"I don't know," said Matilda in a trembling voice. "She had a little daughter once, and she took me"—Matilda's eyes were glittering. She nearly broke down, but would not, and in the resistance she made to the temptation, her head took its peculiar airy turn upon her neck. Maria ought to have known her well enough to understand it.
"Everything comes to you!" she exclaimed. "I wonder why nothing comes to me! There are you, set up now, you think, above all your relations; you will not want to look at us by and by; I dare say you feel so now. And you are dressed, and have dresses made for you, and you ride in a carriage, and you have everything you want; and I here make dresses for other people, and live anyhow I can; sew and sew, from morning till night, and begin again as soon as morning comes; and never a bit of pleasure or rest or hope of it; and can't dress myself decently, except by the hardest! I don't know what I have done to deserve it!" said Maria furiously. "It has always been so. Mamma loved you best, and aunt Candy treated you best,—she didn't love anybody;—and now strangers have taken you up; and nobody cares for me at all."
Here Maria completed her part of the harmony by bursting into tears. And being tears of extreme mortification and envy, they were hard to stop. The fountain was large. Matilda sat still, with her eyes glittering, and her head in the position that with her was apt to mean disapproval, and meant it now. But what could she say.
"It's very hard!"—Maria sobbed at last. "It's very hard!"
"Maria," said her little sister, "does it make it any harder for you, because I am taken such good care of?"
"Yes!" said Maria. "Why should good care be taken of you any more than of me? Of course it makes it harder."
There was nothing that it seemed wise to say; and Matilda, sometimes a wise little child in her way, waited in silence, though very much grieved. She began to think it was hard for Maria, though the whole thing had got into a puzzle with her. And she thought it was a little bit hard for herself, that she should have taken such pains to prepare a present for her sister, and meet such a reception when she came to offer it.
"Just look what a place I live in!" sobbed Maria. "Not a nice thing about it. And here I sit and sew and sew, to make other people's things, from morning till night; and longer. I had to sit up till ten o'clock last night, puckering on that ribband; and I shall have to do it again to-night; till twelve, very likely; because I have spent time talking to you. All that somebody else may be dressed and have a good time."
"But Maria, what would you do if you hadn't this to do?" suggested Matilda.
"I don't know, and I don't care! I'd as lieve die as do this. I should like to put those pieces of blue ribband in the stove, and never see them again!"