The House in Town

"Yes, sir, some of it is my money; because I have an allowance, and get my own shoes and gloves."

"And you find it costs a great deal to be fashionable?"

"Yes, sir; a great deal."

"What would you like to do with your money?"

"There is a great deal to do," said Matilda soberly. "A great many people want help, don't they?"

"More than you think. I could tell you of several in the class you have just been with."

"Then, sir, what ought I to do?" – and Matilda lifted two earnest, troubled eyes to the face of her teacher.

"I think you ought to look carefully to see what the Lord has given you to do, and ask him to shew you."

"But about spending my money?"

"Then you will better be able to tell. When you see clearly what you can do with a dollar, it will not be very hard to find out whether Jesus means you should do that with it, or buy a pair of gloves, for instance. We will talk more about this and I will help you. Here is your house. Good bye."

"But Mr. Wharncliffe," said Matilda, eagerly, as she met the clasp of his hand, – "one thing; I want to stay in your class. May I?"

"I shall be very glad to have you. Good bye."

He went off down the avenue, and Matilda stood looking after him. He was a young man; he was hardly what people call a handsome man; his figure had nothing imposing; but the child's heart went after him down the avenue. His face had so much of the strength and the sweetness and the beauty of goodness, that it attracted inevitably those who saw it; there was a look of self-poise and calm which as surely invited trust; truth and power were in the face, to such a degree that it is not wonderful a child's heart, or an older person's, for that matter, should be won and his confidence given even on a very short acquaintance. Matilda stood still in the street, following the teacher's receding figure with her eye.

"What are you looking at?" said Norton, now coming up.

"O Norton! didn't you like the school very much?"

"They're a queer set," said Norton. "They're a poor set, Pink! a miserable poor set."

"Well, what then? Don't you like the teacher?"

"He's well enough; but I don't like the company."

"They were very well behaved, Norton; quite as well as the children at Shadywalk."

"Shadywalk was Shadywalk," said Norton, "but here it is another thing. It won't do. Why Pink, I shouldn't wonder if some of them were street boys."

"I think some of those in the class were good, Norton; boys and girls too."

"Maybe so," said Norton; "but their clothes weren't. Faugh!"

Matilda went into the house, wondering at her old problem, but soon forgetting wonder in mixed sorrow and joy. All the beauty of being a true child of God rose up fresh before her eyes; some of the honour and dignity of it; nothing in all the world, Matilda was sure, could be so lovely or so happy. But she had not honoured her King like Daniel; and that grieved her. She was very sure now what she wanted to be.

The next morning she took up the matter of her Christmas gifts in a new spirit. What was she meant to do with her twenty dollars? Before she could decide that, she must know a little better what it was possible to do; and for that Mr. Wharncliffe had promised his help. She must wait. In the meanwhile she studied carefully the question, what it was best for her to give to her sisters and the members of her immediate family circle; and very grave became Matilda's consideration of the shops. Her little face was almost comical now and then in its absorbed pondering of articles and prices and calculation of sums. An incredible number and variety of the latter, both in addition and subtraction, were done in her head those days, resolving twenty dollars into an unheard of number of parts and forming an unknown number of combinations with them. She bought the bronze obelisk for Mrs. Laval; partly that she might have some pennies on hand for the street sweepers; but then came a time of fair weather days, and the street sweepers were not at the crossings. Matilda purchased furthermore some dark brown silk braid for Norton's watchguard, and was happy making it, whenever she could be shut up in her room. She dared not trust Judy's eyes or tongue.

One day she was busy at this, her fingers flying over the braid and her thoughts as busy, when somebody tried to open her door, and then tapped at it. Matilda hid her work and opened, to let in Judy. She was a good deal surprised, for she had not been so honoured before. Judith and her brother were very cool and distant since the purchase of the liqueur stand.

"What do you keep your door locked for?" was the young lady's salutation now, while her eyes roved over all the furniture and filling of Matilda's apartment.

"I was busy."

"Didn't you want anybody to come in?"

"Not without my knowing it."

"What were you doing then?"

"If I had wanted everybody to know, I should not have shut myself up."

"No, I suppose not. I suppose you want me out of the way, too. Well, I am not going."

"I do not want you to go, Judy, if you like to stay. That is, if you will be good."

"Good?" said the other, her eyes snapping. "What do you call good?"

"Everybody knows what good means, don't they?" said Matilda.

"I don't," said Judy. "I have my way of being good – that's all. Everybody has his own way. What is yours?"

"But there is only one real way."

"Ain't there, though!" exclaimed Judy. "I'll shew you a dozen."

"They can't be all good, Judy."

"Who's to say they are not?"

"Why, the Bible." The minute she had said it the colour flushed to Matilda's face. But Judy went on with the greatest coolness.

"Your Bible, or my Bible?"

"There isn't but one Bible, Judy, that I know."

"Yes, there is!" said the young lady fiercely. "There's our Bible, that's the true. There's yours, that's nothing, that you dare bind up with it."

"They both say the same thing," said Matilda.

"They DON'T!" said the girl, sitting upright, and her eyes darted fire. "They don't say a word alike; don't you dare say it."

"Why Judy, what the one says is good, the other says is good; there is no difference in that. Did you ever read the New Testament?"

"No! and I don't want to; nor the other either. But I didn't come to talk about that."

"What do you call goodness, then?"

"Goodness?" said Judy, relapsing into comparatively harmless mischief; "goodness? It's a sweet apple – and I hate sweet apples."