“She gave me a beautiful dinner—a fine dinner, sir—too good—too much—and I could not eat it all; so she desired me to take up what I left, and carry it home. It was so kind of her; but I thought you would not approve of my taking it. It was no longer my dinner, when I had eaten all I could: it did not appear to me quite hers to give.”
“To doubt my right!” commented Matty; but Mr. Whitelock commanded her to listen, in a tone she was little accustomed to.
“The lad is right, Matty; it is the proper sense of justice and honesty. I am glad to see it, Matty; it is not common. You may take what you leave in future, my boy; Matty was right, and you were right. No words, Matty.”
And the master—who was really, like many peace-lovers, fearful of noise, and consequently gave way more frequently than he ought to do, merely to avoid it—seeing that he had, in this instance, the advantage, and being well pleased with himself, resolved to make a dignified exit, and withdrew, thinking—“An evidence of truth, and an evidence of honesty—both in one day—both in one day; very pleasing, very remarkable.”
Matty, however, had been offended, and she determined to show it. She paced up and down the kitchen, talking loudly to herself.
“I’m not the sort to squander my master’s property on comers or goers; I know what’s enough for a boy’s dinner; and, whether he eats it or not, there it is, and I have nothing to do with it after; for Peter scorns scraps. There—be off with ye’rself—there’s nothing keeping ye’ that I know of now, ye’ got yer answer. Setting up for honesty, indeed! as if there was no one ever honest before ye’.”
The boy’s eyes filled with tears.
“I do not know,” he said, “why every one should be so kind to me.”
“You young villain!” exclaimed Matty, with a flourish of a brobdignag poker, which seemed forged by the Cyclops. “Get out of my kitchen this moment! What do ye’ mean by saying I’m kind—kind enagh! A mighty fine thing ye’ are to take away my character! Botheration! is that what I’m come to?”
Richard flew up the stairs, concluded his evening’s shop-work to his master’s satisfaction, again went out to distribute and gather books, and religiously kept his promise; never paused before a print-shop, nor under a tempting lamp-post, to read a sentence; thought it would not become him to be proud, so nodded to Ned Brady, at his old corner. Ned hopped after him, first on one leg, then on the other, and after a brilliant somerset stood right in his path.