"No.—I go and sit down somewheres. 'Tain't such a dinner as you have. It's easy took."
"Sarah," said Matilda suddenly, "you love Jesus, don't you?"
"Who?" she said, for the noise and rush of horses and carriages in the streets was tremendous, and the children both sprang back to the sidewalk just then out of the way of something. "Jesus? Was it that you asked?"
She stood leaning on her broom and looking at her questioner. Matilda could see better now how thin the face was, how marked with care; but at the same time a light came into it like a sunbeam on a winter landscape; the grey changed to golden somehow; and the set of the girl's lips, gentle and glad, was very sweet.
"Do I love him?" she repeated. "He is with me here all the day when I am sweeping the snow. Yes, I love him! and he loves me. That is how I live."
"That's how I want to live too," said Matilda; "but sometimes I forget."
"I shouldn't think you'd forget," said Sarah. "It must be easy for you."
"What must be easy?"
"I should think it would be easy to be good," said the poor girl, her eye going unconsciously up and down over the tokens of Matilda's comfortable condition.
"I don't think having things helps one to be good," said Matilda. "It makes it hard, sometimes."