see Sarah?" said Matilda eagerly.
"You are quick," said David smiling. "No, I have not been to see Sarah exactly; but I have been to see where she lives and all about her."
"Did you see where she lives?"
"Yes."
"David, isn't it horrid?"
"It's disgusting!" said David.
"But she can't help it," said Matilda, again eagerly.
"No, she can't, but somebody ought to help it. There ought not to be any such horror possible in such a city as this."
"So I think. But who ought to help it, David? How could anybody help it?"
"There used to be a way among my people," said the boy proudly. "The corners of the cornfields, and the last of the grapes on the vines, and the dropped ears of corn, and the last beatings of the olives, were commanded to be left for the poor."
"But there are no vines nor cornfields nor olives here," said Matilda.
"Nothing so good," replied David. "I believe people grow wicked in cities."
"Then do you think it is wicked to build cities?"
"I don't know about that," said David; "that's another matter. Without cities a great many good things would be impossible."
"Would they? what?" said Matilda.
"Well, commerce, you know; without great centres of commerce, there could not be great commerce; and there would not be great fortunes then; and without great for tunes there could not be the grand things in music and painting and sculpture and architecture and books, that there are now."
What "great centres of commerce" might be, Matilda could not tell; and she did not like to ask David too many questions. She suddenly came out with an objection.
"But Abraham did not live in a city."
David started, looked at her, and then laughed a little.
"Abraham! no, he did not; and he was a rich man; but one rich man here and there could not do those things I spoke of."
"Then, wouldn't it be better there should be no cities?" said Matilda.
"Better than what? Better than have cities with such dreadful poor people? Can't have the good without the bad, I suppose."
"You said, people grow wicked in cities."
"Well, they do."
"Then ought people to build cities?"
"I don't know how the world would get on, at that rate," said David smiling. "Anyhow the cities are built; and we are living in one; and one corner house in it gives you and me as much as we can do."
"A single room in it, David."
"Yes. Well, you know you consulted a witch the other night."
"Did I?" said Matilda.
"The witch gave me orders to search into your matter. I have done it, and told her what I had found; and she has commissioned me to deliver to you – this."
So saying, David produced a little gold piece, the very mate to the one Matilda had earned by telling her thoughts.
"O David!" Matilda exclaimed, – "O David!"
"Well?" said David smiling. "What?"
"I am getting so much!"
"You will want it."
"But I don't see how it should take such a very great deal of money just to do this little thing," said Matilda; and she went on to explain Mr. Wharncliffe's propositions and helping agency. Before she had well got through, Norton dashed in.
"Hallo! David here? All the better. Isn't she a jewel of a witch, David?"
David looked up with a responsive twinkle in his eye; and Matilda asked what he meant.
"Mean?" said Norton, "I mean the witch. You went to see the witch, Pink; haven't you heard from her?"
"Yes! just this minute; but Norton, I don't know what you expected to hear. What have you heard?"
"Glorious!" cried Norton, swinging his cap joyously. "We've got that little room, Pink, for a greenhouse; and a stove in it for cold nights; and shelves and benches and frames and all those things I'll put up my self; and then we'll have a show of flowers. Your hyacinths will do a great deal better up there."
"Will they?" said Matilda. "They are doing very nicely here; and they look nicely."
"Now we can do all we've a mind to, Pink. I'll have some amaryllis roots right off; and japonicas, japonicas, Pink; and everything you like. Geraniums, and Bovardias, and Azaleas, and Cacti; and Cyclamens; and Cassia and Arbutillon. Fuchsias too, and what you like!"
"Why that little room will not hold everything," said Matilda. "Can't you have some roses?"
"Roses? O yes, and carnations; everything you like. Yes, it will hold everything. Lots of tulips, too."
"How about the money?" David asked.
"It don't take a fortune to stock a little greenhouse."
"You haven't got a fortune."
"I have got enough."
"Have anything left for other objects?"
"What objects?" said Norton. "I haven't but one object at present. One's enough."
"But Matilda has an object too," David said smiling enough to show his white teeth; "and her object will want some help, I'm thinking."
"What object?" said Norton.
"Don't you remember? I told you, Norton, about Sarah" —
"O that!" said Norton with a perceptible fall of his mental thermometer. "That's all your visions, Pink; impracticable; fancy. The idea of you, with your little purse, going into the mud of New York, and thinking to dean the streets."
"Certainly," said David, "and so she wauls a little help from our purses, don't you see?"
"David Bartholomew!" Norton burst out, "you know as well as I do, that it is no sort of use to try that game. Just go look at the mud; it will take all we could throw into it, and never shew."
"No," said David; "we could clear up a little corner, I think, if we tried."
"You!" cried Norton. "Are you at that game? You turned soft suddenly?"
"Do no harm, that I see," replied David composedly.
"These people aren't your people," said Norton.
"They are your people," said David.
"They are not! I have nothing to do with them, and it is no use – Davie Bartholomew, you know it's no use – to try to help them. Pink is so tender-hearted, she wants to help the
