"I wish Mr. Richmond was here," said Matilda.

The wish must have been strong; for that very evening, when she went to her room, earlier than usual because everybody was ready to go to bed Sunday night, she wrote a letter to her minister at Shady walk.

"BLESSINGTON AVENUE, Dec. 6, 18--

"DEAR MR. RICHMOND,--I am here, you see, and I am very happy; but I am very much troubled about some things. Everything is very different from what it was at Shadywalk, and it is very difficult to know what is right to do. So I think I had better ask you. Only there are so many things I want to ask about, that I am afraid my letter will be too long. Sometimes I do not know whether the trouble is in myself or in the things; I think it is extremely difficult to tell. Perhaps you will know; and I will try to explain what I mean as clearly as I can.

"One thing that puzzles me is this. Is it wrong to wish to be fashionable? and how can one tell just how much it is wrong, or right.

Mrs. Laval is having some beautiful clothes made for me; ever so many; silks and other dresses; they will be made and trimmed as fashionable people have them; and I cannot help liking to have them so. I am afraid, perhaps, I like it too much. But how can I tell, Mr. Richmond?

There is another little girl in the house here, Mrs. Laval's niece; about as old as I am, or not much older; and she has all her things made in these beautiful ways. Is it wrong for me to wish to have mine as handsome as hers? because I do; and one reason why I am so glad of mine is, that I shall be as fashionable as she is. She calls people who are not fashionable, 'country people.'

"There is another thing. Having things made in this way costs a great deal of money. I don't know about that. The other day I paid two dollars more than I need, just to have the toes of my boots right. You would not understand that; but the fashion is to have them narrow and rounded, and last year they were square and wide. And it is so of other things. I buy my own boots and gloves; and I could save a good deal if I would buy the shapes and colours that are not fashionable. What ought I to do? and how can I tell? It troubles me very much.

"I think that is the most of what troubles me, that and spending my money; but that is part of it. I don't want to be unlike other people.

Is that wrong, or is it pride? I didn't know but it was pride, partly; and then I thought I would ask you.

"Another thing is, ought I to speak to people about what they do that is not right? I don't mean grown up people, of course; but the boys and Judy. I don't like to do it; but yet I thought I must, as I had promised to do all I could in the cause of temperance; and I did, and some of them were very much offended. They drink wine a great deal here, and I did not like to see Norton do it. So I spoke, and I don't think it did any good.

"My letter is getting very long, but there is one other thing I want to ask about. There are a great many poor children in the streets; boys and girls; so dirty that you cannot imagine it; they sweep the street crossings. What can I do for them? Ought I not to give pennies always?

all I can?

"I believe that is all. O and I wish you could tell me what to do Sundays. The people here do not care about going to church; and I have been once and I don't wonder. I could hardly keep my eyes open. I miss the Sunday school and you very much. I wish I could see you. Give my love to Miss Redwood. Your affectionate

"MATILDA ENGLEFIELD.

"It will be Matilda Laval after this, but I thought I would sign my own old name once.

This letter was duly posted the next day. And almost as soon as the mails up and down made it possible, Matilda received her answer.

"SHADYWALK PARSONAGE, Dec. 8, 18--.

"MY DEAR LITTLE TILLY,--I appreciate your difficulties to the full.

They _are_ difficulties, enough to puzzle an older head than yours. Yet I think there is a simple way out of them, not through your head however so much as your heart. Keep that right, and I think we can get at the answer to your questions.

"The answer to them all is, Live by your motto. '_Whatsoever_ ye do, in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus.' Try everything by this rule. In spending your money, in deciding between boot-tips and dollars, in the question of reproving wrong in others, in the matter of kindness to the street-sweepers, put your motto before you; and ask yourself, how would the Lord Jesus do if he were here in person and had the same point to decide? The answer to that will tell you how, doing in his name, you ought to act yourself. Pray for direction; and whether you dress or speak or spend money, take care that it is Christ you are trying to please--not yourself, nor yet Miss Judy; but indeed let it be your best pleasure to please Him.

"Now as to your Sundays. If your people do not go to church regularly, you can probably do what you like on Sunday afternoons. Go up your avenue two blocks, turn down then to your right for two blocks more, and you will come to a plain looking brick building, not exactly like a church, nor like a common house. There is Mr. Rush's Sunday school. Go in there, and you will find work and pleasure. And then write again to

"Your very affectionate friend,

"F. RICHMOND."

It would be hazardous to say how many times Matilda read this letter. I am afraid some tears were shed over it. For to tell truth, difficulties rather thickened upon the little girl this week. In the first place, Norton was away at school almost all day. David and he came home to luncheon, which now became the dinner time of the young ones; but even so, he was full of his studies and his mates, and his new skates, and the merits of different styles of those instruments, and Matilda could hardly get anything out of him. David talked little; but he was always more self-absorbed. And with Judy, this week, Matilda had nothing to do. That young lady ignored her. Matilda went out shopping a good deal with Mrs. Laval; that was her best resource. The shops were an unfailing amus.e.m.e.nt and occupation; for everywhere she had her Christmas work to think of, and everywhere accordingly she kept her eyes open and studied what was before her; weighed the merits and noted the prices even of stuffs and ribbands; and left nothing unexamined that eyes could examine in the fancy stores. And when she got home, Matilda went to her room and made notes of the things she had seen and liked that she thought might be good for a present to one or another of the friends she had to reckon for. The obelisk held its place in her favour for Mrs. Laval; but with respect to the other people a crowd of images filled her imagination. j.a.panese paperweights, and little tea-pots; so pretty, Matilda thought she _must_ buy one; ivory and Scotch plaid and carved wood paper knives, and one with a deer's foot handle. Little Shaker work-baskets, elegantly fitted up; scent-bottles; a carved wood letter-holder at Goupil's; a bronze standish representing a country well with pole and bucket. At Goupil's, where Mrs. Laval had business to attend to, Matilda's happy eyes were full of treasure. She wandered round the room gazing at the pictures, in a dream of delight; finding soon some special favourites which she was sure to revisit with fresh interest every time she had a chance; and Mrs. Laval took her there several times. Once Mrs. Laval, having finished what she came to do, was at a loss where to find Matilda; and only after going half round the long gallery, discovered her, wrapt in contemplation, standing before a large engraving which hung high above her on the wall. Matilda's head was thrown back, gazing; her two little hands were carelessly crossed at her back; she was a sort of picture herself. Mrs.

Laval came up softly.

"What are you looking at, my darling?"

Matilda started. "Have you got through, mamma? did you want me?"

"I have got through; but I do not want you unless you are ready. What have you found that pleases you?"

"Look, mamma. That one--the woman holding a lamp--don't you see?"

It was Holman Hunt's figure of the woman searching for the lost piece of money.

"What is it?" said Mrs. Laval.

"Don't you remember, mamma? the story of the woman who had ten pieces of silver and lost one of them? how she swept the house, and looked until she found it?"

"If I had nine left, I should not take so much trouble," said Mrs.

Laval.

"Ah, but, mamma, you know the Lord Jesus does not think so."

"The Lord! _What_ are you talking of, my child?"

"O you do not remember, mamma! It is a parable. The Lord Jesus means us to know how _He_ cares for the lost ones."

Mrs. Laval looked from Matilda to the picture and back again.

"Do you like it so very much?" she said.

"O I do, mamma! it's beautiful. What an odd lamp she has."

"That is the shape lamps used to be," said Mrs. Laval. "Not so good as ours."

"Prettier," said Matilda. "And it seems to give a good light. No, it don't, though; it shines only on a little place. But it's pretty."

"You do love pretty things," said Mrs. Laval laughing. "We will come and look at it again."

Matilda, it shewed how enterprising she was getting to be, had already privately inquired the price of the picture. It was fifteen dollars without a frame. Far up over her little head indeed. She drew a long breath, and came away.

The latter part of the week another engrossment appeared, in the shape of her new dresses from Mme. Fournissons. Mrs. Laval tried them all on; and Matilda's head had almost more than it could stand. So many, so handsome, so elegantly made and trimmed, so very becoming they were; it was like a fairy tale. To these dresses Mrs. Laval had been all the week adding riches of under-clothing; a supply so abundant that Matilda had never dreamed of the like, and so elegant and fine in material and make as she had never until then even seen. Now Matilda had a natural liking for extreme neatness and particularity in all that concerned her little person; and to have such plenty of things to wear, so nice of their kind, and full liberty to put them on clean and fresh as often as she pleased, fulfilled her utmost notions of what was desirable. Her mental confusion arose from the articles furnished by Mme. Fournissons.

The l.u.s.tre of the silk, the colour of the blue, the richness of the green, the ruffles, the costly b.u.t.tons, the tasteful tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, the stylish make, all raised a whirl in Matilda's mind. She was a little intoxicated. n.o.body saw it; she was very demure about it all; made no show of what she felt; all the same she felt it. She could not help a deep satisfaction at being dressed to the full as well as Judy; a feeling that was not lessened by a certain sense that the satisfaction was on her part alone. Of the two, that is. Mrs. Laval openly expressed hers. Mrs. Lloyd nodded her dignified head and remarked, "That child will do you no discredit, Zara." Mrs. Bartholomew looked at her, which was much; and Norton declared that from a pink she had bloomed out into a carnation. All these things Matilda felt; and unconsciously in all that concerned dress and equipment she began to set a new standard for herself. One thing must match with another. "Of _course_, I must have round-toed boots," she said to herself now. She began to doubt whether she must not get at least one pair of gloves more elegant than any she found at Shadywalk, to go with her silk dresses and her new coat. She hesitated still, for the price was a dollar and a quarter.

Upon all this came Mr. Richmond's letter; and Matilda found it did not exactly fit her mood of mind. She was confused already, and this made the confusion worse. Then Sat.u.r.day came; and Norton was free; and he and Matilda made another round of shop-going. The matter was growing imminent now; Christmas would be in a fortnight. But the difficulty of deciding upon the choice of presents seemed as great as ever. Seeing more things to choose from, only increased the difficulty. They went this morning to Stewart's, to find out what might be displayed upon the variety counter; they went to a place where Swiss carvings were shewn; finally they went to Anthony's; and they could not get away from this last place.

"It's long past one o'clock, Pink," said Norton as they were going down the stairs.

"What shall we do, Norton? I'm very hungry."