in hand. The kettle boiled. She made the tea in the tea-cup; laid a herring on the stove; spread some bread and butter; and in a few minutes invited Mrs. Eldridge's attention to her supper spread on a chair. The old woman drank the tea as if it were the rarest of delicacies; Matilda filled up her cup again; and then she fell to work on the fish and bread and butter, tearing them to pieces with her fingers, and in great though silent appreciation. Meanwhile Matilda brought the cupboard to a little order; and then filling up Mrs. Eldridge's cup for the third time, carried back the kettle to Sabrina Rogers and begged the loan of an old broom.
"What do you want to do with it?"
"Mrs. Eldridge's room wants sweeping very much."
"Likely it does! Who's a going to sweep it, though, if I lend you my broom?"
"There's nobody but me," said Matilda.
The woman brought the broom, and, as she gave it, asked, "Who sent you to do all this?"
"Nobody."
"What made you come, then? It's queer play for a child like you."
"Somebody must do it, you know," said Matilda; and she ran away.
But Sabrina's words recurred to her. It was queer play. But then, who would do it? And it was not for Mrs. Eldridge alone. She brushed away with a good heart, while the poor old woman was hovering over the chair on which her supper was set, munching bread and herring with a particularity of attention which shewed how good a good meal was to her. Matilda did not disturb her, and she said never a word to Matilda; till, just as the little girl had brought all the sweepings of the floor to the threshold, where they lay in a heap, and another stroke of the broom would have scattered them into the street, the space outside the door was darkened by a figure, the sight of which nearly made the broom fly out of Matilda's hand. Nobody but Mr. Richmond stood there. The two faces looked mutual pleasure and surprise at each other.
"Mr. Richmond!"
"What are you doing here, Tilly?"
"Mr. Richmond, can you step over this muss? I will have it away directly."
Mr. Richmond stepped in, looked at the figure by the stove, and then back at Matilda. The little girl finished her sweeping and came back, to receive a warm grasp of the hand from her minister; one of the things Matilda liked best to get.
"Is all this your work, Tilly," he whispered.
"Mr. Richmond, nobody has given her a cup of tea in a long while."
The minister stepped softly to the figure still bending over the broken herring; I think his blue eye had an unusual softness in it. The old woman pushed her chair back, and looked up at him.
"It's the minister agin," said she.
"Are you glad to see me?" said Mr. Richmond, taking a chair that Matilda had dusted for him. I am afraid she took off her apron to do it with, but the occasion was pressing. There was no distinct answer to the minister's question.
"You seem to have had some supper here," he remarked.
"It's a good cup o' tea," said Mrs. Eldridge; – "a good cup o' tea. I hain't seen such a good cup o' tea, not since ten year!"
"I am very glad of that. And you feel better for it, don't you?"
"A good cup o' tea makes one feel like folks," Mrs. Eldridge assented.
"And it is pleasant to think that somebody cares for us," Mr. Richmond went on.
"I didn't think as there warn't nobody," said Mrs. Eldridge, wiping her lips.
"You see you were mistaken. Here are two people that care for you."
"She cares the most," said Mrs. Eldridge, with a little nod of her head towards Matilda.
"I will not dispute that," said the minister, laughing. "She has cared fire, and tea, and bread, and fish, hasn't she? and you think I have only cared to come and see you. Don't you like that?"
"I used fur to have visits," said the poor old woman, "when I had a nice place and was fixed up respectable. I had visits. Yes, I had. There don't no one come now. There won't no more on 'em come; no more."
"Perhaps you are mistaken, Mrs. Eldridge. Do you see how much you were mistaken in thinking that no one cared for you? Do you know there is more care for you than hers?"
"I don't know why she cares," said Mrs. Eldridge.
"Who do you think sent her, and told her to care for you?"
"Who sent her?" the woman repeated.
"Yes, who sent her. Who do you think it was?"
As he got but a lack-lustre look in reply, the minister went on.
"This little girl is the servant of the Lord Jesus Christ; and He sent her to come and see you, and care for you; and He did that because He cares. He cares about you. He loves you, and sent His little servant to be His messenger."
"He didn't send no one afore," the old woman remarked.
"Yes, He did," said Mr. Richmond, growing grave, "He sent others, but they did not come. They did not do what He gave them to do. And now, Mrs. Eldridge, we bring you a message from the Lord – this little girl and I do, – that He loves you and wants you to love Him. You know you never have loved, or trusted, or obeyed Him, in all your life. And now, the goodness of God leadeth thee to repentance."
"There ain't much as a poor old thing like I can do," she said, after a long pause.
"You can trust the Lord that died for you, and love Him, and thank Him. You can give yourself to the Lord Jesus to be made pure and good. Can't you? Then He will fit you for His glorious place up yonder. You must be fitted for it, you know. Nothing that defileth or is defiled can go in; only those that havt washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Listen, now, while I read about that."
Mr. Richmond opened his Bible and read first the seventh chapter of the Revelation, and then the twenty-second; and Matilda, standing and leaning on the back of his chair, thought how wonderful the words were, that even so poor an old helpless creature as the one opposite him might come to have a share in them. Perhaps the wonder and the beauty of them struck Mrs. Eldridge too, for she listened very silently. And then Mr. Richmond knelt down and prayed.
After that, he and Matilda together took the way home.
The evening was falling, and soft and sweet the light and the air came through the trees, and breathed even over Lilac Lane. The minister and the little girl together drew fresh breaths. It was all so delicious after the inside of the poor house where they had been.
"Light is a pleasant thing!" said the minister, half to himself. "I think, Matilda, heaven will seem something so, when we get there."
"Like this evening, Mr. Richmond?"
"Like this evening light and beauty, after coming out of Mrs. Eldridge's house."
"And then, will this world seem like Mrs. Eldridge's house?"
"I think it will, in the contrast. Look at those dainty little flecks of cloud yonder, low down in the sky, that seem to have caught the light in their vaporous drapery and embodied it. See what brilliance of colour is there, and upon what
