"Must be a bad thing to be so poor," said David.

"Mustn't it! And there are so many. It is dreadful."

"Don't seem to me it ought to be," said David.

"That is what I think," said Matilda. "And O David,--don't laugh at me as Norton does,--it seems to me it needn't be. If other people would do without having everything, these people need not want everything."

David did smile, though, at Matilda's summary way of equalizing things.

"What would you be willing to go without?" he asked. "Come, Tilly; what of all we have had to-day?"

"A great deal," said the little political economist steadily.

"Meringues and bananas? for instance."

"Why yes, David, and so would you, if it was to give somebody else a dinner."

But here they remembered that the shop man was still waiting their orders, and they left talking to attend to business. David began apparently to amuse himself. He bought a salt cellar, and a broom; and to Matilda's mingled doubt and delight, a rocking-chair. And then they ordered the things home and went home themselves.

CHAPTER VI.

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? n.o.body 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 gla.s.s 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 eggsh.e.l.l 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 pa.s.sed, 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.