria.
Matilda turned over the leaves of her new Bible lovingly, and said nomore. But her sister failing her, she was all the more driven to seekthe little meetings in the corner of the Sunday-School-room; and theygrew to be more and more pleasant. At home nothing seemed to be right.Mrs. Englefield was not like herself. Anne and Letitia were gloomy andsilent. The air was heavy. Even Clarissa's beautiful eyes, when theywere slowly lifted up to look at somebody, according to her custom,seemed cold and distant as they were not at first. Clarissa visitedseveral sick people and carried them nourishing things; but she lookedcalm disapproval when Maria proclaimed that Tilly had been all up LilacLane to look for a stray Sunday-School scholar. Mrs. Englefield laughedand did not interfere.
"I would never let a child of mine go there alone," said Mrs. Candy.
"There is no danger in Shadywalk," said Mrs. Englefield.
"You will be sorry for it, sister."
"Well; I am sorry for most things, sooner or later," said Mrs.Englefield.
So weeks went by; until it came to be the end of winter, and somethingof spring was already stealing into the sunlight and softening the air;that wonderful nameless "something," which is nothing but a far-offkiss from Spring's fingers. One Sunday Mrs. Englefield had gone to bedwith a headache; and hastening away from the dinner-table, Matilda wentoff to her appointment. Mr. Ulshoeffer had been propitious; he let thelittle girls have the key on the inside of the schoolroom door; and anhour before it was time for the classes of the school to be gathering,the three friends met at the gate and went in. They always sat in afar-off corner of one of the transepts, to be as cozy as possible. Theywere all punctual to-day, Ailie having the key of the door.
"Girls, don't you get confused sometimes, with the things you hearpeople say?" she asked, as she unlocked the door. "I do; and thensometimes I get real worried."
"So do I get worried!" Mary Edwards assented. "And I don't know what tosay--that's the worst of it."
"Now only to-day," Ailie went on, as they walked up the matted aislewith a delicious sense of being free and alone and confidential, "Iheard some one say it was no use for children to be Christians; he saidthey didn't know their own minds, and don't know what they want, and byand by it will all be smoke. And when I hear such things, it affects medifferently. Sometimes I get mad; and then sometimes it takes thestrength all out of me."
"But if we have the right sort of strength," said Matilda, "peoplecan't take it from us, Ailie."
"Well, mine seems to go," said Ailie. "And then I feel bad."
"We know what we want," said Mary, "if we are children."
"We know our own minds," said Matilda. "We _know_ we do. It is nomatter what people say."
"I wish they wouldn't say it," said Ailie. "Or I wish I needn't hearit. But it is good to come here and read, isn't it? And I think ourtalk helps us; don't you?"
"It helps me," said Mary Edwards. "I've got nobody at home to talk to."
"Let us begin, girls, or we shall not have time," said Matilda. "It'sthe fourteenth chapter."
"Of Luke?" said Ailie. "Here it is. But I don't like Luke so well asMatthew; do you? Well, begin."
They began and read on, verse by verse, until fourteen verses wereread. There they paused.
"What does thi
s mean?" said Matilda, knitting her small brows.
"Isn't it right to ask our friends to tea or anything? Why, Jesus wentto dine with this Pharisee," said Mary, looking up.
"Yes; but that is another thing," said Matilda. "You see, we must askthe people who have no friends."
"But why not our friends too?"
"Perhaps it would cost too much to ask _everybody_," said Ailie. "Onewould be giving parties all the time; and they cost, I can tell you."
"But some people are rich enough," said Mary.
"Those people don't make parties for the poor, though," said Ailie."Catch them!"
"But then, _can_ it mean that it is wrong to have our friends come andsee us?" said Matilda.
"It cannot be wrong. Don't you remember, Martha and Mary used to haveJesus come to their house? and they used to make suppers for Him."
"But _He_ was poor," said Matilda.
"That is different, too, from having a party, and making a great fuss,"said Ailie.
"And _that_ is done just to pay one's debts," said Matilda, "for I haveheard mother say so. People ask her, and so she must ask people. Andthat is what it means, girls, I guess. See, 'lest they also bid theeagain, and a recompense be made thee.' That isn't making a feast forpeople that you love."
"Then it is wicked to ask people just that they may ask you," said MaryEdwards.
"Instead of that, we must ask people who _cannot_ ask us," said Matilda.
"But how queer we should be!" said Ailie Swan. "Just think; we shouldnot be like anybody else. And what should we do if people asked us?"
"I don't care," said Matilda. "See, girls;--'thou shalt be recompensedat the resurrection of the just.'"
"And is that what it means in the next verse?" said Mary Edwards. "ButI don't understand that. 'Blessed is he that shall eat bread in thekingdom of God.' Do they eat bread there? I thought they didn't."
"It is like what we read a little way back," said Matilda, flirtingover one or two leaves, "yes, here in the 12th chapter--'Blessed arethose servants whom the Lord when He cometh shall find watching; verilyI say unto you, that He shall gird Himself, and make them to sit downto meat, and will come forth and serve them.'"
"That means Jesus," said Mary Edwards. "He will make them to sit downto meat!--and will serve them. What does it mean, I wonder?"
"It means, that Jesus will give them good things," said Ailie.
"I guess they will be blessed, then, that eat when He feeds them," saidthe other little girl. "I would like to be there."
"There is a verse or two that my Bible turns to," said Matilda. "In theRevelation. 'And he saith unto me, Write, Blessed are they which arecalled unto the marriage supper of the Lamb.' Oh, don't you like toread in the Revelation? But we are all called; aren't we?"
"And here, in our chapter," said Mary, "it goes on to tell of thepeople who were called and wouldn't come. So I suppose everybody iscalled; and some won't come."
"Some don't get the invitation," said Matilda, looking up.
"A good many don't, I guess," said Ailie. "Who do you think gets it inLilac Lane?"
"Nobody, hardly, I guess," said Mary Edwards; "there don't many peoplecome to church out of Lilac Lane."
"But then, girls," said Matilda, "don't you think we ought to take itthere? the invitation, I mean?"
"How can we? Why, there are lots of people in Lilac Lane that I wouldbe afraid to speak to."
"I wouldn't be afraid," said Matilda. "They wouldn't do us any harm."
"But what would you say to them, Tilly?"
"I would just ask them to come, Ailie. I would take the message tothem. Just think, Ailie, of that time, of that supper--when Jesus willgive good things with His own hand;--and how many people would come ifthey knew. I would tell everybody. Don't you think we ought to?"
"I don't like to speak to people much," said Ailie. "They would think Iwas setting myself up."
"It is only carrying the message," said Matilda. "And that is whatJesus was doing _all the time_, you know; and He has told us to followHim."
"Then must we be telling it all the time too?" asked Ailie. "We shoulddo nothing else."
"Oh yes, we should. That would not hinder," said Matilda. "It doesn'ttake so very long to say a word. Here is another verse, girls; this isin the Revelation too; listen. This must be what those other versesmean: 'They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neithershall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in themidst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto livingfountains of waters; and God shall wipe away all tears from theireyes.'"
As if a thrill from some chord of an angel's harp had reached them, thechildren were still for a moment.
"I don't believe the people are happy in Lilac Lane," said Matilda.
"Maybe they are," said Ailie. "But I guess they can't be. People thatare not good can't be happy."
"And Jesus has given us the message to take to everybody," saidMatilda; "and when we come up there to that supper, and He asks us ifwe took the message to the people in the lane, what shall we say? Iknow what I would like to say."
"But there are other people, besides in the lane," said Ailie.
"We must take it to them too," said Mary Edwards.
"We _can't_ take it to everybody."
"No; only to _everybody that we can_," said Matilda. "Just think howglad some of those people will be, when they hear it. What should we doif Mr. Richmond had never told it to us?"
Ailie bit her lip. Whether by design or not, Mary Edwards turned to herTestament and read the next words that followed in course.
"And there went great multitudes with Him: and He turned, and said untothem, If any man come unto me, and hate not his father, and mother, andwife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own lifealso, he cannot be my disciple."
And seeing Mr. Ulshoeffer coming to open the door, the little conclavebroke up. The children and teachers came pouring in for theSunday-School.
Going out after it was over, Matilda noticed a face she had not seen; aboy older than herself, but not very old, standing near the door,looking at the small crowd that trooped along the aisle. The thoughtcame to Matilda that he was a new scholar, and if so, somebody ought towelcome him; but nobody did, that she could see. He stood alone,looking at the people as if they were strange to him; with a good,bright, wide-awake face, handsome and bold. Matilda did not want totake the welcoming upon herself, but she thought somebody should do it;and the next minute she had paused in front of the stranger.
"Is this the first time you have been here?" she asked, with a kind ofshy grace. The boy's bright eyes came down to her with a look ofsurprise as he assented.
"I am very glad to see you in our Sunday-School," she went on. "I hopeit was pleasant."
"It was pleasant enough," said the stranger. "There is a jolly fellowover there asked me to come--Ben Barth; are you his sister?"
"Oh no," said Matilda. "Ben has his own sisters. I am not one of them."
"I thought maybe he told you to speak to me."
"Nobody told me," said Matilda. By this time they had followed thecrowd out at the door, and were taking their way down the street.
"What did you speak to me then, for?" said the boy, with a roguish lookat her.
"I thought you were a stranger."
"And what if I was?"
"I think, if you are a stranger anywhere, it is pleasant to havesomebody speak to you."
"You're a brick!" was the stranger's conclusion.
"Am I?" said Matilda. "Why am I?"
"You're a girl, I suppose, and don't understand things," said hercompanion. "Boys know what a brick is--when they see it."
"Why, so do I," said Matilda, "don't I?"
But the boy only laughed; and then asked Matilda where she lived, andif she had any brothers, and where she went to school.
"I go to the other school, you see," said he; "that's how I've neverseen you before. I wish you went to my school; and I'd give you a rideon
my sled."
"But you'll come to our Sunday-School, won't you?" Matilda asked.
"To be sure I will; but you see, I can't take you on my sled on Sunday.They'd have all the ministers out after me."
"Oh no!" said Matilda. "I was not thinking of the sled; but you arevery kind."
"I should like it," said the boy. "Yes, I am coming to the school;though I guess I've got an old fogy of a teacher. But the minister's abrick; isn't he?"
"He isn't much like _me_," said Matilda, laughing. "And the sort ofbricks that I know, one is very much like another."
The boy laughed too, and asked if she didn't want to know his name?Matilda glanced again at the frank face and nice dress, and said yes.
"My name's Norton Laval. What's yours?"
"Matilda Englefield. I am going this way."
"Yes, you go that way and I go this way, but we shall see each otheragain. Good-bye."
So at the corner they parted; and Matilda went home, thinking that inthis instance at least the welcoming of strangers had paid well. Forthis was a pleasant new acquaintance, she was sure. She mounted thestairs with happy feet to her room; and there found Maria in a flood oftears. Maria had stayed at home from Sunday-School to-day.
"What is the matter, Maria?" her little sister inquired. "How's mamma?"
"I don't know! Oh, nothing will ever be well again. O Tilly, what willbecome of us!"
And here a storm of sobs and tears came on, in the midst of whichMatilda's questions could get no attention. Matilda knew her sister,however, and waited.
"O Tilly!--it's so dreadful!"
"What?" said Matilda calmly.
"We haven't got anything to live upon. Anne and Letty have been tellingme. We haven't. We are going to be as poor as--as poor as anybody. Wehave got nothing to buy anything with--nothing at all! Anne says so."
"Did mamma say so?"
"Mother's sick. No, Aunt Candy told the girls. It's true. Somebody orsomething that had mamma's money--to take care of--has gone off, orbeen ruined, or something; and we are ruined! There is nothing left atall for us to live upon. And that is what has been troubling mamma allthese weeks; and now it is certain, and she knows all about it; and Iguess it is that has made her sick. Oh, what shall we do?"
The turn of Matilda's head was inimitable and indescribable. It was notarrogance or affectation; it was perfectly natural to the child; but toa bystander it would have signified that she was aware Maria's viewsand statements were not to be relied upon and could not be made thebasis of either opinion or action. She took off her things, and withoutanother word made her way to the room of her elder sisters. They wereboth sitting there gloomily.
"How is mamma?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen her since dinner."
It was with a little of the same half-graceful, half-competent gestureof the head that Matilda applied herself to Letitia.
"What is all this story, Letty, that Maria has been telling me?"
"How should I know? Maria tells a great many stories."
"I mean, about what has been troubling mamma."
"Maria had no business to tell you, and so trouble you with it."
"But is it true, Letty? Anne, is it true?"
"I suppose it is true--if you mean what she heard from me a littlewhile ago. That is true."
"And mamma has lost all her money?"
"Every cent."
"When did you know it, Anne and Letty?"
"We have known it a day or two. It is true. It is all true, Tilly."
"What is mamma going to do, then?"
"Get well, I hope. That is the first thing. Aunt Candy says she willpay for her board and Clarissa's, and mamma and you can live on that.Letty and I must go get our living--somehow."
And here Anne broke down. Matilda wanted to ask about Maria's fate inthe general falling to pieces of the family; but her throat felt sofull, she was afraid she could not. So she did not try; she turned andwent down-stairs to her mother.
Mrs. Englefield was dozing, flushed and uneasy; she hardly noticed whowas with her; but asked for water, and then for Cologne water. Matildabrought the one and the other, and sat by the bedside wiping hermother's brow and cheeks with the Cologne. Nobody came to interrupt orrelieve her for some time. The light of the afternoon began to fade,and the sunbeams came aslant from the western sky; and still the childsat there passing the handkerchief gently over her mother's face. Andwhile she sat so, Matilda was thinking what possible ways there mightbe by which she could make money.
"Tilly, is that you?" said Mrs. Englefield, faintly, as the sunbeamswere just quitting the room.
"Yes, mamma. Are you better?"
"Is there no one else here?"
"No, mamma. Aunt Candy is out; and I suppose the girls thought you weresleeping. Are you better, mamma? You have had a nice long nap."
"It's been horrid!" said Mrs. Englefield. "I have dreamed of everypossible dreadful thing."
"But you feel better now?"
"My head aches--no--oh, my head! Tilly----"
"What, mamma?"
"I am going to be sick. I shan't be about again for a while, I know. Iwant you to do just what I tell you."
"Yes, mamma. What?"
"Anne and Letty are going away."
"Yes, mamma. I know."
"Do you know why, dear?"
The tone of tender, sorrowful sympathy in which this was said, overcamethe child. As her mother's eyes with the question languidly sought herface, Matilda burst into tears and threw herself upon her neck.
"No, don't," said Mrs. Englefield, faintly,--"I can't bear it. Don't,Matilda! Rise up and listen to me."
Matilda did as she was told. She forced back her tears; stopped hersobs; dashed away the drops from the corners of her eyes; and sat upagain to hear what her mother had to say to her.
"Give me some more water first. Anne and Letty are going away, Tilly;and I cannot be up and see to anything; and I can't hire a woman to dowhat's to be done. You tell Maria, from me, she must stay home fromschool and take care of the house. You will do what you can, Tilly--oh,my head!--you can put rooms in order and such things; and Maria must godown into the kitchen and get the breakfast----"
"Must Maria get the dinner too, mamma?"
"Yes, the dinner----"
"But _can_ she, mamma?"
"She _must;_ or else your aunt Candy will hire somebody to do it; andthat will come out of what she pays me, and we shall not have enoughleft. She _must_, Tilly."
"But aunt Candy wouldn't mind, just while you are sick, mamma, wouldshe?"
"Yes! I know. Just you do as I tell you; promise me that you will."
"I will, mamma."
"Promise me that Maria will."
"I guess she will, mamma. I'll try and make her. Shall I bring herhere, and you tell her yourself?"
"No, indeed. Don't bring Maria here. She would make such a row shewould kill me. Anne and Letty will see to things, till they go--oh, Ican't talk any longer. Give me some more water."
She was presently dozing again; and Matilda, clasping her small hands,sat and thought over what was before her. It began to feel like aweight on her somewhere--on her shoulders, she thought, and lying onher heart too; and the longer she thought about it, the heavier andharder it pressed. The family to be broken up; her mother to bestraitened for money--Matilda did not know very well what that meant,but it sounded disagreeable; her aunt suddenly presented in new and notpleasant colours; a general threatening cloud overshadowing all thefuture. Matilda began to get, what her strong little heart was notaccustomed to, a feeling of real discouragement. What could she do? Andthen a word of the afternoon's lesson in the Sunday-School came freshlyto mind. It had been quite new to Matilda, and had seemed to her verybeautiful; but it took on quite another sort of beauty now,--"Cast thyburden upon the Lord; He shall sustain thee."
"Will He?" thought Matilda. "Can He? May I tell Him about all this? andwill He help me to bear it, and help me to do all that work, and tomake Maria do he
rs? But He will, _for He has said so_."
It was getting dusk in the room. Matilda knelt down by her chair, andpoured out all her troubles into the Ear that would heed and could helpher.
"Who's here?" said the voice of Mrs. Candy, coming in. "Who is that?Matilda? How did you come here, Tilly?"
"I have been taking care of my mother."
"Have you? How is she? Well, you run down-stairs; I'll take care of hernow. It is better for you not to be here. Don't come in again, unless Igive you leave. Now you may go."
"I wonder, must I mind her?" said Matilda to herself. "I do not seewhy. She is not mother; and if mother is sick, that does not giveeverybody else a right to say what I shall do. I think it is very queerof Aunt Candy to take that way with me."
And I am afraid Matilda's head was carried a little with the air whichwas, to be sure, natural to her, and not unpretty, and yet which spokeof a good deal of conscious competency. It is no more than justice toMatilda to say that she did not ever put the feeling into anyill-mannerly form. It hardly appeared at all, except in this turn ofher head, which all her own family knew, laughed at, admired, and evenloved. So she went down-stairs to the parlour.
"How is Aunt Marianne?" was the question from Clarissa. "Letty told mewhere you were. But, little one, it is not good for you to go into yourmother's sick-room; you can do nothing, and you are better out. Somamma wishes you not to go in there till Aunt Marianne is better--youunderstand?"
"Clarissa too!" thought Matilda to herself. But she made no answer. Shecame by the fire to warm herself; for her mother's room had been cold.
"You shouldn't go so near the fire; you'll burn your dress," Clarissaremarked.
"No," said Matilda; and she said but that one word.
"You will take the colour out, if you do not set it on fire; and thatis what I meant. That is your best dress, Tilly."
It was true; and, sorely against her will, Matilda stepped a littleback.
"You were a great while at Sunday-School to-day," Clarissa went on.
"No," said Matilda; "not longer than usual."
"What do you learn there?"
"Why, cousin Issa, what do you teach at _your_ Sunday-School?" saidMatilda. For Clarissa had sheered off from Mr. Richmond's church, andgone into a neighbouring one which belonged to the denomination inwhich she had been brought up.
"That is not good manners to answer one question with another, littleone."
"I thought one answer might serve for both," said Matilda.
"I am afraid it would not. For in my Sunday-School I teach theCatechism."
"Don't the Catechism tell about Jesus?"
"Some things,--of course."
"Our lessons tell all things about Him," said Matilda; "and that iswhat I learn."
"Do you learn about yourself?"
"What about myself?"
"How you ought to behave, and how you ought not to behave."
"Why, I think learning about Jesus teaches one _that_," said Matilda.
"I think there is nothing so good as coming home to learn about home,"said Clarissa.
The talk did not run in a way to please Matilda, and she was silent.Presently they were called down to tea. Everybody suffering from a fitof taciturnity.
"Maria, sit up straight," said Mrs. Candy.
"I always sit so," was the answer.
"_So_, is not very graceful. Matilda does not sit so."
"Matilda was always straight; it's her way," said Maria.
"Well, make it your way too. Come! straighten up. What shoulders! Onewould think you were a boy playing at leap-frog."
"I don't know what 'leap-frog' is," said Maria, colouring; "and I don'tthink anybody would think I was anything but a girl anyhow. I get tiredsitting up straight."
"When?" asked Clarissa.
Matilda's head was quite indescribable in the turn it gave at thismoment. Her supper was done; she was leaving the table.
"You are not going into your mother's room?" said her aunt, catchingher hand as she passed.
"You said you wished I would not."
"Yes, my dear, I am going up there immediately. Don't go out either,Matilda."
"I am going to church, Aunt Candy."
"I think not. Not to-night. I do not approve of so much church-goingfor little girls. You can study your lesson, you know, for next Sunday.I do not want to have anybody else sick on my hands till your mother iswell."
Matilda's face expressed none of her disappointment; her head was evencarried a little higher than usual as she left the room. But outsidethe door her steps flagged; and she went slowly up the stairs, askingherself if she was bound to mind what her aunt said. She was not clearabout it. In the abstract, Matilda was well enough disposed to obey alllawful authority; just now a spirit of opposition had risen. Was thislawful authority? Mrs. Englefield was sick, to be sure; but did thatgive Mrs. Candy any right to interfere with what was known to be Mrs.Englefield's will when she was not sick? Matilda thought not. Then, onthe other hand, she did not wish to do anything to displease her aunt,who had always been kind to her; she did not wish to change therelations between them. Slowly Matilda mounted stair after stair tillshe got to her room. There she stood by the window a moment, thinkingand sorrowing; for if she did not wish to anger her aunt, neither didshe wish to lose her evening in church, her sight of Mr. Richmond, andhis sermon. And just then, the clear, sweet sound of the church bellcame, with its first note, to tell that the service would begin in aquarter of an hour. It sounded like a friend's voice calling her. HerAunt Candy's church bell joined in, and Mr. Everett's church, and Mr.Schoenflocker's church; but that one which Mr. Ulshoeffer rang was theloudest of all to Matilda's ear. She could hardly stand it. Then Mariaburst in.
"What are you going to do?" said Matilda.
"Do? Why, I am going to church, of course; and in a hurry."
"And Anne and Letty?"
"Certainly; and Issa too."
Matilda said no more, but hastily made herself ready, and went downwith the rest.