"I can, for I've been in them," said Norton. "And once is enough. They have got the medicine now, Pink; you needn't stay any longer."

"Oh yes, but I must. I must till Miss Redwood comes. The medicine will have to be taken again in a little while."

"It can wait till she gets here. You come away, Pink. Miss Redwood said you should."

"She didn't know what there was for me to do, or she wouldn't have said it. I can't go, Norton."

"But you must, Pink. She said so. Suppose these people should be ill with something dreadful? you can't tell."

"I am sure they would want a nurse then."

"But you might get ill, you know."

"Well, Norton, I'm not afraid."

"You might get sick, all the same, if you're not afraid," said Norton, impatiently. "Come, Pink, you must come."

"I can't, Norton. I must go in and give them some more beef tea now, in a minute. They can't take but ever so little at a time. It would be very wrong to leave them as they are."

"You might get ill, and die," said Norton.

"Well, Norton," said Matilda, slowly, "I don't think I am afraid of that. I belong to Jesus. He will take care of me."

"I don't think you know what you are talking of!" said Norton, very impatient, and very much at a loss how to manage Matilda.

"Oh yes, I do!" she said, smiling. "Now I must go in. You needn't come, for there wouldn't be anything for you to do."

Matilda disappeared; and Norton, wishing very much that he could lay hold of her and carry her away by force, did not, however, feel that it would exactly do. He sat down on the door stone of the house, he would not go further, and waited. There was a delicious calm sunlight over all the world that October afternoon; it puzzled Norton how there could be a sick-house anywhere under such a sky. He heard the ponies stamping their idle hoofs against the barn floor; they were spoiling for exercise; why were he and Matilda not out driving, instead of having this state of things? Then some gaily disposed crows went flying overhead, calling a cheery reminder to each other as they went along; they were having a good time. Norton chafed against the barriers that hindered him. Suddenly a swift footstep came over the grass, and Mr. Richmond stood before him.

"Is this the house?" he asked. "Is Matilda here?"

"Yes, sir; and I've tried to get her out. And I can't."

Mr. Richmond went in without more words. A moment after Matilda opened the door he had shut.

"Well! will you go now?" said Norton.

"I must. Mr. Richmond will not let me stay."

Mr. Richmond himself came again to the door.

"Norton," said he, "I am going to ask you to take Matilda to the parsonage. The best thing will be for you and her to make your home there, until Mrs. Laval gives further orders. You will both be heartily welcome. Will you take her there and take care of her until I come home?"

"Thank you, sir," said Norton, "it is not necessary——"

"You must let my word go for that," said the minister, smiling. "If not necessary, I think it prudent. I wish it; and I invite both of you. It would be treating me very ill to refuse me, and I am sure you will not do that. I trust you to take care of Matilda until I get home. The house will be quite alone when Miss Redwood leaves it. Is anybody in the house on the bank?"

"No, sir; nobody."

"I will lock it up, then, and bring the key. Go in and put up anything you will want for a day or two, and I will send it after you."

With a nod and a smile at them Mr. Richmond went in again. The two children looked at each other, and then began to mount the bank.

"You do what Mr. Richmond tells you," remarked Norton.

"Of course," said Matilda. "So do you."

"It wouldn't be civil to do anything else," said Norton. "But isn't it jolly, that you and I should go to make a visit at the parsonage! What is a parsonage like? It isn't like other houses, I suppose."

"Why, yes, it is," said Matilda; "just like; only a minister lives in it."

"That makes the difference," said Norton. "Don't you feel as if you were in church all the time? I shall, I know."

"Why, no, Norton! what an idea. Mr. Richmond's house is not like a church."

"Isn't he like a minister?"

"Why, yes, of course!" said Matilda, with some indignation. "He isn't like your minister, Norton."

"Why?" said Norton, laughing.

"I don't know. He isn't stiff. He don't dress unlike other people. He is just as pleasant as anybody else can be; and a great deal pleasanter, I think."

"What you call good people, generally are stiff," said Norton.

"Oh no, Norton, they are not. What makes you think so?"

"You were very stiff just now," said Norton.

"Oh, do you mean that sort of stiffness? But, Norton, I thought there was something I could do there, you know, and I didn't think I ought to come away."

Getting to the top of the bank broke off the discussion. Matilda and Norton each had things to get together to go to the parsonage; and it was necessary to change their dress. The sun was well on his westing way when they left the iron gate of Briery Bank, bag in hand; and in the little lane of the parsonage the elm trees cast broad and long shadows. As they came up on the piazza, Miss Redwood opened the door. Her hood and shawl were on, and she had a basket in her hand. She stopped suddenly.

"What is it now?" she said. "What's wanting?"

"Nothing," said Matilda; "only Mr. Richmond has sent us here."

"He has!" said the housekeeper. "You've come to stop?"

"Mr. Richmond says so. He wished it."

"Well, what'll you do?" said Miss Redwood, coming to a sort of pause. "There ain't a living soul in the house, and there won't be, 'cept the minister himself; and how he'll get along I don't know. I can't be in two places at once."

"Can't I get the tea, Miss Redwood?"

"La, I don't know but what you kin. Come along in, and let me tell you. There's bread all baked, this afternoon—it ain't cold yet—enough to last a siege; it's in that pantry, Matilda, in the bread box. You know there's all the cups; and saucers; and tea things, for you've seen me get 'em out; and the tea canister, and the sugar. And the milk is down cellar, in a pan, and there's cream onto it. Can you skim it off and keep it cream yet, for the minister's tea?"

"Oh yes; I can do that, Miss Redwood."

"Then you'll get along for to-night; and I'll try and be round in the morning, if I kin. But you'll want sheets—There's the bed in the spare room off the hall; that's all ready for one of ye; I got it fixed up Saturday for somebody that never come; 'tain't everybody as sticks to his word like the minister. La, I get weary with the folks that are like Job's brooks; they say and don't do; and when you expect 'em they ain't there. I was put out, o' Saturday, when I found out that was how it was with this man; but there's good in everything, if you can keep your patience; now the room's ready, and it wouldn't ha' been ready; for I had a lot o' apples there dryin', and a board full o' fresh turnpikes was on the bed; they was gettin' finished; and I had a quilt in a corner that I had sot up on the sticks and it was a'most done quiltin'; and all them things I had to fly round and get rid of; and I've no time for anything now. So, dear, that room'll do for one of ye, and the other—you can put the sheets on the bed, can't ye? for the minister'll be playin' nurse till I come, and I wish I had Jack's seven-mile boots to get to Briery Bank with."

While this talk was going on, Miss Redwood had brought Matilda up-stairs, and was taking out linen and coverlets from a press in one of the rooms. Matilda said she could manage everything, with Norton's help.

"Then I'll go," said Miss Redwood. "But if I shouldn't be able fur to run away in the morning and see to the breakfast!——"

She stopped, thinking.

"Dear Miss Redwood, won't you trust me to do it? I think I can."

"What sort of a breakfast will it be?" said the housekeeper, meditatively.

"I'll try to have it right."

"La, yes, if it depended on your tryin'," said the housekeeper; "your will is as good as gold; but will won't cook a beefsteak."

"I'll try," said Matilda again.

"Well," said Miss Redwood, "we must walk till we get out o' the woods, and then we'll run. The minister ain't accustomed to have his steak any way, but as he likes it; maybe it'll do him no harm. Everything's down cellar, Matilda, 'cept the things in the kitchen pantry; and you'll find out which is which. And I'll go."

So she did. And as the door closed after her, the two children in the hall looked at each other.

"Nobody in the house?" said Norton.

"Nobody but ourselves."

"That's jolly," said Norton. "Pink, I have got that catalogue in my pocket; let us sit down somewhere and make out a list of those hyacinths."

"O Norton!—Yes, I will in a little while. I must go get the table ready for tea; and I had better do it now before Mr. Richmond comes home."

"You and I seem to have a great deal of getting tea to do," said Norton, as he followed Matilda into the little dining-room. "What do you want me to do?"

"O Norton! if you would just look and see if the tea-kettle is on, and if not, put it on. Will you?"

"Where, Pink?"

"Just open that door. There is the kitchen."

"I remember," said Norton. "No, the kettle isn't on. Here goes."

There was a little busy, pleasant bustle, for a time; and then Matilda, with Norton's help, had got everything in order for the evening meal. The sun was near setting, and threw bright lines of light in at the two little west windows, filling the small dining-room with pure gold; then it went down, and the gold was gone, and only in the low western sky the brightness remained.

"It's time for the minister to be at home," Norton said.

"He has a great deal to do," Matilda answered.

"What?" said Norton. "I always thought the parsons had an easy time of it. I could write two themes a week, I think, if I tried hard."

"Norton!" Matilda exclaimed, "it isn't that; and Mr. Richmond doesn't write themes, as you call it, to begin with."

"That must be harder then," said Norton; "to stand up and speak to people without anything to say."

"Why he doesn't!" said Matilda. "Mr. Richmond always has plenty to say. I suppose he could talk all day, if he didn't get tired."

"I mean preaching," said Norton.

"Yes, and I mean preaching," said Matilda.

"Where is it to come from?" said the boy, pursing his lips ready for a whistle.

"Why, out of his head, and out of his heart," said Matilda. "Where should it come from?"

"I say, Pink," said Norton, "it's very funny for me to be here. I don't think I can stand it long."

"Stand what?"

"This. Being at the parsonage and getting talked to. I suppose I shall."

"Norton," said Matilda, confidently, "you'll like it. It's just nice."

"I don't know about that," said Norton. "It feels queer. I believe I am afraid."

Matilda laughed at his very un-fear-like face; and then the front door opened and shut. Mr. Richmond had come.

It was a jolly tea they had, Norton confessed afterwards. Mr. Richmond went rummaging among Miss Redwood's stores and brought out a jar of sweetmeats; in honour, he said, of his guests. The sweetmeats were good, and so was Miss Redwood's fresh bread. And there was indeed plenty of talk at the table; but it was not in the least like preaching. From the sick Swiss, and their voyage, Mr. Richmond and Norton somehow got upon the subject of navigation and commerce, with ships ancient and modern, and a little touch here and there showing how much these things have had to do with the history of the world and the life of nations. Mr. Richmond and Norton talked and talked; and Matilda listened, and made the tea, and enjoyed it all very much, seeing too what a good time Norton was having.

After tea, they removed into the study. Mr. Richmond asked them to come there, saying he was going to play this evening. He built up a beautiful fire, and gave Norton a book to look at; while he himself sat for awhile quite silent, looking into the blaze, and only moving now and then to take care that it was kept up. So Matilda found the two, when she had put the tea things away and followed them to the study. The red curtains were drawn across the windows; the red light of the fire leaped and shone all through the room; in the glow of it Norton sat brooding over his book, and before it Mr. Richmond sat thinking. But he held out his hand as Matilda came in, and asked if his little housekeeper had got all things straight. Matilda came to his outstretched hand, which drew her to his side; and the room was still again. Matilda stood motionless. By and by Norton glanced up at her from his book, and covertly smiled. It started Matilda's thoughts.

"Are you not going to be busy, Mr. Richmond?" she ventured, gently.

"Not doing anything at all," said Mr. Richmond, rousing himself. "I have been busy all day, Matilda. I am going to do nothing to-night. What is it?"

"Will it be doing anything to talk to Norton and me?"

"I can't say," Mr. Richmond replied, laughing a little. "Perhaps you will find me work to do, but I'll risk it. What do you want to talk about?"

"There was a question—Norton and I could not tell what the answer ought to be. I believe he thought one way, and I thought another."

"What was the question?" said Mr. Richmond; while Norton's face looked up from his book, bright with the same query.

"We were talking—it was about opportunities, you know, Mr. Richmond; the opportunities that having money gives people; and we couldn't tell, Norton and I, how far one ought to go. Norton said people must stop somewhere; and I suppose they must. Where ought they to stop?"

Matilda's face looked very earnest. Norton's, comical.

"Where ought they to stop in giving money, you mean?"

"Yes, sir. For doing good, you know, and making other people comfortable."

"It is rather a large question. Were you afraid of giving too much, or of giving too little?"

"I think one of us was afraid of giving too much, and the other of giving too little."

"The best way is to go to the Bible and see what that says. May I trouble one of you to open it at the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, and read what you find in the seventh verse of the ninth chapter?"

Norton dropped his book and sprang to do the service asked for. He read the words—

"'Every man according as he purposeth in his heart, so let him give; not grudgingly, or of necessity: for God loveth a cheerful giver.'"

Norton read, and looked up, as much as to say, What now? how does this help?

"I don't see how that tells, Mr. Richmond," said Matilda.

"It tells one or two things. You are to give out of your heart; not because somebody else asks you, or some other body says you ought. That would not please God. You are to do what you like to do; much or little, as you feel."

"But ought it to be much or little?"

"As you feel. As your heart says."

"But then, Mr. Richmond, will the Lord be just as well pleased whether it is much or little?"

"Norton will please read the sixth verse."

"'But this I say, He which soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he which soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully.'"

"But that don't tell either," said Norton, when he had read.

"I think it does," said Matilda, slowly. "It tells one thing. Mr. Richmond, it doesn't tell how much one ought to like to give. That was the very question between Norton and me; and we could not settle it."

"Don't you see, Matilda, that everybody's heart would give its own answer to that question?"

"But, Mr. Richmond, surely there is a right and a wrong answer?"

"I am afraid a good many wrong answers," said Mr. Richmond.

Norton looked as if he would like to say something, but modestly kept back before the minister. Mr. Richmond caught the look.

"Speak out, Norton," said he, smiling. "Truth will always bear to be looked at."

"I don't know much about it, sir," said Norton. "Only it seems to me, that if one begins to help other people all one can, one will soon want helping himself."

"Ah!" said Mr. Richmond. "Read the next verse now."

"The next to the seventh, sir?—'And God is able to make all grace abound toward you; that ye, always having all sufficiency in all things, may abound to every good work.'"

"That does not sound as if Matilda were in any danger of growing poor through helping Mrs. Eldridge, does it?"

"But, sir!" said Norton, "the more one gives away, the less one has for one's self?"

"It does not always work so," said Mr. Richmond. "The Bible says, 'There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth.'"

Norton did not know exactly how to fight for his opinions, and so was silent, like a well-bred boy as he was; but Matilda's feeling was different.

"I understand," she said; "at least I think I do; but, Mr. Richmond, this does not get Norton and me out of our puzzle. You don't mean that people ought to keep nothing for themselves?"

"'Every man according as he purposeth in his heart,'" Mr. Richmond repeated. "That is the order. There have been people, Matilda, who have given their all for the sake of the Lord Jesus, and kept, as you say, nothing for themselves. It was in their heart. I cannot blame them, for one. He did not."

"But ought every one to do so?"

"Matilda, I dare not set any rule but the rule my Master has set. He said, 'He that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple.'"

"People don't do that, sir," said Norton, eagerly.

"Ought they to do it, sir?" said Matilda, timidly. "To give away all they have got?"

"He did not say, 'give away,' but 'forsake.' The word means literally 'to take leave of.' They give up thinking that what they have is their own; and from that time stand ready to give it away entirely, if the Master says so."

"Is that religion, sir?" Norton asked.

"But, Mr. Richmond," Matilda said, in another tone, "that is the very thing. How are they to know when He does tell them to give these things away?"

"We are coming to it now," said Mr. Richmond. "You want to know what religion is, Norton. Please turn to the fifth chapter of that same epistle to the Corinthians, and read aloud the—let me see—I think it is the fourteenth and fifteenth verses."

Norton obeyed.

"'For the love of Christ constraineth us; because we thus judge, that if one died for all, then were all dead: and that He died for all, that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto Him which died for them and rose again.'"

"That is your answer," said Mr. Richmond; "that is religion. Now for Matilda's answer—Norton, turn to the Epistle to the Colossians, and the third chapter, and read the seventeenth verse."

"'And whatsoever ye do, in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father, by Him.'"

"There is your rule, Matilda. It is carrying out the former words. You have only to apply that to everything you do."

"What is doing all in the name of the Lord?" Norton asked.

"Not in your own name; not as though you were your own master; not as seeking first your own pleasure or advancement; not as using your own things. Correlatively, for the Lord; for His pleasure, for His service, as belonging to Him."

"'In word or deed,'" said Matilda. "That means giving and everything."

"But then, in religion one would never be free," said Norton.

"How, never be free?"

"Why, one must act as if one never be longed to one's self."

"We don't," said Mr. Richmond. "We are not our own; we are bought with a price. And we never were free till now."

"But, if I go to buy a coat——" said Norton; and he stopped.

"Yes, if you go to buy a coat, you will remember that you and the coat are the Lord's together; and you will buy that coat which you think is the one He would like you to wear, and in which you can best work for Him; and not use His money for any other."

Norton was silent, not because he had no thoughts to speak. Matilda was silent, but with a very different face. It was serious, sweet, meditative, and content.

"I see how it is, Mr. Richmond," she said, at last, looking up to his face. "Thank you, sir."

"It is very nice to have people apply sermons for themselves, Matilda," said the minister.



CHAPTER XII.

Miss Redwood did not come back the next morning to get breakfast. No sign of her. Mr. Richmond and Matilda managed it, between them. Norton, I am afraid, was not up till Matilda called him, and that was when the coffee was nearly ready.

Matilda learned how to get breakfast at the parsonage, and Norton learned to be up and help her; for they made a long stay at the old brown house. Mrs. Laval's Swiss servants were all down with ship fever; and the two children were forbidden to come even near the house. Mrs. Laval herself staid at home and did what she could for the sufferers; but she and Miss Redwood kept house alone together. Not a servant would be hired to come within reach of the dreadful contagion; and not a friend thought it was any use to go there just then to see anybody. Mrs. Laval and Miss Redwood had it all to themselves, with no one to look at besides but Mr. Richmond and the doctor. Mr. Richmond came to them constantly.

The flow of human sympathy went all to the house with the brown door. It was remarkable how many friends were eager to know how the children got on; and how many more were anxious to be allowed to come in to help Matilda.

"What shall I do, Mr. Richmond?" she would say. "There have been three this morning."

"Who were they, Tilly?"

"Mrs. Barth, and Miss Van Dyke, and Miss Spenser—oh, there were four!—and Ailie Swan."

"Do you want Ailie to help you?"

"No, Mr. Richmond; I don't want anybody but Norton."

"Well, I don't. You may tell them that we do not want anybody, Matilda. I have seen Mrs. Pottenburg; she will come in to scrub floors and do the hard work."

So for several weeks the two children and the minister kept house together; in a way highly enjoyed by Matilda, and I think by Mr. Richmond too. Even Norton found it oddly pleasant, and got very fond of Mr. Richmond, who, he declared privately to Matilda, was a brick of the right sort. All the while the poor Swiss people at Mrs. Laval's farmhouse were struggling for life, and their two nurses led a weary, lonely existence. Norton sometimes wished he and Matilda could get at the gray ponies and have a good drive; but Matilda did not care about it. She would rather not be seen out of doors. As the weeks went on, she was greatly afraid that her aunt would come back and reclaim her.

And Mrs. Candy did come back; and meeting Mr. Richmond a day or two after her return, she desired that he would send Matilda home to her. She had just learned where she was, she said.

"You know that Matilda has been exposed to ship fever?" said Mr. Richmond.

"No. I heard she was at your house."

"But not until she had been in the house with the fever patients, and nursing them, before any one knew what was the matter. Had she not better stay where she is, at least until we can be certain that she has got no harm?"

"Well, perhaps," said Mrs. Candy, looking confused; "it is very perplexing; I cannot expose my daughter——"

"She will stay where she is," said Mr. Richmond, "for the present. Good morning."

He never told Matilda of this encounter. And before another week had gone, Mrs. Candy and Clarissa had again left Shadywalk.

So week after week went by peacefully. The beautiful days of October were all past; November winds came, and the trees were bare, and the frosts at night began to be severe. The sick people were getting better, and terrible qualms of fear and sorrow now and then swept over Matilda's heart. Her aunt would surely want her back now, and she should never finish her visit at Mrs. Laval's!

One day she was in Mr. Richmond's study, all alone, thinking so. There was a flurry of snow in the air, the first snow of the season, falling thickly on the grass, and eddying in windy circles through the pine trees. Matilda had knelt in a chair at the window to watch it, with that spasm of fear at her heart. Now it is winter! she thought. Aunt Candy must be home soon. Yet the whirling great flakes of snow were so lovely, that in a few minutes they half distracted her from her fear.

It came back again when she saw Mr. Richmond appear from the end of the church porch and make his way across the snow towards the parsonage door. Matilda watched him lovingly; then was possessed with a sudden notion that he was bringing her news. He walks as if he had something to say, she said to herself; and he will come in and say it.

He came in and warmed his hands at the fire, without sitting down; certainly there was an air of business about him, as she had thought. Matilda stood watching and waiting; that fear at her heart.

"Where's Norton?" said Mr. Richmond.

"He went out a good while ago. I don't know, sir."

"I suppose you have expected to hear of your aunt's coming home, before now, Matilda?"

"Yes, sir," said the child. He watched her furtively. No curiosity, no question; her face settled rather into a non-expectant state, as if all were fixed for her for ever—a look Mr. Richmond did not like to see.

"She has come home."

He saw the colour flit on Matilda's cheek; her mouth had quitted its lines of peace and gaiety and become firm; she said nothing.

"You are not glad to hear of it, Matilda."

"No, sir."

"It is no pleasure to tell you of it; but it is necessary. How do you feel towards her now?"

"Mr. Richmond," said the child, slowly, "I think I don't hate her any more."

"But you would like to be excused from living with her?"

Matilda did not reply; no answer was necessary to so self-evident a proposition; the child seemed to be gathering her forces, somehow, mentally.

"Take courage," said her friend. "I have concluded that you never shall live with her any more. That is at an end."

He saw the lightning flash of delight come into Matilda's eyes; a streak of red showed itself on her cheek; but she was breathless, waiting for more words to make her understand how this could be, or that she had heard right.

"It's true," said Mr. Richmond.

"But—how then?" said Matilda.

"Mrs. Laval wants you."

"Wants me?" Matilda repeated, anxiously.

"She wants you, to keep you for her own child. She lost a little daughter once. She wants you to be in that little daughter's place, and to live with her always."

"But, aunt Candy will not," said Matilda, "she will not——"

"Your aunt Candy has consented. I have arranged that. It is safely done, Matilda. You are to live with Mrs. Laval, and be her child from henceforth."

Matilda still looked at Mr. Richmond for a minute or two, as if there must be words to follow that would undo the wonderful tale of these; but seeing that Mr. Richmond only smiled, there came a great change over the child's face. The fixedness broke up. Yet she did not smile; she seemed for the instant to grow grave and old; and clasping her little hands, she turned away from Mr. Richmond and walked the breadth of the room and back. Then she stood still again beside the table, sober and pale. She looked at Mr. Richmond, waiting to hear more.

"It is all true," said her friend.

"Is it for always?" Matilda asked, in a low voice.

"Yes. Even so. Mrs. Laval was very earnest in wishing it. I judged you would not be unwilling, Matilda."

The child said nothing, but the streak of colour began again to come into her cheeks.

"You are now to be Mrs. Laval's child. She adopts you for her own. In all respects, except that of memory, you are to be as if you had been born hers."

"Does Norton know?"

"I have not spoken to him. I really cannot tell."

Again silence fell. Matilda stood with her eyes downcast, the colour deepening in each cheek. Mr. Richmond watched her.

"Have I done right?" he asked.

"You, sir?" said Matilda, looking up.

"Yes. Have I done right? I have made no mistake for your happiness?"

"Did you do it, sir?"

"Yes, in one way. Mrs. Laval wished it; I arranged it. You know your mother left me the power. Have I done right?"

"Mr. Richmond," said the child, slowly, "I am afraid to think."

Her friend smiled again, and waited till the power of speech should come back.

"Was aunt Candy willing?" she said then.

"No, I do not think she was willing. I think the plan was not agreeable to her. But she gave her consent to it. The reasons in favour of the plan were so strong that she could not help that."

Matilda privately wondered that any reasons could have had so much weight; and rather fancied that Mr. Richmond had been the strongest reason of them all.

"And it is all done?" she said, lifting up her eyes.

"All done. Arranged and finished. But Mrs. Laval is afraid to have you come home before next week."

"Mr. Richmond," said the child, coming close, and stealing her hand into his, "I am very much obliged to you!"

Her friend sat down and drew his arm around her; and Matilda's other hand on his shoulder, they were both still, thinking, for some little time.

"Mr. Richmond," Matilda whispered, "I think I am somebody else."

"I hope not, Tilly."

"Everything in the world seems different."

"Very naturally; but you can keep your self yet, I trust. If I thought not, I should wish the whole thing undone."

"I ought to be better," said Matilda.

"We ought always to be better. Circumstances cannot change that. Nothing happens that the Lord does not mean shall help us to be better. And yet, sometimes circumstances seem to make it more difficult."

"These don't, Mr. Richmond; do they?"

"I don't know, Tilly. They may."

"How?"

"I will not forestall them, Tilly. If you watch, you will soon find out, whether they do or not."

"Are you afraid I shall be different, Mr. Richmond? not growing better, I mean."

"I have not seen you tried, except in one way, you know."

"I shall have more opportunities; shall I not, Mr. Richmond?"

"Different opportunities. You have had no lack of them so far, have you?"

"Of one sort, Mr. Richmond."

"Ah, but remember, my child, we are never without opportunities to do the Lord's will; plenty of opportunities. What you are thinking of now, is opportunity to do your own will; isn't it?"

"I was thinking of helping people, and doing things for those who have no money."

"Yes. And is not that a pleasure?"

"Oh yes, sir."

"When the Lord puts it out of our power to have this pleasure, it shows that those things are not His will for us just then, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"What is our opportunity then?"

"I know what you mean, Mr. Richmond. You mean, that then we can be patient."

"And content."

"Content?"

"Yes; if it is God's will. We must be content always to do that."

"But I suppose," said Matilda, "I shall, maybe, have more chance to do those things, Mr. Richmond."

"If so, I hope you will do them. But I want you to be always ready to do all the will of God. It is easy to pick out a pleasant duty here and there, or an unpleasant duty even; and stand ready to be faithful in that. But I want you to watch and be faithful in all things, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God."

"I will try, Mr. Richmond."

"In every change of circumstances, Matilda, we find both new opportunities and new difficulties. God has something new for us in every change. The thing is, to be ready for it."

"How can one always find out, Mr. Richmond, what it is?"

"If you watch, and are obedient, the Lord will show it to you."

Norton's step sounded on the piazza. Mr. Richmond loosened the hold of his arm, and Matilda rushed off. Not so fast but that she stopped midway between him and the door and said, soberly—

"Thank you, Mr. Richmond. I think I understand. I will try."



PRINTED BY BALLANTINE AND COMPANY

EDINBURGH AND LONDON



Typographical errors silently corrected:

Chapter 2: Oh, I don't know replaced by Oh, I don' know

Chapter 2: Am I one of em replaced by Am I one of 'em

Chapter 2: giveth His life for replaced by giveth his life for

Chapter 2: intelligible the reading this time replaced by intelligible, the reading, this time

Chapter 2: following him?'" replaced by following him'?"

Chapter 3: she wants most replaced by she wants 'most

Chapter 4: I don't know what 'twas replaced by I don' know what 'twas

Chapter 4: begin with. "That's replaced by begin with. That

Chapter 5: only a course pride replaced by only a coarse pride

Chapter 6: Well we've got to go replaced by Well, we've got to go

Chapter 6: Because Mr. Richmond replaced by Because, Mr. Richmond

Chapter 7: 'cause you see replaced by 'cause, you see

Chapter 7: where everybody lives? replaced by where everybody lives.

Chapter 7: making a fool of himself replaced by makin' a fool of himself

Chapter 7: sight of money replaced by sight o' money

Chapter 7: Taint in 'em replaced by 'Taint in 'em

Chapter 7: She is one replaced by "She is one

Chapter 8: you are very presuming replaced by You are very presuming

Chapter 9: go on using replaced by go on, using

Chapter 10: "Two or three replaced by Two or three

Chapter 10: went on pointing replaced by went on, pointing

Chapter 10: at Shadywalk had replaced by at Shadywalk, had

Chapter 10: because it is shorter replaced by becaase it is shorter

Chapter 10: gruel nicely replaced by gruel, nicely

THE END