ma'am," Maria answered, a little abashed. "I was only thinking."
"I think Mr. Richmond likes flowers everywhere," said Matilda; "and all colours."
"People that are very religious do not wear flowers in their bonnets though, do they?" said Maria.
"Mr. Richmond did not say any such thing!" said Matilda, indignantly.
"What did he say? What was all this last night's talk about?" said Anne. "I did not understand half of it. Was it against red flowers, or red anything?"
"I did not understand any of it," said Mrs. Englefield.
"Why, mamma, I told you all, as plain as could be," said Maria. "I told you he made a Band – "
"He didn't," interrupted Matilda; "the Band made themselves."
But at this, the shout that went round the breakfast-table threatened to endanger the dishes.
"It's no use trying to talk," said Maria, sullenly, "if you laugh so. I told you there was a Band; ever so many of us rose up and agreed that we would belong to it."
"Matilda, are you in it too?" the mother asked.
"No, mamma."
"Why not? How comes that?"
"She wasn't ready," her sister said.
"Why not, Tilly?"
"Mamma, I want to understand," said the child.
"Quite right; so do I."
"Wouldn't you do what Mr. Richmond says, whether you understand or not?" inquired Maria, severely.
"I would rather know what it is, first," said Matilda, in her way, which was a compound of cool and demure, but quite natural.
"And when is the next meeting?" said Letitia. "I guess I'll go."
"It won't be for a week," said Matilda.
"And will you join the Band, Letty?" Maria asked somewhat eagerly.
"How, join it?"
"Why, rise up, when you are asked."
"What does 'rising up' mean, Maria? What do you rise for?"
"Why, it means just that you promise to be good, you know."
"But I have heard you promise that a number of times, it seems to me; without 'rising up,' as you call it. Will the promise not better, if you make it on your feet instead of sitting?"
"Now, mamma," said Maria, flushing, "isn't that just wicked in Letitia?"
"My dear, I do not understand one word at present of what this is all about," her mother answered.
Perhaps Matilda was in the same mood, for she was a thoughtful little child all the way to school that morning. And at the close of the school day, when the children were going home, she went slowly and demurely along the icy street, while her sister and companions made a merry time. There had been a little thaw in the middle of the day, and now it had turned cold again, and the sidewalks were a glare of ice. Matilda was afraid, and went cautiously; Maria and the others took the opportunity for a grand slide, and ran and slipped and slid and sailed away homewards, like mad things. One after another, they passed her and rushed along, till Matilda was left the last, slowly shuffling her little feet over the track the feet of the others had made doubly slippery; when quick steps came up behind her, and a pleasant voice spoke —
"Are you afraid you are going to tumble down?"
Matilda started, but lifted her eyes very contentedly then to the face of the speaker. They had a good way to go, for he was a tall young man. But he was looking down towards her with a bright face, and two good, clear blue eyes, and a smile; and his hand presently clasped hers. Matilda had no objection.
"Where is everybody else? how come you to be all alone?"
"They have gone ahead, sliding on the ice."
"And you do not practise sliding?"
"I am always afraid I shall fall down."
"The best way is not to be afraid; and then you don't fall down. See; no! hold fast. I shall not let you slip!"
And the gentleman and Matilda slid along the street for half a block.
"How do you like that?"
"Very well, Mr. Richmond, with you holding me."
"It doesn't give you courage, eh? Well, we will walk on soberly together. I didn't see you stand when Maria did last night?"
"Mr. Richmond, I did not know just what it all meant; and so I sat still."
"You did not know just what it all meant?"
"No, sir."
"Then you were perfectly right to sit still. But that means that I did not speak so that you could understand me? Was it so?"
"I did not understand – " said Matilda.
"It comes to that, I suppose. It is my fault. Well, I shall remember and be very careful what I say the next time. I will speak so that you will understand. But in that case, I want you to do one thing for me, Tilly; will you?"
"If I can, Mr. Richmond."
"Do you think I would ask something you could not do?"
Matilda looked up to the blue eyes again; they were fastened upon her gravely, and she hesitated.
"Mr. Richmond – I don't know. You might."
"I hope not," he said, smiling. "I will try not. You won't promise me?"
"If I can I will, Mr. Richmond."
"I am only going to ask you, when you hear what I have to say next time, if you understand it, will you do what you think you ought to do?"
There fell a silence upon that. Mr. Richmond's firm step on the icy ground and Matilda's light footfall passed by house after house, and still the little one's tongue seemed to be tied. They turned the corner, and went their way along Matilda's own street, where the light of afternoon was now fading, and the western sky was throwing a reflection of its own. Past the butcher's shop, and the post-office, and house after house; and still Matilda was silent, and her conductor did not speak, until they stopped before the little gate leading to the house, which was placed somewhat back from the road. At the gate Mr. Richmond stood still.
"What about my question, Matilda?" he said, without loosing his hold of the little hand which had rested so willingly in his all the way.
"Aren't you coming in, Mr. Richmond?"
"Not to-night. What about my question?"
"Mr. Richmond," said the child, slowly, – "I do not always do the things I ought to do."
"No; I know you do not. But will you do that thing, which you will think you ought to do, when you have heard me, and understood what I say, the next time the Band has a meeting?"
Matilda
