Opportunities Part 32

"And keeps you there?"

"Yes, sir. Lately. She didn't at first."

"Well, I must see about that. I think you must be allowed to come and see me, at all events. Perhaps you do not know, Matilda, that your mother in almost the last hour of her life asked me to take care of you."

"Did she?" Matilda exclaimed, with a wonderful change of voice and manner.

"Yes. She did. In your aunt's presence."

"And you will, Mr. Richmond?" said the child, a little timidly.

"And I will--while I live myself."

"Then I _can_ come and see you, Mr. Richmond?"

"I think you can. I will see about it."

Matilda gave her friend a good night which was almost joyous, and then ran out to the kitchen.

"Miss Redwood," she said, "did you change your mind again about Mrs.

Eldridge? I thought you agreed, and that you were going to do all that for me."

"No, child; I hain't changed my mind. I changed it oncet, you know, to come over to you. I never did go both ways, like a crab."

"But you said at tea----"

"Well, I wished the minister'd tell you to keep your money to hum.

'Tain't _your_ work, as I can see, to fit out Sally Eldridge with notions; it's like enough it's mine, and I'm willin' to take it, and do it, and see to it. You put your money by, child, against a wet day.

Maybe you'll want it yet."

"Don't you remember, Miss Redwood, what Mr. Richmond repeated at tea?--'the Lord will pay it again?'"

"Well," said the housekeeper, "let the pay come to me, then."

"No," said Matilda, "that won't do. It's my business, Miss Redwood, and I asked you to do it for me; and I'll give you the money. How much do you want?"

"I hain't bought the things yet; I don' know; and some of 'em won't have to be bought, with a little contrivance. I'll spend the least I kin; and then we'll talk about it."

Matilda gave her an energetic kiss and hurried away. But I am afraid the housekeeper's ap.r.o.n went up to her eyes again.

CHAPTER VIII.

Matilda went home with new strength, and full of the will to do the very best she could in her hard circ.u.mstances. But the next morning's dousing, and scrubbing, and rubbing down seemed more fierce than ever.

If Matilda ever ventured to say "Oh don't!"--Mrs. Candy was sure to give her more of what she did not like. She had learned to keep her tongue still between her teeth. She had learned to wince and be quiet.

But this morning she could hardly be quiet. "Can I help hating Aunt Candy?" she thought to herself as she went down-stairs. Then she found Maria full of work for which she wanted more fingers than her own; and Matilda's were very busy till breakfast time, setting the table, hulling strawberries, sweeping the hall, making coffee, baking the biscuit. Both the girls busy, and Maria cross. Breakfast was not sociable; and Matilda was summoned to go to her aunt's room as soon as the dishes were put away.

"Can I help it?" thought Matilda. And as she went up the stairs she prayed for a loving heart, and that this feeling, which was like a sickness, might be taken away from her.

"What makes you look so meek?" exclaimed Clarissa, as she entered the room. Mrs. Candy lifted her face to see.

"I like to see children look meek," she said. "That's the way they should look. Matilda's cold bath is doing her good."

"Mamma, you are very severe with your cold baths!" said the young lady.

"They did _you_ good once," said her mother. "You need not speak against them. Matilda is a different child since she has been in my bath. Here is your lace, Matilda. I am too busy to hear you read this morning. Take your seat over there, and see how well you can do this; it's rather a difficult piece."

It was a very difficult piece. Matilda's heart sank when she saw it; besides that her aunt's words seemed to have taken away all the meekness she had, and to have stirred up anew all her worst feelings.

She put her hand to her face to hide her eyes, while she prayed afresh for help and a sweeter spirit. She seemed to be all on edge.

"What's the matter?" said Mrs. Candy. "Begin your work, child; you'll want all the time you have got, I warn you. Don't waste your time idling."

Matilda tried to remember what Mr. Richmond had said the night before, of the uses of things; and tried to pray quietly while she was taking up threads in her lace. But remembering and praying made the tears come; and then she could not see the threads, and that would not do.

By and by she became interested in what her aunt and cousin were saying.

They were unfolding their yesterday's purchases, and talking about what they were going to do with them. Gauzes, and muslins, and other stuffs new to Matilda, were laid open on the bed and hung about over the backs of chairs, and the room looked like a mercer's shop. Here was a delicate embroidered white muslin; there a rosy gauze; there a black tissue; here something else of elegant pattern; with ribbands, and laces, and rufflings, and a great variety of pretty articles. Matilda thought her aunt and cousin were having a great deal more amusing time than she had.

"What are you doing, Matilda?" Mrs. Candy's voice said again.

"Looking at Cousin Issa's things, ma'am."

"Mind your work, child. You will not have that done by dinner-time."

"Why, I _can't_, Aunt Candy."

"You could if you had been industrious. You cannot now, very likely.

But you must finish it before you leave this room."

"It is no use!" said Matilda, throwing the lace down; "I can't _near_ get it done for dinner. It is very hard, and it will take a great while!"

Mrs. Candy waited a moment.

"Pick up your work," she said, "and come here and stand before me, and beg my pardon."

Matilda felt as if it was impossible to do this.

"Do it, and quickly," said Mrs. Candy; "or your punishment will come to-morrow morning, child. Do not be foolish. I shall give you something hot as well as cold, I warn you."

It seemed to Matilda that she could not humble herself to do as she was bidden; and the struggle was terrible for a minute or two. It shook the child's whole nature. But the consciousness of the indignity awaiting her in case of refusal fought with the keen sense of indignity now, and conquered in time. Matilda picked up her work, came before Mrs. Candy, and asked her pardon.

"Very well," said that lady, tapping her cheek carelessly; "now go and sit down and behave yourself. The lace must be finished before you leave my room."

It was a day of sharp trial to Matilda, all the more, perhaps, that it came after a time of so much relief, and hope, and help. Matilda was disappointed. She was not a pa.s.sionate child; but for some hours a storm of pa.s.sion filled her heart which she could not control. Her lace needle went in and out, keeping time to the furious swayings of indignation and resentment and mortified pride and restless despair.

She was in her aunt's hands; completely in her power; helpless to change anything; obliged even to swallow her feelings and hide her displeasure. For a while that morning, Matilda felt as if she would have given almost anything for the freedom to show her aunt what she thought of her. She dared not do it, even so much as by a look. She was forced to keep a quiet face and sit obediently mending her difficult piece of lace; and the child's heart was in great turmoil. With that, by and by, there began to mingle whispers of conscience; little whispers that anger and hatred and ill-will were not right, nor becoming her profession, nor agreeing at all with that "walking in love" which Mr. Richmond had spoken of the night before. And sorrow took its part too among the feelings that were sweeping over and through her heart; but Matilda could not manage them, nor rule herself, and she at last longed for the dinner-bell to ring, when her aunt and cousin would leave her and she would be alone. Lace-mending got on very slowly; her eyes were often dim, and it hindered her; though she would not let the tears fall. When the bell rang, and the door was locked upon her, Matilda's work dropped, and she too herself almost fell upon her knees in her eagerness to seek and get help. That was what she prayed for; not that her aunt might grow kind, nor that she might be somehow separated from her and taken from her rule; but that she might have help to be right; a heart to love, and bear, and forgive, and be gentle. Matilda prayed and prayed for that; while her lace lay on the floor, and the dinner down-stairs was gloomily going on.