it's all very well for her to want it; but she can't; and I can't; and you can't."
"But we can help Sarah Staples," Matilda ventured.
"And then you may go on to help somebody else, and then somebody else; and there's no end to it; only there's this end, that you'll always be poor yourself and never be able to do anything you want to do."
Norton was unusually heated, and both his hearers were for a moment silenced.
"You know that's the truth of it, Davie," he went on; "and it's no use to encourage Pink to fancy she can comfort everybody that's in trouble, and warm everybody that is cold, and feed everybody that is hungry, because she just can't do it. You can tell her there is no end to that sort of thing if she once tries it on. Suppose we all went to work at it. Just see where we would be. Where would be Pink's gold watch, and her picture? and where would be her gold bracelet? and where would my greenhouse be? And where would this house be, for that matter? and the furniture in it? and how should we all dress? Your mother wouldn't wear velvet dresses, that you like so much; and mine wouldn't wear that flimsy muslin stuff that she likes so much; and grandmamma's lace shawl would never have been mended, for it never would have been here to get burnt. It's all a lot of nonsense, that's what it is."
"There is law about it, though," David began again gravely.
"Law?" Norton echoed.
"The law of my people."
"O what is it, David?" cried Matilda; while Norton was grumly silent. He did not want to debate David's Jewish law with him. David gave the words very readily.
"'When there is with thee any needy one of one of thy brethren, in one of thy cities, in thy land which Jehovah thy God is giving to thee, thou dost not harden thy heart, nor shut thy hand from thy needy brother; for thou dost certainly open thy hand to him, and dost certainly lend him sufficient for his lack which he lacketh.'"
"That says what the people would do – not what they ought to do," said Norton.
"I beg your pardon; it is a strong way of saying, in the Hebrew, what they must do. Listen. 'Thou dost certainly give to him, and thy heart is not sad in thy giving to him, for because of this thing doth Jehovah thy God bless thee in all thy works, and in every putting forth of thine hand; because the needy one doth not cease out of the land, therefore I am commanding thee, saying, Thou dost certainly open thy hand to thy brother, to thy poor, and to thy needy one, in thy land.'"
Matilda was thinking of other words, which she dared not bring forward; being in a part of her Bible which David did not like. Neither was it necessary. Norton had got quite enough, she could see. He was in a state of fume, privately.
"I am going to give one side of the green house to you," he said, turning to Matilda. "Now you have got to think and find out what you will put in it. I shall have the shelves and all ready by the end of the week; and next week, Pink, – next week! – we must put the plants in; because the winter is going on, you know."
The conclave broke up, to go upstairs and look at the new greenhouse. Norton explained his arrangements; the oil-cloth he was going to put on the floor, the rising banks of green shelves, the watering and syringing and warming of the little place; till Matilda almost smelt the geranium leaves before they were there.
"Now, Pink, what will you have on your side?"
"I can't give more than a dollar to it, Norton," said Matilda very regretfully.
"A dollar! A dollar, Pink? A dollar will get you two or three little geraniums. What's to become of the rest of your shelves?"
"I shall have to give them back to you, I'm afraid."
"You've got money, plenty."
"But I can't spend it for plants."
"Because you are going to throw it into the mud, Pink? O no, you'll not do that. I'll give you a catalogue of plants, and you shall look it over; and you will find a dollar won't do much, I can tell you. And then you will see what you want."
He was as good as his word; and Matilda sipped her glass of water and eat her sponge cake at tea time between the pages of a fascinating pamphlet, which with the delights it offered almost took away her breath, and quite took away the taste of the sponge cake. Norton looked over her shoulder now and then, well pleased to see his charm working.
"Yellow carnations?" cried Matilda.
"I don't like them best, though," said Norton. "There, that– La purité – that's fine; and the striped ones, Pink; those double heads, just as full as they can be, and just as sweet as they can be, and brilliant carmine and white – those are what I like."
Matilda drew a long breath and turned a leaf.
"Violets!" she exclaimed.
"Do you like them?"
"Violets? Why, Norton, I don't like any thing better! I don't think I do. Dear little sweet things! they do not cost much?"
"No," said Norton, "they do not cost much; and they don't make much show, neither."
"But they don't take much room."
"No; and you want things that do take room, to fill your shelves. The greenhouse ought to be all one mass of green and bloom all round."
Matilda heaved another sigh and turned another leaf.
"I don't know anything about tuberoses," she said. "Primroses? what are they like? 'A thousand flowers often from one plant!' what are they like, Norton?"
"Like?" said Norton. "I don't know what they are like."
"I'll tell you," said Judy, who as usual was pleasing herself with a cup of strong coffee; "they are like buttercups come to town and grown polished."
"They are not in the least like buttercups!" said Norton.
"That's what I said," replied Judy coolly; "they have left off their country ways, and don't wear yellow dresses."
Matilda thought it was best to take no notice, so with another crumb of sponge cake she turned over to the next flower in the catalogue.
"What are Bouvardias? I don't know anything about them."
"Of course," said Judy. "Not to be expected."
"Do you want to take care of your own flowers yourself, Pink?" inquired Norton; "or do you mean to have me do it?"
"Why, I will do it, I suppose."
"Then you had better leave the Bouvardias to me. They are a little particular about some things."
"Are they handsome?"
"Wait till you see. Splendid! You'll see, when I get them a going. We'll have just a blaze of them."
"A blaze?" said Matilda. "What colour?"
"Flame colour, and scarlet, and white, and splendid crimson."
"Heliotrope. O I like heliotrope," Matilda went on.
"You can have those," said Norton. "They're sweet and easy. And we must have them, of course, on one side or the other. Begonias – those you might have, too."
"Hyacinths
