would be for a beautiful picture I have seen."
"Aha!" said the witch. "Where did you see it?"
"At Goupil's."
"And what picture was it?"
"It was the picture of the woman searching for the lost piece of money."
"Well. You are an odd child. You may go; and if there is anybody else to come, let them make haste. I am as tired as if I were not a witch."
A minute after David entered the den.
"I know who you are," said the witch. "Speak your heart's desire; and in one word, if you can."
"In one word, Hebrew."
"What of Hebrew?"
"To learn it."
"Learning is a thing I cannot do for you."
"No, but the means."
"What means?"
"Permission, time, books, and a teacher."
"You are another odd one. Is that your dearest heart's wish, David Bartholomew?"
"I think it is the greatest I have, at present."
"Well. Leave it with me and go."
"Hallo, David!" exclaimed Norton as he came out into the hall; "the people are all gone; the last one just had the door shut behind him."
"It's time," said David.
"Takes more than a party to shake you out of your gravity," said Norton. "Time? why yes, it's past twelve."
"Sunday!" exclaimed Matilda.
The other three, they were together in the hall, all burst out laughing.
"It's Sunday; and Christmas is over, and the Christmas tree," said Norton. "But the fruits keep. Extraordinary tree! Well, Pink; we have got to go and sleep now. Do you want to take another look at the tree?"
They all went into the drawing-room which had been the scene of so much festivity. The tree stood there yet in its tub, with ribbands and gilt work hanging to it; but the lights were burnt out, and the splendour was gone, and its riches were scattered. It was a thing of the past already.
"The fruits will keep," Norton repeated. "Did you find out who the witch was, David?"
"I thought I knew."
"I knew I knew," said Norton; "but she had somebody else to speak for her. What a jolly witch! We shall hear from her some of these days. Well, good night."
Kisses and thanks and good nights had to be exchanged with the older members of the family; and Sunday was well begun when at last Matilda shut her door behind her. She had to take one look at her watch; it was no doubt a little beauty; and to Matilda's vision it was a very fruit and embodiment of fairyland. Beyond even her wildest dreams of what was possible from a Christmas tree. Her own watch! She could scarcely believe it, even with the watch lying securely in her hand. And with the delicate minute hand pointing but fifteen minutes off from one o' clock, she still stood gazing and rapt. Then as the hand went on to fourteen minutes, and thirteen, Matilda started and laid it down. To have her own watch telling her it was time to go to bed! But she must just look at Mrs. Bartholomew's present.
Hurriedly she untied the box and pulled off the silver paper. And within the silver paper inside the box lay a dainty gold bracelet.
It was extremely pretty, and had cost a great deal, no doubt. It was very kind of Judy's mother to give it. Nevertheless round the bracelet crept a sort of cobweb of thoughts and feelings which were not all of pleasure. It was too late to examine into them now. Matilda wrapped up the trinket again and put it away, and went to bed; as happy as it seemed possible for her to be.
Sunday morning was high and bright, it must be confessed, when she awoke. Bells were ringing, the eight o' clock bells she thought they must be; but indeed they were the bells for Sunday school. Matilda did not guess that, and so was not in an immediate hurry to get out of bed and end the luxurious rest which the excitements and late hours of the day before had made so welcome and so long. She lay still, shut her eyes, and opened them upon the morning brightness, with a thrilling and bounding rapture of recollection that there was a little gold watch in her drawer which owned her for its mistress and would be her inseparable friend and servant – and adornment – thenceforward. Matilda lay still for very happiness. Turning her head a little towards the window the next time she opened her eyes, it seemed to her that she saw a picture standing there against the wall. Matilda shut her eyes and told herself that she was not dreaming and had no business to see visions in broad daylight. "I have been thinking so much about that picture I suppose, and talking about it to the witch, that is the reason I thought I saw it. But what did I see, that looked like a picture?" She opened her eyes now and raised herself on her elbow to look, for this was curious. More curious still! there, against the wall, in plain view, in the broad light, stood the beautiful engraving that had so captivated her.
"It's there!" was Matilda's thought. "The very thing! But what is it there for?"
A half-formed suspicion made her jump out of bed very spryly and run to the picture. There was a little ticket stuck in between the glass and the frame.
"For Matilda Laval– with Mrs. Lloyd's thanks and approbation."
Matilda looked, rushed back into bed, and arranged herself so that she could comfortably see the picture, while she thought about it.
"Mrs. Lloyd's thanks" – thanks for what? She must know, she must know, about the shawl. Yes, she must; I guess mamma told her. And it is mine! it is mine! There she is, that beautiful thing, the woman hunting for her lost money; the odd little lamp, and all. It is mine to keep. Certainly I ought not to wish for another thing for a whole year to come; I have got so much. This and my watch. O delightful! – I ought to be good! How lovely the light from that little old lamp is. And that is the way Jesus looks for us – for people who are lost; lost in the dark. So he looked for me, and found me. And there are such a great many more lost, that are not found yet. Lost in the dark! – And if He cares for them so, he must wish his servants to care too, and to look for them, and save all they can. Then that woman with her pretty lamp just shews me what I ought to do and how I ought to feel. —
Musing on in this way, very happy, leaning on her elbow to look at the picture, too warm in the soft air of her room to be disturbed by the necessity of getting dressed, Matilda noticed at last that the bells had stopped ringing. It was eight o' clock past, she thought, and time to get up; but she would look at her watch to see how eight o' clock looked on its pretty white face. Lo, it was nine! Sunday schools already beginning their services, while she stood there in her night-gown; dressing and breakfast yet to be gone through. But the afternoon was the time for school in the place where Matilda went; so all was not lost.
And so ended the doings of that Christmas night.
CHAPTER III
The experience of the morning certainly was rather scattering in its tendency, as far as any sober thought or work was concerned. The young people were brimful of life and fun and excitement; and it was not possible for Matilda to escape the infection. Nevertheless after lunch she had firmness enough left to put on her coat and hat and trudge off to Sunday school by herself. Norton said he had not "slept out," and would not go. Matilda went, with her little watch safe in her breast.
Getting
