"No, Miss Matilda, it ain't that. He gets good wages and brings 'em home; but he's a pertiklar man and he expects she'll have everything just as smart as if she had her fingers."
"Then what can we do for her, Sarah?"
"I don't know, ma'am;—I was thinkin', if she could have one o' them rollers that wrings clothes—it tries her awful to wring 'em with her hands."
"A clothes-wringer! O yes," cried Matilda.
"What is that?" said David.
"I will shew you. Thank you, Sarah; it was quite right to tell us. We'll see what we can do."
But after they had parted from Sarah the little girl walked quite silently and soberly homeward. David stopped at a grocer's to get some white grapes, and turned back to carry them to the sick child; and Matilda went the rest of her way alone.
CHAPTER XIII.
David was busy with his books all the evening, and Matilda, however much she wished for it, could get no talk with him. The opportunity did not come before Sunday evening, when they were all at tea in the little reception room. Then David took his cup and his piece of cake and came to Matilda's side and sat down.