style="font-size:15px;"> "O come along!" was the cry then; "you can't get anything out of him. Who will go first?"
Caramel and ices had done their utmost, and now the witch became the absorbing interest. And as those who came back from the witch s den, it was found, would tell nothing of what had transpired there, the interest was kept up at white heat. First one went, and then another. Of course the young people of the household were the last.
The witch's den, when Norton entered it, was a place he did not recognize; though in reality it was manufactured out of the little corner reception room. Dark drapery enclosed and mystified the space into which he was admitted; the light came from he could not see where, and was dim enough too; and the witch was not to be seen. Nor, distinctly, anything else. Norton took his stand as he had been directed in front of a dark curtain and waited. The first question demanded his name, and when that had been answered the voice went on, —
"What do you want of the witch?"
"That depends on what she can do," said Norton.
"Power unlimited."
"Then I wish she would cast a spell upon Mrs. Lloyd."
"To what effect?"
"That she would let me have the little corner attic room for a greenhouse."
"How would you warm it?"
"It wouldn't want much more warming than it has now. A gas stove would do, I think."
"You may go. You shall hear from me in the course of the week."
Norton went out in high glee. "She's a brick, that witch!" he exclaimed. "Go along, Judy – and make haste; people are taking leave now. I don't know whose the voice is, though," he went on; "I couldn't make it out. I guess" – But Norton stopped; and Judy went in.
"Are you in want of anything, Judy Bartholomew?" the unseen witch asked.
"I haven't got all I want," said Judy; "if you mean that."
"State what is needed."
"There are a great many things," said Judy unblushingly; "but the two things I wish for most particularly are – to give a ball, for one; and to have a diamond ring, for the other."
"Short of these two things, all your wishes are satisfied then?"
"No," said Judy hesitatingly, – "I didn't say that. I want lots of things besides; but those two most."
"You may go. The witch always wants time. Have you any debts to pay? of money? of any other sort?"
"No indeed," said Judy decidedly.
"Is there anybody to whom you would like to do a kindness?"
"Not that I know of."
"You may go. Your wants shall be considered."
Judy came out triumphant. She would have had her brother go next, but he insisted that Matilda should precede him. So Matilda went into the darkened, mysterious boudoir of the receptions.
"Who is this?" said the voice.
And a gentle answer came; not like Judy's proclaiming of herself, yet clear and frank too.
"Matilda Laval, what would you like of all things, if you could have it?"
Matilda hesitated. "There are so many things" – she began, – "it isn't very easy" —
"So many things you would like?"
"Yes, ma'am. Not for myself," she added, in a kind of horror at being supposed to entertain such wishes under the flood of good things that had come upon her that evening.
"Well, go on. It is for yourself in one way. Say what, of all you can think of, would give you most pleasure."
Matilda's hands came together with a certain pang of hope, as she answered.
"If I could make somebody comfortable that I know of; – a poor, good girl, who is not comfortable at all."
"One of your sisters?"
"O no, ma'am; no relation."
"What is the matter with her, and how could you make her comfortable?"
"She is a very poor girl," said Matilda, so eager that she did not know what to bring out first; – "she lives in a cellar room with a wet mud floor, and no bed to sleep on that is like a bed; of course she cannot be very clean, nor have any comfort at all; and I should like to make them comfortable."
"Who is she?"
"A very poor girl, that goes to Sunday school. But she is very good."
"Does she live there alone?"
"O there are three of them; her mother and little brother."
"Then why does not the mother earn money and live better?"
"She works for it; she sews; but the people give her almost nothing for her work; and Sarah sweeps a crossing."
"How did you come to know all this?"
"I saw Sarah in Sunday school; and I heard about her from my teacher, and he shewed me the place where she lives. He knows she is good."
"And what do you want to do for her?"
"I want to get her out of that place, and into a decent room, and give her a comfortable bed."
"What is her name?"
"Sarah Staples."
"How long would she keep decent, do you think?"
"Always," said Matilda confidently. "I am sure she would be just as nice as she possibly could. Where she is, she has no chance."
"Well, go; the witch will look into it."
Matilda went out, hardly knowing what to think, or whether she might hope anything from this very doubtful interview. Just as she reached the door, she was called back.
"Have you no wishes for yourself, little girl?"
"No, ma'am; thank you."
"Is there nothing in the world you would like?"
"I suppose, a great many things," said Matilda; "but I have got so many now, I am afraid to wish."
"Why?"
"I don't think I ought to wish for anything more, for myself."
"You are the first person I ever saw, young or old, who put an 'ought' before his wishes. Most people put it after them. Well, as a reward, tell the one more thing, for yourself, that you would wish for if you could have it."
Matilda thought, and hesitated. She did not at all like to tell her thought. At last the witch urged her to speak out and be quick.
"If I were to choose – and wish for anything more," Matilda said slowly, – "which I don't; but if I did wish
