"She didn't come to see you then," said Miss Redwood. "I guess she was skeered o' something. But la! New York must be a queer place."

"Why now?" Norton asked.

"Seems as if folks couldn't be runnin' round in it all winter long and manage to keep out o' sight."

"That's its peculiarity," said Norton.

"I s'pect a great deal could happen there, and the world not know," the housekeeper went on.

"Much more than what it does know," said Norton.

"I allays think sich must be poor kind o' places. Corners that the world can't see into ain't healthy. Now I like a place like Shadywalk, that you know all through; and if there's something wrong, why it has a chance to get mended. There's wrong enough here, no doubt; but most of it'll bear the light of day. And most of us are pretty good sort o'

folks."

"Now that Mrs. Candy is out of town," Norton remarked.

Matilda had a great deal to hear about Sunday school people, and her friends in Lilac Lane. For Lilac Lane was there yet, Miss Redwood observed. Through it all, Matilda watched for David's coming in. But the evening ended and he came not.

It hurt a little the joy of her Sunday waking up, which else would have been most joyous. Norton was in the house this time; he had consented to be at the parsonage for the Sunday. Monday morning they were all to go home by the earliest train. So there was no drawback to Matilda's joy except this one. It was delightful to hear the old bell once more; delightful to see the spring light streaming between the pines and lighting the ugly old church tower; pleasanter than any other beautiful one to Matilda's eyes. With all the coming delights of the day crowding upon her mind, she rose and dressed, hoping that David would come to breakfast.

But he did not.

The sweet Sabbath day moved on slowly, with its services in the old church and its pleasant talk and society in the house; the Sunday school hours; the meeting old friends and acquaintances; but dinner and Sunday school were over, and nothing was heard of David Bartholomew.

"What has become of him?" said Mr. Richmond, as he and Matilda came in after Sunday school.

"What _can_ have become of him, Mr. Richmond?" said Matilda.

"Nothing very bad," said Mr. Richmond, smiling at her distressed face.

"Suppose we go and look him up?"

"Where would you go, Mr. Richmond? he has not been _here_ since yesterday morning."

"I think I should try the hotel."

"Do you think he is there!--Shall we go?"

"I think we will," said Mr. Richmond; and hand in hand he and Matilda went down the street, to the corner. Just opposite, a little below, was the Shadywalk house of public entertainment.

n.o.body knew David Bartholomew there by name. But in answer to Mr.

Richmond's enquiries and description of him, the barkeeper stated that such a young gentleman had certainly come there the day before and was in Room No. 45. He had scarcely been seen since he entered the house, the man said; had refused almost everything that was offered him; but anyhow, he was there.

Where was Room No. 45? A man was sent to direct them to it; and Mr.

Richmond and Matilda went up the stairs and along a gallery. No. 45 was at the end of the gallery.

"I will wait here for you, Matilda," Mr. Richmond said. "I think you had better go alone to see him--at first."

CHAPTER XI.

Matilda went to the door and knocked. She heard nothing, and was obliged to knock again. Then the door opened, and David stood before her. What to say to him Matilda had not just determined, and while she hesitated he stepped back, mutely inviting her to enter. Matilda went in and he closed the door. She was afraid to speak when she saw his face, it was so pale and disturbed. But he prevented her.

"I have found it out, Matilda," he said. "It's all true."

Matilda started and looked up at him to see what he meant.

"I know it now," he said. "He _is_ the Messiah! he is my Messiah; he is my King But--my people, my people!--"

Breaking off abruptly with this cry, David sat down at a little table where he had been sitting,--for his Bible was open upon it,--and put his head down in his hands and burst into tears. And Matilda had never seen anybody weep as she saw him then; nor in her childishness had supposed that a boy could; the little deal table shook under the strength of his sobs. Matilda was bewildered and half frightened; she stepped back into the gallery, meaning to summon Mr. Richmond; but Mr.

Richmond was not there; and she went back again, and stood, much distressed, waiting until this paroxysm of pain should have pa.s.sed by.

It lasted some time. Probably David had not shed a tear until then, and speaking to her had broken down the barrier. Matilda did not know what to do. At last she put her hand timidly among the thick dark curls which lay lower than she had ever seen them before, and spoke.

"Dear David! don't,--please don't do so!"

He heard and heeded the anxious little voice, for the sobs lessened, and presently he raised himself up and as it were shook them off. But Matilda thought he looked very sad yet. She waited silently.

"You see, Matilda," he said, "I understand it all now. And _they_ don't!"

"Who don't, David?"

"My people," he said sadly. "I see it all now. They did not know him--they did not know him! And so they lost him. You know what he said,--the kingdom is 'taken from them, and given to another nation, bringing forth the fruits thereof.' So they are scattered abroad on the face of the whole earth. And still they don't know him!"

"But you do, David?" said Matilda earnestly.

"Tilly, I wish my life was longer, to use it for him. I wish my hands were stronger, to do his service! But all I am is his, every bit of it, and all I have; from this day for ever."

The boy stood, with a kind of sad joyfulness, very quiet, with folded hands, speaking hardly as it seemed to Matilda, but perhaps to angels and the Lord himself.

"Won't you come and tell Mr. Richmond?"

"Certainly!" he said, starting from his att.i.tude.

"When we heard nothing of you for ever so long, I grew troubled; I didn't know what had become of you; and then Mr. Richmond proposed that we should come here and look after you. You'll come to the parsonage to-night, David? you know we are all going away to-morrow morning."

"I'll be ready in two minutes."

Matilda waited while he washed his face and brushed his hair; then they went downstairs and found Mr. Richmond. He stretched out his hand to David, which the boy took with a flitting change of colour that told of some difficulty of self-command. However in a moment his words were firm.

"I have found my Messiah, sir, where you bade me look for him. He is _my_ Messiah, and my King, and I am his servant. I wish I could be his servant twenty times over!"

"Why?"

"One life is too little to give."

"You may serve him to the ages of the ages. Service shall not end with _this_ life, do you think so?"