"She has quite a bump on her poor head!" cried Nelly. "Dear Matty! what can we do for her?"
"Get me the pink salve from the mantelpiece," sobbed Matty. Her sister hurried to the place as fast as she could.
"Let me see it first," said Dame Desley, examining the little china pot, which was labelled, "Flattery Salve, patronized by the nobility and gentry. Warranted to heal all manner of bruises and sores."
"Where did you get this?" inquired the mother. Matty whimpered out that she had had it from Miss Folly.
"Let Miss Folly keep her own trash to herself!" cried the indignant dame, flinging the little pot out of the window; "that is a most dangerous salve: its effect is often that of injuring the brain, weakening the senses—producing dizziness and delirium! Bring a little cold water, Nelly; that is a far better thing to apply to a bump on the head like this."
"I am afraid," observed Mr. Learning, as the simple remedy was tried with effect, "that Matty, quick and ready a pupil as she is, will have almost as much to do as Lubin before her cottage is really well furnished. She had better at once commence the work of getting rid of the trash; and I should recommend her to make a famous large bonfire of it to celebrate her mother's return."
Poor Matty, who had at first eyed with mingled curiosity and hope the white box under the arm of her guardian—believing that it must contain the silver crown of Success—felt her heart sink at these words; and with drooping head and melancholy mien, she went with her companions to the cottage adjoining.