"I wish she wouldn't, then. I hate people who are always quiet. I would rather they would flare out now and then. It's safer."
"For what? Safer, Maria?"
"Do go along and get your soda!" exclaimed Maria. "Do you think it will be safe to be late with breakfast?"
Maria was so evidently out of order this morning, that her sister thought the best way was to let her alone; only she asked, "Aren't you well, Maria?" and got a sharp answer; then she went out.
It was a delicious spring morning. The air stirred in her face its soft and glad breaths of sweetness; the sunlight was the very essence of promise; the village and the green trees, now out in leaf, shone and basked in the fair day. It was better than breakfast, to be out in the air. Matilda went round the corner, into Butternut Street, and made for Mr. Sample's grocery store, every step being a delight. Why could not the inside world be as pleasant as the outside? Matilda was musing and wishing, when just before she reached Mr. Sample's door, she saw what made her forget everything else; even the mischievous little boy who belonged to Mrs. Dow. What was he doing here in Butternut Street? Matilda's steps slackened. The boy knew her, for he looked and then grinned, and then bringing a finger alongside of his nose in a peculiar and mysterious expressiveness, he repeated his old words—
"Ain't you green?"
"I suppose so," said Matilda. "I dare say I am. What then? Green is not the worst colour."
The boy looked at her, a little confounded.
"If you would come to Sunday-school," Matilda went on, "you would be a better colour than you are—by and by."
"What colour be I?" said the boy.