ON the following Saturday, Nurse, having some commissions to execute in Richmond, and the weather being uncommonly fine, Leila and her cousins were allowed to accompany her. Matilda had for some days before been pursuing most actively her new method of drying flowers, and had already tied up and placed in all sorts of odd corners half the books in her possession filled with them; and as they had all received that morning their weekly allowance of pocket-money, she felt quite elated, not only by the riches of which she was in actual possession, but by the countless sums she now felt sure of acquiring.

In this dangerous state of mind poor Matilda was ill prepared for the trial which awaited her, for some of Nurse’s commissions were to be executed in the very shop which had so often proved a scene of temptation to her. She entered it with many good resolutions. Reels of cotton were wanted by the whole party, and reels of cotton only Matilda was determined to buy. Leila and Selina each selected a pretty little box filled with them; but Matilda’s eyes wandered all over the counter. Alas! that so many bright little eyes should so often wander over forbidden ground. A most tempting, and a much more beautiful box than those selected stood open before Matilda; in addition to reels of cotton it had also scissors and a thimble. It was not at all too large, and it was not at all dear; indeed, she thought it most wonderfully cheap, and she opened and shut it again several times in great admiration.

Selina whispered, “You had better put it away, Matilda; you know it is only reels of cotton you require.”

“No, Selina,” she said, “you are quite mistaken; you forget that I could not find my thimble this morning; I looked every where for it, and lost so much of my time; and see only how I have hurt my finger with sewing without one, it is quite red; you would not wish me to do that again, I am sure; so I must buy a thimble, and it is only the scissors in addition, you know.”

“But, Matilda, your thimble is only mislaid; it will be found I am sure. I saw it on your finger yesterday.”

“But you did not see it to-day, Selina, and I tell you it is quite lost; I looked a long time for it.”

“But do consider, Matilda,” Selina said, very gently; “to buy this work-box will require almost all the money you have. Only twopence will remain.”

Matilda coloured. Only twopence. She seemed to hesitate, and pushed the box a little way from her; but suddenly brightening up, and drawing it towards her again, she said, “Selina, you quite forget the money I am now quite sure of making, for I dare say I have now near a hundred flowers, which I know quite well will be beautiful.”

“But you cannot be sure, Matilda, that you will be able to make money in that way.”

“And why should I not be sure? You are so prudent, Selina, that it just provokes me. Why should I not be able to make money as well as Leila, if my flowers are beautiful? I am sure I have taken trouble enough with them, and patience too; you might praise me, I think, a little for that, instead of wishing to take all my pleasures from me in this way; and it is such a useful thing to buy, and when I tell you too that I have lost my thimble; but don’t say any more about it, for I am determined to buy it. It is not as if I were buying a foolish thing; this box will be most useful to me.” She took it up as she spoke, and moved to another corner of the shop.

The work-box was soon carefully wrapped up in paper and paid for, and they all proceeded on their way. Having executed several other commissions, Nurse proposed that they should rest for a little in a baker’s shop, where each might have a bunn, as the hour of luncheon would have passed before they could return home. This they all thought an excellent plan.

They were soon seated and enjoying their bunns, and Matilda had just declared that she meant to be prudent now, and though she was very hungry indeed, she would only allow herself one bunn, and would keep the other penny in case of accidents, when a little girl, carrying a basket tied over with a napkin, entered the shop. She looked very pale and thin, and her clothes, though neither dirty nor ragged, were scanty and much patched. As the baker was at the moment serving a customer, she rested the basket on the ground as if much fatigued, and stood silently waiting by the counter. A broken piece of roll lay upon it. She gathered up a few stray crumbs, which she put in her mouth, and they saw her then stretch out her thin little hand as if to take the roll also, but she did not; on the contrary, she pushed it further from her and turned away. The baker seemed to have perceived the action, for he said, pushing it towards her, “You may have that piece of roll if you are hungry.”

The child’s eyes glistened, she seized the roll and began eagerly to eat it; suddenly she stopped, and looked anxiously at what remained, and put it in her pocket. By this time Leila’s attention was much excited. The child, pointing to the basket, spoke aside to the baker, who was now disengaged, but in so low a tone she could not make out what she said. The man shook his head as he replied, though also in a low tone, as if unwilling to be overheard by them, “No, no, we never buy cats; take it away; it is out of the question.”

The child spoke again, and with a look of much entreaty; Leila thought she could distinguish the words, loaf—starving.

“Well,” the man said, “I don’t know as to a loaf; let me see, its skin might be worth that;” and he put out his hand as if to take the basket.

The child shuddered violently, and snatching it hastily up, she proceeded towards the door. She stopped, hesitated, and turning back, she pushed the basket towards him, saying in an excited voice, “Take it out, don’t let me see it; its legs are tied, give me the loaf.” She turned from him, covered her face with her hands, and burst into tears.

The young people all rose, and in a moment were around her. Matilda pushed aside the napkin which covered the basket, and there lay a beautiful large cat, with its legs tied together in a most pitiable manner.

“Oh, how cruel,” Leila exclaimed, “to tie its legs!—and why, little girl, did you wish to sell your cat?—who did you say was starving?”

The child made no answer; she was sobbing violently.

“Poor little girl,” Leila said, in her soothing, gentle voice, “compose yourself! Don’t cry; we are not angry with you; we are sure you have done nothing wrong—do speak to us;—who did you say was starving?”

“My mother and all of us,” she gasped out; “we have not a morsel of food in the house; we have had no breakfast; oh, give me the loaf, and let me go home!”

Leila looked at her with a distressed and agitated countenance; “I have frightened her,” she said; “I spoke harshly to her. What can we do for her, Selina?—do tell me!”

They spoke together aside for a few minutes. “Yes,” Leila continued, turning towards the little girl again, “I am sure that is the best thing to be done; Nurse always says tea is so refreshing. Don’t cry, little girl, pray don’t!—your cat is not to be sold, and your mother and all of you are to have a nice breakfast; we are going to buy tea, and sugar, and butter, and everything that is good; and the baker will give us two large loaves; we have plenty of money to pay for every thing.”

While this conversation was going on, Matilda had stood beside the little girl, feeding her with what remained of her own bunn; stuffing piece after piece into her mouth, and almost choking her.

“And this is all I can do,” she said; “and I cannot help you, Leila and Selina, in buying butter, and tea, and sugar; I have nothing left but this abominable penny;”—and she threw it on the ground in uncontrolled distress—“oh, what a hard-hearted, extravagant, sinful, wretched, horrid girl I have been!”

Leila lifted the poor rejected penny from the ground, and whispered in her ear, “Don’t be in such a state, Matilda; try to bear it; you know I did just the same about the basket. We have both been very wrong, but we can both repent. You know that is the right thing to do. And this penny can still do a little good; take it, Matilda; you might buy a bunn with it for the mother; I am sure she would like a bunn better than the bread.”

But Matilda was not to be comforted; she bought the bunn, and wrapped it carefully up in paper; but as she got into the street, she entreated Nurse to go back with her to the shop where she had purchased the work-box. She wished, she said, to ask the man to take it again, and give her back the money. Nurse thought it very doubtful that this would be agreed to; but she yielded to Matilda’s entreaties, and they went back to the shop. The master was very civil; he said they never took back goods that had been paid for, they were obliged to make a rule not to do so; he seemed, however, in this instance, to be inclined to yield, and Matilda’s eyes sparkled with joy, when he took the work-box from her hand, and undid the paper; but on seeing it he shook his head—“I was anxious to oblige you, young lady,” he said, “but in this case it is impossible—this work-box has been injured, it has got a fall.”

“Yes, sir,” Nurse answered, (for poor Matilda was now unable to speak,) “it did get a fall; I told Miss Matilda she had better not undo the paper in the street, but we cannot expect young people to be wise all at once; but I am quite sure of one thing, she did not know it had been injured, for we both examined it, and were not aware it had been scratched at all.”

“No, of course not; no need of an apology, madam;” and as he spoke, he carefully wrapped the unfortunate box up in a fresh piece of paper, and, with a low bow, put it into Matilda’s hands.

Poor Matilda, she could scarcely articulate, as turning from the shop she said,—“And it was my own fault, I would take it out of the paper; oh, what a day of misfortunes, surely no one was ever so unfortunate as I am!”

Leila whispered, “You forget, Matilda, about Rosamond and the purple jar.”

“Oh, but that was not half so bad, don’t say it was, Cousin Leila; she had only holes in her shoes to vex her; she had not a whole houseful of starving people—no, no,—no one was ever so unfortunate as I am; don’t try to comfort me, it makes me much worse.”

The scene which presented itself on entering the house to which the little girl conducted them, was certainly not calculated to lessen her sorrow. All within the house bore the marks of extreme poverty. A pale, emaciated woman was seated on a low stool, endeavouring to lull to sleep a sickly-looking infant; a girl, apparently some years older than the child who accompanied them, sat on the side of a miserable-looking bed, (the only one the room contained,) knitting busily: her features were pretty, but she kept her eyes cast down; and though she seemed to listen eagerly to what was said, she took no further notice of their entrance. The woman had risen, and was endeavouring to silence three clamorous little urchins, who all ran towards the door when it opened, loudly exclaiming, “Why did you take away Tiny—what have you done with her?—have you brought no bread as you promised? we have had no breakfast yet!” They shrank back on seeing the strangers.

Nurse gave a glance around the room; its contents were not numerous. A small tea-kettle stood by the almost empty grate, in which a few sparks of fire still lingered. She went out, taking the eldest of the little boys with her, and soon returned with a supply of wood. A fire was kindled, and in a wonderfully short space of time, (for Leila and her cousins assisted,) a few cups and bowls were collected together, and the children were all assembled round a small table, devouring bread and butter as fast as it could be prepared for them, and anticipating the delight of having warm tea. The eldest girl was also seated at the table, but still kept her eyes cast down. The mother, observing the inquiring glances which were cast towards her, explained that she was blind; but she added, “My poor Susan is of the greatest assistance to me; ever since her father’s death, she has worked late and early; her knitting has been our chief support, and when I can get a day’s work at a time, she keeps the poor baby: but she is sorely changed, her health is suffering; she is not like the same girl she was when times were better with us, for we were well to do in the world, till the fever came amongst us, and he that was always help and comfort to us all, was taken away.”

“And was poor Susan always blind?” Leila inquired.

“No, my young lady; your own eyes were not brighter than hers were for the first seven years of her life; but she took the small-pox—for, alas! I had neglected to have her vaccinated—indeed I had a prejudice against it, and many and many a bitter thought that prejudice has cost me.”

The tears were running down poor Susan’s face, as her mother gave this recital. They all looked at her with much interest; suddenly their attention was arrested by one of the little boys sliding down from his stool, and exclaiming, as he ran round the table and took the hand of each of them in succession, “Thank you, good ladies, for our nice breakfast;”—but as he approached Matilda, she pushed him from her—“O no, no,” she said, “do not thank me; I can bear it no longer!”—and she ran out of the room. Selina followed her.

In a few minutes they both returned, Matilda looking quite composed, though sorrowful: she went up to the blind girl, and, in a low voice, tried to enter into conversation with her; but it was the greatest possible relief to Matilda, when, soon after, Nurse said it was time to return home; assuring the poor woman, at the same time, she would speak to her master about her, and she was sure he would give her some assistance.

On entering the house, on their return, Matilda followed Leila to her room. “Leila,” she said, “you must keep this work-box for me, and put it out of my sight, for I cannot bear to look at it. This has been a sad day for me; I don’t think I ever was so unhappy before, as when I saw that blind girl knitting so fast with her poor thin fingers, and looking so starved: and when I thought I had given all my money for this work-box, and bought it though Selina so often told me not to do it, and that I would repent—O I am a monster!—don’t you think so, Leila?”

“No, Matilda; don’t say so; a monster is a wild beast—you are not the least like one—and you are repenting; you cannot do more now than that, and you should be thankful you are not a wild beast, for then you could not repent.”

“And then to eat that bunn in such good spirits, what do you say to that?”

“But you did not eat in very good spirits; you were sorrowful before the end, and gave half away.”

“Yes, half; but what is that, and a whole houseful of people starving—six children and a mother, you know. O don’t try to comfort me, it makes me much worse: I would rather you had said I had been as bad as possible.”

“No, Matilda, I cannot say that, though you have been very wrong; but how can I blame you even for that, when I was as bad? You are forgetting about my buying this basket,” and she pointed to a small table on which the basket was placed; “a little girl might have come with a cat to sell, and then it would have been just the same thing.”

“No, not the same thing; for you had more money which you had saved, so you could spare it;—but I must say one thing, Cousin Leila, I do wonder how you can put this basket on the table before your very eyes; I can’t bear even to look at this box, I am so sorry; and you said we had both done wrong, and should both repent. I don’t think this looks very like repenting.”

Leila coloured, and the tears came into her eyes as she said in a very low voice, “I did it to make me repent.”

“To make you repent, I don’t understand what you mean; you liked the basket, I suppose?”

“No, I did not; I could not bear it; I felt just the same as you did; and at first I hid it in the corner behind that high chair; but then I thought it would be my punishment if I saw it always before me, and that it would keep me in mind not to buy useless things again.”

“And I have been thinking you wrong,” Matilda exclaimed, “when all the time you were most excellent; oh, Leila, I never can be like you—no, not a hope of it; I do believe I am turning out quite worthless;—first, I would spend all my money for my own pleasure; then I would open the parcel, and let it fall; and after all this, I tried to think you as bad as I am; but I know what you are thinking now, and I can at least do that—you are thinking that I should take home this work-box, and put it on a table before my eyes; and I will do it.” She tore the paper from the work-box as she spoke, and looked at it steadily. “O yes, abominable box,” she said, “I just hate you!—but no, it is not the work-box that is wrong,”—and she shook her head;—“but we won’t talk any more about it now; let us go into the conservatory, and see the dear little birds, they are singing so cheerily, and they don’t know any thing about repentance, or what I have been doing.”