“And this is all I can do,” she said; “and I cannot help you, Leila and Selina, in buying butter, and tea, and sugar; I have nothing left but this abominable penny;”—and she threw it on the ground in uncontrolled distress—“oh, what a hard-hearted, extravagant, sinful, wretched, horrid girl I have been!”
Leila lifted the poor rejected penny from the ground, and whispered in her ear, “Don’t be in such a state, Matilda; try to bear it; you know I did just the same about the basket. We have both been very wrong, but we can both repent. You know that is the right thing to do. And this penny can still do a little good; take it, Matilda; you might buy a bunn with it for the mother; I am sure she would like a bunn better than the bread.”
But Matilda was not to be comforted; she bought the bunn, and wrapped it carefully up in paper; but as she got into the street, she entreated Nurse to go back with her to the shop where she had purchased the work-box. She wished, she said, to ask the man to take it again, and give her back the money. Nurse thought it very doubtful that this would be agreed to; but she yielded to Matilda’s entreaties, and they went back to the shop. The master was very civil; he said they never took back goods that had been paid for, they were obliged to make a rule not to do so; he seemed, however, in this instance, to be inclined to yield, and Matilda’s eyes sparkled with joy, when he took the work-box from her hand, and undid the paper; but on seeing it he shook his head—“I was anxious to oblige you, young lady,” he said, “but in this case it is impossible—this work-box has been injured, it has got a fall.”
“Yes, sir,” Nurse answered, (for poor Matilda was now unable to speak,) “it did get a fall; I told Miss Matilda she had better not undo the paper in the street, but we cannot expect young people to be wise all at once; but I am quite sure of one thing, she did not know it had been injured, for we both examined it, and were not aware it had been scratched at all.”
“No, of course not; no need of an apology, madam;” and as he spoke, he carefully wrapped the unfortunate box up in a fresh piece of paper, and, with a low bow, put it into Matilda’s hands.
Poor Matilda, she could scarcely articulate, as turning from the shop she said,—“And it was my own fault, I would take it out of the paper; oh, what a day of misfortunes, surely no one was ever so unfortunate as I am!”
Leila whispered, “You forget, Matilda, about Rosamond and the purple jar.”
“Oh, but that was not half so bad, don’t say it was, Cousin Leila; she had only holes in her shoes to vex her; she had not a whole houseful of starving people—no, no,—no one was ever so unfortunate as I am; don’t try to comfort me, it makes me much worse.”
The scene which presented itself on entering the house to which the little girl conducted them, was certainly not calculated to lessen her sorrow. All within the house bore the marks of extreme poverty. A pale, emaciated woman was seated on a low stool, endeavouring to lull to sleep a sickly-looking infant; a girl, apparently some years older than the child who accompanied them, sat on the side of a miserable-looking bed, (the only one the room contained,) knitting busily: her features were pretty, but she kept her eyes cast down; and though she seemed to listen eagerly to what was said, she took no further notice of their entrance. The woman had risen, and was endeavouring to silence three clamorous little urchins, who all ran towards the door when it opened, loudly exclaiming, “Why did you take away Tiny—what have you done with her?—have you brought no bread as you promised? we have had no breakfast yet!” They shrank back on seeing the strangers.
Nurse gave a glance around the room; its contents were not numerous. A small tea-kettle stood by the almost empty grate, in which a few sparks of fire still lingered. She went out, taking the eldest of the little boys with her, and soon returned with a supply of wood. A fire was kindled, and in a wonderfully short space of time, (for Leila and her cousins assisted,) a few cups and bowls were collected together, and the children were all assembled round a small table, devouring bread and butter as fast as it could be prepared for them, and anticipating the delight of having warm tea. The eldest girl was also seated at the table, but still kept her eyes cast down. The mother, observing the inquiring glances which were cast towards her, explained that she was blind; but she added, “My poor Susan is of the greatest assistance to me; ever since her father’s death, she has worked late and early; her knitting has been our chief support, and when I can get a day’s work at a time, she keeps the poor baby: but she is sorely changed, her health is suffering; she is not like the same girl she was when times were better with us, for we were well to do in the world, till the fever came amongst us, and he that was always help and comfort to us all, was taken away.”