ONE day, when Edmund and Charles had been at home about a week, the latter ran eagerly into the sitting-parlour, crying out—“Oh, mamma! there is Betty’s sister down stairs, with the poor little twins in her arms, which were born just when Matilda came; they have short frocks now, but I perceive they have no shoes: suppose we young ones subscribe, and buy them some, poor things! there is my eighteen-penny piece for shoes, mamma—shoes, and hats too, if we can raise money enough.”

Mrs. Harewood could not help smiling at Charles’s eagerness, as she remembered the useful mortification he had experienced the last time his charity was called upon; and as she took up the money, she observed to him—“I am glad to see this, Charles; it is a proof you are more provident than you used to be; and, with your propensity to spending, it requires no little effort to save, in a large school, where there are always many temptations. I think your proposal is a very good one; and whilst I am collecting the money, pray step down stairs, and tell Betty to bring up the little innocents—we shall all be glad to see them.”

Charles flew out of the room, and in less than a minute returned with the mother, carrying a babe in each arm. She was a very decent woman, the widow of a soldier, who died before his poor children were born; she now endeavoured to maintain herself and them by taking in washing, together with the pay of the parish, which, although small, she received very thankfully, and managed very carefully.

“Look, mamma! what pretty little feet they have,” cried Ellen; “I am sure Charles was a good boy to think about shoes for them—was it not very kind of him, Matilda? because you know little boys seldom love little babies so much as girls do.”

Matilda answered “yes,” mechanically, for her mind was abstracted, and affected by the remembrance this scene was calculated to inspire. Mrs. Harewood, feeling for her evident embarrassment, sent the poor woman down stairs to take some refreshment, and then laid a three-shilling piece, as her own share of the contribution, besides Charles’s subscription on the table.

Edmund laid a shilling on the table, saying—“If more is wanted, I will give you another with great pleasure: I hope, mamma, you know that I will?”

“Yes, Edmund, I do know that you will do any thing in your power, for you are regular and prudent, as well as a kind-hearted boy, and therefore have always got something to spare for the wants of others; I perceive, too, that you have the good sense to examine the nature of the claim made upon you, and that you give accordingly; you are aware, and I wish all the young ones to be so likewise, that this, although an act of charity, is not called for by any immediate distress; it is not one of those cases which wring the heart and drain the purse, for the poor woman is neither unprovided with lodgings nor food, and we ought always to keep something for the sake of sufferers of that description: I wish you, children, to be free and liberal, for we are told in the scriptures that ‘God loveth a cheerful giver;’ but, in order to render you also frequent givers, you must be prudent ones.”

“I have only one shilling in the world,” said Ellen, laying it on the table.

“Then sixpence is as much as you ought to give,” said Mrs. Harewood, giving her a sixpence in change, when, observing that she took it with an air of reluctance, she said—“My dear Ellen, be satisfied; you are a little girl, and have not half your brother’s allowance, you know—it is sufficient.”

While this was passing, Matilda had been fumbling in her pocket, and blushing excessively; her mind was full of painful recollections, yet fraught with gleams of satisfaction; but she wished very much to do two very contrary things, and whilst she still hesitated, Miss Campbell said—“Here is another sixpence, ma’am, which I will take, and give you an eighteen-pence, as I wish to give you a shilling, with Edmund’s proviso.”

“But,” said Matilda, with a mixture of eagerness and hesitation, “then there will be no change for me, and I wish to give the same as Ellen; don’t I want change, ma’am? I—I believe I do.”

There was, in this confusion, and the blush which deepened in her cheek, a something which showed Mrs. Harewood a great deal of what was passing in the mind of this self-convicted, but compassionate and ingenuous girl. Mrs. Harewood took her shilling, and returned her sixpence, which she evidently received with pain, but an effort to smile, as Ellen had done, in return for the smile of her mamma.

After a short pause, Mrs. Harewood said—“Well, Matilda, your delicacy is now satisfied—you have not affected any display of humanity, or ostentatious exhibition of wealth, in order to humble your young friends; but I perceive your heart is not satisfied; that heart is really interested in these babes, and, conscious that it is in your power to do more, you are mortified at stopping short of your own wishes and their wants.”

“Oh dear, ma’am,” replied Matilda, “you have read all the thoughts of my heart, (at least all but one,) and if you think it right, and Ellen will not think me proud, I will indeed be very glad if you will accept a crown for my subscription.”

“I shall receive it with pleasure; and I can venture to assure you, that my children will neither feel envy, anger, nor any other emotion, except joy, at seeing the little objects of their care benefited, and you happy; for they have been taught only to value such actions, according to the motive in one party, and their usefulness to the other: but, Matilda, if it is not a very great secret, I should be glad to know what that one other thought in your heart was, which I did not guess, upon this occasion?”

Matilda did not find this question so easy of reply as Mrs. Harewood had expected it to be; she blushed and hung down her head; but, on perceiving that Mrs. Harewood was going to release her from all necessity of reply, she struggled to conquer what she deemed a weakness in herself, and answered thus—“Why, my dear madam, I was thinking what a little proud, stubborn, ill-behaved girl I was, at the time when these twins were born, and we first made a subscription for this poor woman; I remembered, too, how miserable I was, and altogether how much I had to lament, and I felt as if I could like to do something, to prove how thankful I am to God for bringing me into a family like yours, where every day of my life I may learn something good, and where I have been a great deal more happy than ever I was before, even in the house with my own parents.”

Matilda stopped a moment, as if she thought her confession had perhaps infringed on her duty; but recollecting that all her past sorrow had been laid to the proper account, which was her own bad temper and pride, she again proceeded in it.

“When I thought on these things, I came close up to you; but my heart beat so quick, I could not speak, or else I had a guinea in my hand, the last my dear mamma gave me, and I wished very much to give you that; but then the memory of my foolish pride, the last time, came again into my mind—I became ashamed, and determined in all things to be guided by Ellen, who is almost a year older than I, and a great deal better.”

“No, no—not better,” said Ellen, warmly; and even her brothers, who loved her very dearly, struck with the same admiration of Matilda’s frankness and generosity, exclaimed—“You are as good as Ellen now, Matilda—indeed you are!”

Mrs. Harewood, tenderly kissing her, assured her of her approbation, saying—“All you have said, my dear, tends decidedly to prove that your mind is indeed properly impressed with your duty both towards God and man, and that you have the most sincere desire to conquer those faults which you have already greatly amended; therefore I am determined to permit you to exercise your benevolence, in the most extensive manner that your heart could wish, knowing, as I do, that your fortune is fully equal to any act of charity, and that your good mamma will not fail to approve of it.”

“Thank you, thank you, dear Mrs. Harewood! oh, you are my English mother, and I love you much more than any other person in the world, except my Barbadoes mamma.”

The children eagerly crowded round their mother’s chair, to hear what the good news was, which promised to benefit Sally, and make Matilda happy.

“I know,” said Mrs. Harewood, “that the purchase of a mangle would set up the poor woman in her profession as a washerwoman, and enable her to earn at least ten shillings a-week more. It was my intention to purchase one for her myself at Christmas; but I could not do it before, as my charity-purse has been very much run upon lately. When Mr. Harewood comes in, I will ask for the money, and to-morrow we will all go in the coach, and see Matilda purchase it: but, my dear girl, suppose you just step and inform the poor woman of your intention, which I am certain you had rather do without witnesses; it will not only increase her pleasure, but enable her to prepare her apartment for such a noble and useful piece of furniture.”

Matilda left the room, but returned almost immediately.

“You have been very quick,” said Ellen, in rather a murmuring voice; “I wanted to know what she said and how she looked when you told her the good news.”

“I did not speak to her myself—I commissioned Zebby to do it, for I knew it would give her quite as much pleasure as the poor woman herself could receive; and surely she has a right to receive every good I can bestow, as a slight atonement for the pain I have so very frequently given her.”

Scarcely had Matilda given this proof of consideration and amiable feeling, when Sally and Zebby rushed into the room together, followed by Betty, who was truly grateful for the kindness thus bestowed on her sister.

Sally, with tears of joy, thanked her young benefactress; her words were few, but they were those of respect and thankfulness, and showed she was deeply sensible of the benefit she experienced.

Poor Zebby, delighted with the goodness of her young mistress, audibly expressed her pleasure, with all the characteristic warmth of her country, and not a little proud of those virtues which she fancied she had assisted to nurture.—“Oh,” cried she, “dis be my own beautiful Missy own goodness; she makee joy in her mamma heart; she makee poor negro all happy—singee and dancee every body; no more whip, massa Buckraman—every body delight—every body glad—every body good Christian, when Missy go back!”

The spontaneous effusion of joy, uttered by this daughter of nature, affected all the party, and the joyful bustle had not subsided when Mr. Harewood entered. On being informed of the cause, he gave his full assent, and produced the money necessary for the purchase of the mangle.

The following day was pleasantly employed in arranging the poor woman’s new acquisition; and when Matilda saw her grateful, happy countenance, and learned the manner in which the machine would be worked, and its usefulness in smoothing linen, she felt the value of a useful life, and a sense of her own importance, distinct from the idle consequence which is the result of vanity and pride, but perfectly compatible with the self-distrust and true humility which was now happily taking a deep root in her young mind.

Mrs. Harewood was gratified in perceiving such results of her maternal care for Matilda: still she did not relax in her vigilance; for she well knew, that along with corn will spring up tares in every young mind, and that the virtue of one day does not exempt from the vice of another, during the years of early life; and there were still many points in which the errors of her Barbadoes education were but too visible, and which called for the pruning hand of a sensible and pious friend.