The arrangements were all made; the room was ready; the cupboard was stocked with its hardware; even a carpet lay on the floor, for Mrs. Lloyd having heard from David a laughing declaration of Matilda's present longing for an old carpet, had immediately given permission to the children to rummage in the lumber room and take anything they found that was not too good. Matilda was very much afraid there would be nothing that did not come under that description; however, a little old piece of carpet was found that somehow had escaped being thrown away, and that would be, she judged, a perfect treasure to Mrs. Staples; it was sent by the hands of a very much astonished footman to Mrs. Leary's house, and by Mrs. Leary herself put down on the floor; Matilda having bargained for the cleaning of the floor as a preliminary.

Her imagination dwelt upon that carpet, and the furnished, comfortable look it gave the room, with as much recurring delight as other people often find in the thought of their new dresses and jewels. With more, perhaps. Everything was ready now. Mr. Wharncliffe was engaged to tell the good news to Sarah and her mother, and the moving was to take place on Thursday of the next week. All was arranged; and on Monday Matilda sickened.

What could be the matter? Nobody knew at first; only it was certain that the little girl was ill. Dull and feverish and miserable, unable to hold herself up, or to think much about anything when she was laid in bed. It was needful to send for the doctor; and Mrs. Laval took her station by Matilda's pillow.

How time went, for some days thereafter, Matilda but dimly knew. She was conscious now and then of being very sick, heavy and oppressed and hot; but much of the time was spent in a sort of stupor. Occasionally she would wake up to see that Mrs. Laval was bending tenderly over her, offering a spoonful of medicine or a glass of apple water; it was sometimes night, with the gas burning low, sometimes the dusk of evening; sometimes the cool grey of the morning seemed to be breaking. But of the hours between such points Matilda knew nothing; she kept no count of days; a general feeling of long weariness and dull headaches filled up all her consciousness; she reasoned about nothing.

So that it was quite a new experience, at waking one morning, to feel Mrs. Laval's lips pressed to hers for a kiss, and to hear a cheerful voice say, —

"My darling is better!"

Matilda looked up.

"I believe I have been sick," she said, in a weak little voice.

"Indeed you have, darling – very sick. But you are better now. How do you feel?"

"Better," Matilda answered in that same faint, thin little voice; – "weak."

"Of course you are weak! Here is something to make you stronger."

Mrs. Laval brought a tea-cup presently, and fed Matilda with soda biscuit dipped in tea; very nice it seemed; and then she went off again into a sweet deep sleep.

When she awaked from this, it was high day, and the light was let into the room as it had not been for a good while. It all looked natural, and yet new; and Matilda's eyes went from one object to another with a sort of recognizing pleasure; feeling languid too, as if her eyelids could just keep open and that was all. But the light seemed sweet. And her gaze lingered long on the figure of Mrs. Laval, who was standing by the mantle-piece; going over with quiet pleasure every graceful outline and pretty detail; the flow of her soft drapery; the set of the dainty little French muslin cap which set lightly on her hair. Till Mrs. Laval turned, and smiled to see her eyes open.

"Ready for breakfast?" she said gayly.

"I don't believe I could get up, mamma," said the weak little voice.

"Get up! I don't believe you could! But what do you think of having breakfast in bed? Wait; you shall have your face washed first."

She brought a basin and bathed Matilda's face and hands, first with water and then with cologne. It was pleasant to be tended so, and the fine, soft, sweet damask was pleasant, with which the drying was done. Then Mrs. Laval rang the bell, and presently came up a tray which she took from the servant's hands and brought to the bedside herself. Then Matilda was raised up and propped up with pillows, till she could see what was on the plate.

"How nice that cologne is! I haven't had breakfast in a good while before, have I?"

"No, my darling." And Mrs. Laval stooped to press her lips fondly. "What do you say to a little bit of roast bird?"

Matilda was very glad of it; and she enjoyed the delicate thin slice of toast, and the fragrant tea out of a sort of eggshell cup; the china was so thin it was semi-transparent. She made a bird's breakfast, but it was very good, and did her good.

"Mamma," she said, as she drank the last drops from that delicate cup, – "it must be a dreadful thing to be poor! When one is sick, I mean."

"You never will be, darling," said Mrs. Laval.

She was slowly but surely mending all that day. The next morning she had another roast bird for breakfast, and could eat more of it.

"Norton wants to see you dreadfully," Mrs. Laval said as she was feeding her. "And so does David, I believe. How have you and David got to be such good friends?"

"I don't know, mamma. I like David very much."

"Do you?" said Mrs. Laval laughing; "perhaps that is the reason. Like makes like, they say. You are one of the few people that like David Bartholomew!"

"Am I? Why, mamma? Don't you like him?"

"Certainly; he is my nephew. I ought to like him."

"But that don't make us like people," said Matilda meditatively.

"What? that little word ought? No, I think it works the other way."

"But I think I like everybody," Matilda went on. "Everybody some. I don't like all people one as much as another."

"No," said Mrs. Laval. "That would be too indiscriminate. Well, David likes you. That is not strange. And he wants to see you."

"Yes, and Norton. Mamma, I think I would like better to be up, before I see the boys."

"I shall not let them come in before that."

So one or two days still passed, in sleeping and resting and waking to feel stronger every time; and then one afternoon Matilda was taken up and dressed in a warm wrapper, and placed in a delightful easy chair which Mrs. Laval had had brought up for her. She felt very weak, but exceedingly comfortable. Then she saw the door of her room slowly pushed inwards, and the bright head of Norton softly advancing beyond it. So soon as he caught sight of Matilda in her easy chair, he came in with two bounds, knelt down before her, and taking her in his arms kissed her over and over.

"There is one person glad to see you," remarked Mrs. Laval.

Matilda's eyes were glittering with tears; she said not a word.

"Glad?" echoed Norton. "Pink, the house has been too stupid for anything without you. It's astonishing, what a difference one girl makes."

"One girl – " said Mrs Laval.

"Ah!" said Norton. "I didn't say anything about the other. It wouldn't distress me at all to have Judy shut up in her room a few days."

"But not by sickness!" said his mother.

"Not particular how, mamma; do Judy no harm either. She wants taking down somehow."

"Why, Norton," said Matilda, "I thought you were so busy with your greenhouse, you wouldn't miss me much. And Judy and you were getting on nicely with the flowers, I thought."

"Nicely!" repeated Norton. "She doesn't care any more for the flowers than if they were grown to make door mats of. Greenhouse! why, it's as much as I can do to prevent her pulling all the buds off; and when she's got them, as I said, she don't care the least for them. No; the one thing Judy Bartholomew cares for is mischief; and the second is her own way."

"Gently, Norton!" said his mother. "I know somebody else that likes his own way."

"Yes, ma'am, and can't get it – worse luck!"

"O Norton!" said Matilda.

"Well I'd just like to have you tell me then, how I'm to get Judy Bartholomew out of my greenhouse!"

"How did you get her in?" asked his mother.

"I went into partnership with her."

"And I ask, why?"

"Because she had money, mamma; and I wanted the greenhouse in order; and Pink wouldn't."

"Couldn't" – said Matilda. She did not feel like using many words just then.

"Pink, mamma, is the very worst person in the world about having her own way."

"And the very best person in the world about being sick."

"How, mamma?" said Matilda. "I haven't done anything at all but lie still and be taken care of."

"Mamma, she looks pale; and her voice sounds thin; aren't you going to give her something to strengthen her up?"

"She is going to have her supper in a few minutes."

"What are you going to give her?"

"Roast oysters and bread and butter."

"That sounds jolly. I'd stay and have some too; only I have got to see a fellow round the corner. Good-bye, Pink. I'm off. Eat as many oysters as you can!"

And off he ran. Matilda was disappointed; she was very fond of him, and she thought he might have liked better to stay with her this first evening. A little creeping feeling of homesickness came over her; not for any place that was once called home, but for the clinging affection of more hands and voices than one.

"He's a boy, dear," said Mrs. Laval, noticing her look. "Boys cannot bear to be shut up, even with what they love the best. And you are a girl – just full of womanly tenderness. I see it well enough. You will have something to bear in this world, my child. Boys will be boys, and men will be men; but Norton loves you dearly, for all that."

"I know he does, mamma," said Matilda.

But when a few minutes later, Mrs. Laval was called downstairs to see somebody, the feeling she had kept back rushed upon her again. She wanted something she had not got. And she began to think of her best Friend. Matilda had not forgotten him; yet through these days of sickness and weakness, and the constant presence of somebody in her room, she had missed for a long time her Bible readings and all but very short and scattering prayer. She recollected this now; and longing after the comfort of a nearer thought of God and closer feeling of his presence, she got up out of her chair and tottered across the room, holding by everything in her way, to the place where she kept her Bible. Once back in her easy chair, she had to rest a bit before she could read; then she found a place of sweet words that she knew, and rested herself in a more thorough fashion over them.

She was bending down with her volume in her hand to catch the fading light from the window, when another visiter came in. It was David Bartholomew, who having knocked and fancied that he heard the word of permission, walked in and was at her side before she knew it. Matilda started, and then looked very much pleased.

"You are not strong enough to be studying," David said kindly.

"O I am not studying."

"What have you got there that interests you so much, then? to be bending over it like that."

Now Matilda was afraid to say she was reading the Bible, knowing in what abhorrence David held part of her Bible; so she answered with a quick sort of instinct, "It was only a chapter in Isaiah, David."

"Isaiah!" he repeated; "our Isaiah? Let me see, please."

He took the book and looked keenly at the page.

"What interested you so here, Matilda?"

"I was reading that little twelfth chapter. I was thinking of those 'wells of salvation.'"

She was trembling with the fear of saying something or other to displease him, afraid to answer at all; but the simplest answer seemed the best; and she prayed for wisdom and boldness. David was looking hard at the page, and alternately at her.

"It is our Isaiah," he said, turning the leaves back and forward; "it is our Scriptures; but not the Hebrew. I shall learn to read the Hebrew. What were you thinking about the 'wells of salvation,' Matilda?"

Matilda was getting very nervous; but as before, she answered simply the truth.

"I was thinking how sweet the water is."

"You?" said David, with a depth of astonishment which might have made her laugh if she had not been so frightened. "You? what do you know of them, or think you know? These words belong to the time of Messiah ben David."

"Yes," said Matilda.

"What do you think you know about them?"

Matilda thought within herself that here was the end of David's friendship for her. Her heart sank, yet she spoke as before.

"I have drawn water out of them, David; and I know that the water is sweet."

He stood and looked at her, as if he were full of something to say; but perhaps he guessed at her reference, or perhaps he saw her too feeble to be attacked with exciting topics. He shut his mouth and said nothing; and just then the servant entered bearing the tray with Matilda's supper. That made a nice diversion. I think David was glad of it. At any rate he made himself useful; brought up the little table to Matilda's side; set the tea-pot out of her way and spread her napkin on her lap. Then, hearing that Mrs. Laval was detained downstairs, he took the management of things upon himself. He made Matilda's cup of tea; he spread bread and butter; he opened oysters. Nobody could have done it better; but it was always acknowledged that David Bartholomew was born a gentleman. Matilda enjoyed it hugely. She was ready for her oysters, as a little convalescent child should be; and bread and butter was good; but to have David helping her and ministering to her gave to both an exquisite flavour. He was so nice about it, and it was so kind of him.

"That other supper has been sadly put off, hasn't it?" he said as he opened Matilda's last oyster.

"What supper?" said Matilda.

"The supper we had arranged so finely, a long while ago. The celebration of your good woman's moving in."

"My good woman? – O, you mean Mrs. Staples. She hasn't moved in yet?"

"No! we waited for you to get well."

"Waited all this while!" said Matilda. "David, I wonder when I shall be able to go out?"

"Not in a good while, Tilly, to any such entertainment as that. I dare say you can go driving in the Park in two or three weeks."

"But she cannot wait all that while!" said Matilda; and then she stopped. If not, then the moving of Mrs. Staples, and all the delight of the supper to be prepared for her, and the pleasure of seeing her pleasure, must be for others; not for the little planner and contriver of the whole. For a minute Matilda felt as if she could not give it up; this rare and exquisite joy; such a chance might not come again in a very long while. She wanted to see how the stove would work; she wanted to hear the kettle sing, and to set the table with the new cups and saucers, and to make the tea that first time, and give the in comers a welcome. Could all that be lost? It seemed very hard. Matilda's eyes filled with tears.

"What is the matter?" said David kindly.

Matilda struggled to speak. She knew what she must say; but at first she could hardly get the words out. She hesitated, and David repeated his question.

"It won't do for them to wait so long," she said, lifting her eyes to his face.

"Who? your poor people there? Well, it does seem a pity, looking at the place where they are now."

"It won't do," Matilda repeated. "It is best for them to go right in, David. But I can't manage it. I can't do anything."

"Will you trust me?"

"O yes! if you'll do it. But won't it be a great trouble to you, David?"

"On the contrary, I shall like it capitally. You tell me exactly what you want done, and I'll attend to it."

"O thank you! Then you'll have to get the supper things, David."

"Yes, I know all about that."

"And get Mr. Wharncliffe to tell Mrs. Staples."

"Yes."

"And – can you buy some calico for me?"

"Certainly. But I'd put something warmer on them than calico, Tilly."

"What?"

"I don't know," said David laughingly; "I don't know what women wear. But I suppose I can find out. Something warm, Tilly; the air is snapping and biting out of doors, I can tell you."

"O well, do see about it as soon as you can, David, and let them move in by Saturday; can't you?"

David promised. And when he was gone, and Matilda was alone in bed again at night, she fought out her whole fight with disappointment. Rather a hard fight it was. Matilda did not see why, when she was about a very good thing, so much of the pleasure of it should have been taken away from her. Why could not her sickness have been delayed for one week? and now the very flower and charm of her scheme must fall into the hands of others. She dwelt upon the details, from which she had looked for so much pleasure, and poured out hearty tears over them. She was as much in the dark nearly as Job had been; as much at a loss to know why all this should have befallen her. All the comfort she could get at was in imagining the scenes she could not now see, and fancying all over and over to herself how Sarah and her mother would look and feel.

After that day Matilda's improvement was steady. Soon she had Norton and Judy and even David running in and out at all hours, to see her or to tell her something.

"Great news," said Norton bursting in as usual one evening. "What do you think, Pink? David and Judy have been to be catechized."

"Catechized?" Matilda repeated. "Do they learn the catechism?"

"Not yours, I promise you," said Norton. "No, not exactly. But they have been to a Jewish catechizing; to be examined in the Jews' Scriptures, you know, and all that. They ought to have been catechized, it seems, when they were younger; but David and Judy have been travelling about and there has been no chance. Now they've got it! And O how Davy has been studying his Bible."

"His Bible is just like ours, isn't it? – all but the New Testament?"

"He thinks that's a pretty large 'all but.'"

"But the rest is just the same as ours?"

"I suppose so; yes, I believe so. And they have had a great time, and Davy has come off with a blue ribband or something, and been greatly distinguished."

"Well?" said Matilda eagerly.

"Well. They all went to it, grandma and aunt Judy, and they don't know whether they are most pleased or most vexed."

"Vexed?" repeated Matilda.

"Yes. You see, their Jew friends and relations are getting great hold of Davy; and now I suppose he will be more of a Jew than ever."

"How will that make him different?" said Matilda, puzzled.

"Different?" said Norton. "Why, you don't think Jews are like all the rest of the world, do you?"

"I don't know," Matilda answered. "I think – if I was a Jew – I would like it."

To which Norton answered at first with a questioning frown; then cleared his brow and laughed.

"You'd like anything that made you different from the rest of the world," he said. "But you're a Pink! and that makes it of course."

"You used to say I was a brick," said Matilda.

"So you are. I'll fight any boy that says you aren't."

But that made Matilda laugh so much that Mrs. Laval, coming in, was afraid she would fatigue herself; and she sent Norton away. Matilda after this was very curious and a little anxious to see David, and find out what change his being "more of a Jew than ever" would have made in him. When he came, she could not find any change. It was Saturday evening, after tea; so rather late. He came to bring her the news she wanted.

"Well, it's done, Matilda," he said as he entered.

"And all right, David?"

"Right as can be. Don't you get excited, and I will tell you all about it."

"You are very kind, David," said Matilda, trying to be quiet; but there were two pink spots on her pale cheeks.

"The carpet was down, and made the place look like another thing. Then Mrs. Leary had brightened up the bureau and the chairs and table, and blacked the stove and made a fire. It seemed quite like a home waiting for somebody. Mrs. Leary folded her arms, and made me take notice what she had done, and 'expicted I would consider it,' she said."

"Expected you would consider it?" said Matilda.

"Yes. Don't you know what that means? Expected I would pay her for her trouble."

"Ah!" said Matilda. "Did you?"

"Yes, of course. But I made her make up the bed and fill the kettle before she had done. 'An' sure it was iligant, and fit for society,' she said; whatever that meant."

"Fit for company, I suppose, David. But who made the coffee?"

"Wait a bit: I'm coming to that. I was in a puzzle about it; for I wasn't sure of Mrs. Leary, and Norton and I didn't know enough."

"Norton? was Norton there?"

"To be sure; at first. He and I got everything else together. Mrs. Leary had washed the china and the tin ware; and we bought cheese, and tea and coffee, and herring, and buns, and gingerbread."

"And bread?" said Matilda, looking in tensely interested.

"No; buns. And soap we ordered in too, Tilly; Norton is great on soap. I should never have thought of it. And when we had done all we could think of, we sat down to watch the fire and guard the things till some body came. And we got talking about something else and forgot where we were; when all of a sudden the door pushed softly open and a girl came in – "

"Sarah!" cried Matilda.

"Wait. There came in this girl, and stood there, looking. And we looked. 'Is this Mrs. Leary's?' she asked. 'No,' said I; 'the rest of the house is. Mrs. Leary's, I believe; but this room belongs to Mrs. Staples.' 'And you're Sarah, aren't you?' Norton cried out. I wish you had seen the girl, Tilly! She came a little way further in, and stopped and looked round, and had all the work in the world to keep herself from breaking down and crying. Her face flushed all over. She wanted to know if we were sure if there was no mistake? So I told her about you, and how you were sick, and how you had commissioned us to get ready all these things; and Norton shewed her where to hang her bonnet and shawl; for she was in a bewildered state. And then I bethought me and told her we wanted somebody to make the coffee. I think, Tilly, she was as near the condition of Aladdin, when he got into the magician s cave, as ever a mortal could be in this actual world. But she went to work, and that helped her to feel she was not dreaming, I suppose. She made the coffee, – and all the while I could see her fingers trembling; – and she cooked the herring; and I stood it, herring smoke and all; it was the best fun I've seen this winter – "

"Since Christmas," Matilda put in, but her own eyes were very bright and glittering.

"Christmas was nothing to it!"

"I wish I had been there."

"I wish you had. There was nothing else wanting. And I wish you could have seen Sarah's eyes; I think she was afraid to look around her. She would give a glance at something, the chest of drawers, or the bed, and then the tears would spring and she would have just as much as she could do to mind her cooking and not break down. I didn't know coffee smelt so good, Tilly."

"Doesn't it!"

"You know about that, eh? Well, we were all ready, and Sarah set the table, but Norton and I had to bring out the buns and gingerbread and the cheese; for I don't think she would have dared. And then the door opened once more, and in came Mr. Wharncliffe, and Sarah's mother and those two poor little imps of boys."

"I don't know much about them," said Matilda.

"I know they are very ragged. Of course, how could they help it? The mother looked as if she would easily fall to pieces too. But I saw the smell of the coffee brightened her up."

"And then you came away, I suppose?"

"Yes, of course. Mr. Wharncliffe just saw that everything was right and looked after the coal and things; and then we left them to take their supper in peace."

"I'm so glad!" said Matilda, heaving a deep sigh. "And I am very much obliged to you, David."

"For nothing," said David. "I had a good time, I can tell you. I should just like to do the whole thing over again. Why, it didn't cost much."

"Only Mr. Wharncliffe says we have to be very careful to know about people first, before we give them things; there are so many deceivers."

"Yes, I know that," said David. He stood looking into the light and thinking. Matilda wondered what he was thinking about; she could not ask him as she would Norton.

"It isn't right!" he broke out.

"What, David?"

"It isn't right that there should be such a difference in people; we here, and they there."

"Mr. Wharncliffe says there must be a difference. Some people are clever and industrious, and others are idle and lazy; and that makes differences."

"That ought," said David; "but then the people that are not idle or lazy, but sick or unfortunate, like these people; they ought not to be left in hunger and cold and rags."

"So I think," said Matilda eagerly; and then she stopped; for she was not so free with David as to tell him all her thoughts; at least not unless he asked for them.

"It puzzles me," David went on. "I can't see my way out of the puzzle; only I am sure there is wrong somewhere."

"And it must be right for each of us to do all he can to help," said Matilda.

David shook his head. "One goes very little way."

"But that is all we can do. And if every one would – "

"Every one will not, Tilly; there it is."

"No. I know it; but still, David, people have to do so."

"So how?"

"Why, each one by himself, I mean."

"Well," said David, smiling, "that's safe for you. I mean to study the subject."