"Well, yes," said the housekeeper, setting her chair back at the wall in its place. "I wouldn't like to run against none o' the Lord's words, and this is one of 'em. 'I will bless them that bless thee, and curse him that curseth thee.'"

The housekeeper went off and left Matilda and Norton looking at each other. Norton wore a vexed face.

"This is all trumpery," he said. "It will blow away like smoke."

"No it won't, Norton," said Matilda. "I hope not."

"And how long have you and David been holding secret meetings together to talk about this?"

"I don't know, Norton. But we had better go to bed, I suppose; for Miss Redwood will call us very early to have breakfast before the omnibus comes for us."

"Nonsense to have breakfast!" said Norton. "We shall be home time enough."

"But then you and Davy will have to rush right off to school. Good night."

"Good night"--said Norton, in an uncomfortable tone. And they went up to their rooms, leaving David and Mr. Richmond still shut up in the study.

It was early, dawn just breaking, when the summons came for them to get up; the dawn of a fair spring morning. What a visit it had been!

Matilda thought to herself, as she dressed and put up her things in her little hand bag. And as the first sunbeams were glinting on the top of the old tower, she ran down to breakfast. Mr. Richmond gave her a very warm greeting, in his quiet way. So did David. He looked bright and well, Matilda saw at a glance. Norton had not by any means got over his discomfiture. He seemed embarra.s.sed as well as uneasy; watched David with furtive glances, and eat his breakfast in silence. Mr. Richmond and Matilda were the talkers.

"Have you had any more difficulties about boots?" he asked in the course of the conversation. Matilda looked at him in bewilderment.

"You wrote me some time ago, on the subject of a deep question that had to do with boots."

Matilda coloured and laughed, while Norton remarked that boots were a queer subject for deep questions to have to do with.

"Deep questions can spring out of anything--out of your bread and b.u.t.ter," said Mr. Richmond. "How is it, Tilly, about the matter of boots?"

"I have hardly thought about it, Mr. Richmond, this long while."

"How is that?"

"I have had so much else to think of, I believe."

"Studies?"

"No, sir; my studies have been a good deal broken off by my being sick."

"What then? Can you tell me?"

Matilda gave briefly the history of her connexion with Sarah Staples.

She meant to give it briefly; but the story was too sweet in the telling; it rather grew long. Yet she did by no means put herself or her own doings in the foreground; that place was given as much as possible to Mr. Wharncliffe and David and the poor family themselves.

The minister and the housekeeper were both very much interested.

"Yes," said the former, in conclusion, "I understand, and am satisfied.

I see that now boots are boots; and nothing more."

Matilda laughed, for the boys looked mystified.

"Will you tell me, sir," inquired Norton, "how deep questions could spring out of my bread and b.u.t.ter?"

The minister could have smiled at the boy's air, which had much the effect of seeming to put a "poser" to him; but he controlled himself and answered quite gravely.

"Shall we consider them together? or apart?"

"Apart, if you please."

"Well--Bread, you know, daily bread, stands for the matters which support life, in all variety. This question arises.--Who gives this daily bread to you, and gives you power to eat it? And what use does He wish to make of you, that he should give you both?"

Norton was silent.

"You are not prepared with an answer?" said the minister.

"I never thought of the questions before, sir. The second one sounds to me very strange."

"Does it? Do you think the Lord had no purpose to serve, in putting you here and nourishing you up to strength and power?"

"That's for the bread," said Norton after a pause, but not rudely; lifting his eyes to the minister as he spoke. "You were going to consider the bread _and b.u.t.ter_."

"I think you do not seem disposed to 'consider' anything," said Mr.

Richmond smiling; "but, however, I will hope the time of consideration may come. Now for deep question Number three, or Number four,--You have b.u.t.ter to your bread, and plenty of it; what is your duty towards others who have no b.u.t.ter, and others still who have no bread?"

"There's the omnibus, Mr. Richmond," said the housekeeper. And there was no more talk. Only a hurried putting on of hats and seizing of hand bags; eager, warm, hearty grasping of hands in good bye; and then the three travellers were in the omnibus and rolling along the parsonage lane and out at the gate.

What a visit it had been! Matilda was so full of content that she was still. Not a very noisy child at any time, she was now as quiet as a mouse, just with content. Three days of sweet pleasure, three days of country skies and greening gra.s.s and free sunshine; three nights and mornings of parsonage delights. And more than that; more than all she had hoped for; David going home with _his_ deep questions solved and his calls of duty and privilege met. What would they think at home? and how would they find out about it? "He was one of those lost pieces of silver," thought Matilda, smiling to herself; "and Jesus has found him!"

"What's so amusing?" inquired Norton. He was rather in a disordered state of mind, and certainly seemed to see nothing amusing himself.

Matilda looked up, still smiling, though her eyes were dewy, and from him glanced at David. Their eyes met. His smile answered hers, quite recognizing its meaning. Norton whistled. There was no other pa.s.senger in the omnibus; and he whistled half way to the station.

In the cars the same content possessed Matilda. It was still early morning; she thought the river had never looked so pretty as in the crisp light of that hour; nor the opposite hills so lovely as under those wreaths of bright vapour which lay along the hillsides; nor ever was there a blue sky more smiling. She glanced at her two companions.

Norton was not smiling by any means; his discomposure had not gone off, whatever it might mean; and he eyed David now and then with a jealous, doubtful expression. David was grave enough, but not as usual. Matilda looked again and again, to see how different the thoughtful bright calm of his face was from the old dark gloom that used to be there; and then her eyes turned to the sunny river and sky and hills, with a glad feeling of the harmony between things outward and inward. Before long, David had taken out a little book and was deep in the study of it; which he never interrupted till they reached Poughkeepsie. There Norton rushed out, to get something to eat, he said; though Matilda guessed it was rather to get rid of himself for a minute. Many other people left the car on the same errand; and David looked up from his book and came over to Matilda.

"Well," said he, "how are you getting along?"

"Nicely. I am so happy, David!"

"So am I," said he gravely. "All the world is new, and it seems to me I see the sun shine for the first time."

"See the sun shine?" repeated Matilda doubtfully.

"Yes," said he smiling.

"But you don't look at it, David. You are reading all the while."

"I see it, though. Now I know what the prophet Malachi meant by the sun of righteousness. Do you remember, Matilda? I guess you don't; but I know the words.

'And risen to you, ye who fear my name, Hath the sun of righteousness and healing in its wings.'