And now for cousin Serena, to whom I bent my steps at once, accompanied by Bessie, who volunteered to go with me; though, to tell the truth, I could have dispensed with her society for this occasion, being afraid of the discouraging objections and criticisms she might raise. But she ventured none; on the contrary, she seemed rather inclined to aid and abet me when I broached the subject to cousin Serena, in whom I was not disappointed. She proved herself—the blessed soul—the most willing co-adjutor, even more so than I desired; for, running to a closet where she kept a bountiful provision of such articles, she began to bring forth flannel, calico, and stout muslin suitable to make clothes for poor people; whereupon my spirit shrank appalled, for, if there was one occupation which I hated more than another, it was plain sewing, especially upon coarse material.
"O cousin Serena!" I said, "I am not going to sew and make clothes for Matty. It is so much easier and more convenient to buy them ready-made."
This speech, I was sorry to see, damped cousin Serena's ardor; for this working by proxy, as it were, did not at all coincide with her old-fashioned notions; and "ready-made garments" were to her a delusion and a snare, giving opportunity to Satan to find mischief for idle hands to do. I hated to disappoint her when she was so enthusiastically preparing to cut put work for both Bessie and me; but I hated still more to sew, and held my ground, being borne out by Bessie, who was not any more partial to such work than I was. Cousin Serena shook her head, and sighed over the degeneracy of the age which could content itself with other than such exquisite "hand-sewing" as she did herself.
Having gained my point, and made her promise all that I wished, I insisted that she should go home with us to dinner, taking the little bower of Dutch Johnny, the florist, by the way for a glimpse of Matty. Cousin Serena had never seen her; but I was not afraid to have her do so, unpromising object for one's charitable sympathies though she certainly was, for, the more helpless and repulsive-looking, the more would cousin Serena's tender heart warm toward her.
Our errand to Johnny's was nominally to purchase flowers, and, of course, we did invest therein, and came out bearing some of his choicest blossoms; but cousin Serena made use of the opportunity to take a close observation of Matty as she sat at her little peanut-stand in the corner, sullen and lowering, the picture of discontent and misery, as usual.
But cousin Serena did more than this; for, with the tact which she always showed in dealing with people of this class, she succeeded in arousing a slight feeling of interest in the sullen, disagreeable little cripple.
The one gift which had been granted to Matty was a profusion of beautiful hair, which, however, was never seen to perfection, as it was always braided tightly and wound in a close coil about her head, giving to the wizened, shrunken face an even older look than was natural to it. If she had any pride in any thing, it must have been in this hair,—indeed, she had little else to be proud of,—for it was always fairly tidy. Johnny, it seemed, always exacted a certain amount of cleanliness and decency as the price of her admission into his shop; not, perhaps, that he had any inherent love for this virtue, as such, or that his own comfort and happiness depended upon them, but because he feared that his trade might be injured if his customers found there such a dirty, ragged little object as Matty had formerly been. Clean hands and faces, well-brushed hair, and as much patching of ragged clothes as the neglected, worse than motherless creatures could compass, were required from Matty and Tony. His good-natured wife sometimes befriended them in this way, and put in a few stitches for them; the result being profitable in more ways than one. It was she, and not the miserable, intemperate mother, who plaited Matty's glossy locks in the heavy braid which she then wound round her head.
Cousin Serena went up to the peanut-stand, invested in Matty's wares, the child serving her in the dull, mechanical way usual with her, and smiled kindly down at her, eliciting, however, no response.
"What pretty hair you have, Matty!" was Miss Craven's next advance; and, as she spoke, she lightly touched with her gloved finger the shining coil which many a society belle might have envied.
A gleam lighted up the dull, heavy eyes, and Matty raised them to the dear old lady's face.