“So you are little Allumette, are you? My husband has told me about you. He says you sell very good matches. Come and sit on that little stool here, and you shall tell me all about yourself. Madge, bring the mite some tea and cake. I’m sure she looks as though she wanted it!”
Allumette sat down where she was bidden, and soon a great wedge of delicious cake was put into her hands. But although she was so strangely happy in this beautiful place, she was almost too shy and excited to feel hungry; and as she nibbled at the unwonted dainty, she answered the questions of the ladies about herself and her life, gradually losing her fear of them, and beginning to smile and even to laugh at the funny remarks of Miss Madge, or the questions of young Mrs. Clayton.
Meantime the artist studied the face of the little one, and dashed off a few little pencil sketches with great satisfaction to herself. Yes, it was just such a face as she wanted—wistful without being sad, bright and sunny, yet pathetic withal. Eva Clayton had a knack with children which she was exercising now for Cora’s benefit, and before half an hour had passed she was fully satisfied that she had got the right model for her picture.
It was a wonderful life that began for little Allumette. No more early rising in the dark and cold to do her household tasks, and lay in her store of matches for the day. No standing about at street corners in the cold wind and driving rain; no more hunger and uncertainty of the day’s earnings; no harsh words and unkind teasing from boys either at home or in the streets.
Here everything was beautiful and happy. She lived with a kind couple who soon treated her almost as if she had been their child, and the greater part of her day was spent in that wonderful studio, where all that was asked of her was to stand still in a pretty frock whilst the tall lady painted her; and Miss Madge generally came in and out or sat still by the fire with a book, and often amused them by her play with the dog, or with her merry chatter, or else by teaching Allumette out of some simple primer.
“She’s a dear little thing,” Madge said to her brother a day or two after the commencement of the experiment. “I’ve often wanted an object for my benevolence, and an object on which to expend my superfluous energy in the matter of good works. I think I shall take up Allumette and make her my special charge. You needn’t look so grave, sir! Wouldn’t it be a very deserving object?”
“Perhaps; but take care, Madge, take care. You know how often you have failed from lack of perseverance. Don’t unfit the child for her old life, or buoy her up with false hopes, only to forget her and disappoint her later on. It is always a serious matter taking the destinies of another human being as it were into our hands. Don’t do anything rash; don’t give the child cause to regret in days to come that she has ever known us!”
“Gracious! what a lecture!” cried Madge gaily. “I thought you’d be pleased at my desiring to do a good work; and, behold, I get a scolding!”
