Trading Part 41

Matilda decided that it was a capital plan; and they arranged to go the next Sat.u.r.day afternoon, when David would be at leisure. And the week seemed long till the Sat.u.r.day came.

"Pink," said Norton at their dinner, "I will take you into the Park this afternoon."

"O thank you, Norton! But--I can't go. I have an engagement to go to see Sarah Staples."

"Sarah Staples! Sarah Staples can wait, and I can't. I have only one Sat.u.r.day afternoon a week. It'll be splendid this afternoon, Pink. The Park is all green and flowery, and it's sure to be full. I'm going just at the fullest time."

"I should like to go with you; but I have business, and I can't put it off."

"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 would rather not wait. Very good."

"It is important business, really, Norton," Matilda pleaded; "it is not for myself."

"That's just what proves it of no importance," said Norton. "What is it?"

"David and I want to see Mrs. Staples to find out something we want to know."

"Might as well ask the Sphinx," said Norton discontentedly.

"I would just as lief tell you what, Norton; only it is something you don't care about, and it would give you no pleasure."

"May as well let 'em go, Norton," remarked Judy, eating strawberries at a tremendous rate; it was not strawberry time by any means, but these came 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 something or other and pull up so; or till they get swamped. _I_ hope they'll get swamped."

"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 feed everybody on custards--not us, you know; we've got strawberries; but the people that haven't. Matilda's going to make them, and Davy's going to 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 time to spend in further talking.

They found Mrs. Staples at home, and Sarah too, as it was Sat.u.r.day afternoon. The little room looked cosy and comfortable; for it was very tidy and very clean, and the mother and daughter were peacefully at work. The pleasure manifested at sight of David and Matilda was very lively. Sarah set chairs, and her mother looked to the fire in the stove.

"How does the oven work, Mrs. Staples?" Matilda asked.

"Couldn't be no better, and couldn't do no better. I declare! it's beautiful. Why after I got my hand in, I baked a pan o' biscuits the other day; and they riz up and browned, you never see! and the boys was too happy for anything. I wisht you'd seen 'em, just. They thought nothin' ever was so good, afore or since. Yes 'm, it's a first-rate oven; 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 little noisy, by times; you can't expect they wouldn't; now the sun's warm in the streets and the children gets out o' their holes and corners. I sometimes think, what a mercy it is the sun s.h.i.+nes! and specially to them as hain't no fire or next to none. I often think the Lord's more merciful than what men is."

"Do you think it is men's fault then, other men's, that such poor people 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 why does it go for drink? I tell you, sir, folks loses heart when they knows there ain't enough to make a fire and buy somethin' to cook on the fire; and they goes off for what'll be meat and fire and forgetfulness 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 for work that is all one can get often, and be thankful for that. It's just runnin' a race with your strength givin' out every foot o' the way. And it's allays the rich folks does it," added Mrs. Staples, not very coherently.

"Rich people that give the low wages and put on the high rents, do you mean?"

"That's what I just do mean; and I ought to know. If a body once gets down, 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?" Matilda asked.

"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 was pondering.

"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 of course, sickness makes things wuss. No, they're fur from comfortable, I should 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 he might take Matilda there; and then they went. Sarah volunteered to guide them. But how shall I tell what they found. It was not far off, a few blocks only; in one of a tall row of tenement houses, grim and dismal, confronted by a like row on the other side of the street. Every one like every other. But inside, Matilda only remembered how unlike it was to all she had ever seen in her life before. Even Lilac lane was pleasantness and comfort comparatively. The house was sound indeed; there was no tumble-down condition of staircase or walls; the steps were safe, as they mounted flight after flight. But the entries were narrow and dirty; the stairways had _never_ seen water; the walls were begrimed with the countless touches of countless dirty hands and with the sweeping by of foul draperies. Instinctively Matilda drew her own close round her. And as they went up and up, further from the street door, the air grew more close and unbearable; heavy with vapours and odours that had no chance at any time to feel the purification of a draught of free air. Poor cookery, soapsuds, unclean humanity and dirty still life, mingled their various smell in one heavy undistinguishable oppression.

"Oh, why do people build houses so high!" said little Matilda, as she toiled 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 live here."

"They don't go down often," Sarah remarked.

At the very top of the house they were at last. There, in the end of the narrow entry-way, on the floor, was--what? A tumbled heap of dirty clothes, Matilda thought at first, and was about to pa.s.s it to go to the door which she supposed Sarah was making for; when Sarah stopped and drew aside a piece of netting that was stretched there. And then they saw, on the rags which served for his bed covers, the child they had come to see. A little, withered, shrunken piece of humanity, so nearly the colour of the rags he lay upon that his dark shock of matted curly hair made a startling spot in the picture.