you will let me help too if necessary," said the gentleman. "And I will look out for a lodging."
"O thank you! Will you, sir?"
"To be sure. That is one way I am going to help."
"And when you have found one, you will let me know?"
"Whom else? Certainly, I will. I shall take no step without your direction."
"O thank you, sir!" said Matilda again.
They had been walking up the Avenue during this talk, to have uninterrupted time for it; now they had turned about to come home. Clear and bright and cold the sun was leaving the streets and lingering about the house roofs and chimneys; and the steeples of churches were shining marks of light on one side, on the other dark spires against the western sky. Mr. Wharncliffe and Matilda quickened their steps, which the frosty air made it pleasant to do. She supposed that the subject of their conversation was ended for the present, and so was somewhat surprised to hear the next question from her companion. It came out after some little pause.
"Matilda what has put this in your head?"
"This we have been talking of? Why I wanted to make Sarah comfortable. I could not bear to have her in that dreadful place. Mr. Wharncliffe, don't you think it is dreadful?"
"I do think it is dreadful; and your feeling very natural. Then you want to go to this expense and trouble for the comfort of knowing that she is comfortable?"
"I think so," said Matilda, somewhat puzzled. "I could not bear to think of her there."
"All perfectly right, Matilda," said her friend smiling. "I only want, while you are taking care of Sarah, to take care of you."
"How, sir?"
"There are so many ways in which good things may be done; and I wish you to take the best."
"What ways do you mean, sir? I do not understand."
"There is one way of doing kind things, merely or chiefly to save one's self from the uncomfortable feeling that the sight of misery gives. Kind people of that sort are benevolent in spots, just when they see or hear of something that touches them, and never at any other time. Others do kind things because they like to have a name for generosity, and giving money costs them nothing."
Matilda looked inquiringly up in Mr. Wharncliffe's face. "It made me very uncomfortable to see Sarah in that place," she said; "and to think of her in it."
"A third sort of kindness," Mr. Wharncliffe went on smiling, "is done because people love the Lord Jesus, and so love all whom he loves, and like to do the work he wants done."
"But it makes them feel badly to see people suffering?" said Matilda.
"Undoubtedly. They are the tenderest of all. But they will do as much for people they never saw, as for those at hand; and their spring of kindness never dries up. It is a perpetual flow. When they do not see objects on which to spend it, they seek them out."
Matilda pondered matters a little. Then she lifted a very honest face towards her companion.
"Which reason did you think made me want to do this for Sarah, sir?"
"I wanted you to think about it."
"Don't you think, Mr. Wharncliffe, it is very difficult to find out really why one does things?"
"Very difficult," said Mr. Wharncliffe with a comical drawing of his lips; "but very useful."
"I do not think," began Matilda again, very gravely, "I do not think my wanting to do this for Sarah was just to make myself feel comfortable."
"I do not think it, my child; but it is no harm to have your attention directed to the question. In all such matters, keep your action pure; let every thing be done for Christ, and then it will be all right. For instance, Matilda, when the real motive is self, or when there is no higher at work, one is easily tempted to do too much in a given case; to indulge one's self with great effects and astonishing liberality; when, if it were simply for Christ, one would be moderate and simple and prudent, and keep a due proportion in things."
"Yes," said Matilda looking puzzled, – "I understand. You will help me keep a 'proper proportion' in what I do for Sarah Staples, Mr. Wharncliffe?"
"How much are you thinking of doing?"
"I want to get her into a comfortable room," said Matilda. "That is first. Then – they have no furniture, Mr. Wharncliffe?"
"You want to get them some?"
"Would that be too much? a little? common things, of course, but what they cannot be comfortable without."
"How much money do you propose to spend on Sarah at this time?"
"I do not know. I know about how much I have, but I can't tell yet how much help I shall get. I want to do what ought to be done."
The last words were said with such an accent of earnest determination, that Mr. Wharncliffe again had almost smiled at his scholar; but he did not. He went on quite gravely: —
"A room and some necessary furniture, I should think, could be managed."
"Then we want to get them into a way of earning more."
"Yes. I will see about that. And about the room. And I can get what you want in furniture, at a second hand place, where the articles will cost very little."
"That's good," said Matilda. "Well, Mr. Wharncliffe, all that will not be too much?"
"I think not."
Matilda hesitated, and then added doubtfully, "Don't you think they want clean dresses?"
Mr. Wharncliffe smiled now.
"Where shall we stop?" said he.
"But they are very – uncomfortable," said Matilda, after waiting to choose a word. Her teacher thought for a minute of Sarah's well-worn, faded, lank, best dress, and how little evidently there was under it to keep the child warm, and his brow grew very sober indeed, and his blue eye misty.
"I'll not check you, Matilda," he said, "unless I see you going to some great extravagance. Go on, and I'll help, and we'll try to make one bad spot at least a little better. Good-bye!"
With a smile and a nod he parted from her at her own door, and Matilda ran up the steps and ran in with a whole little gale of pleasure freshening through her heart.
There was a gale of another sort blowing through the house that evening, and making the household lively. Pleasure was not wanting to it, though it was pleasure of another sort and largely mixed with excitement. The three other young ones were full of plans for the holiday week, reminiscences of the last evening, comparison and discussion of presents, and of people. Matilda in the midst of them listened and was amused, and thought of her gold watch and of Sarah with great secret throbs of delight in her heart.
"So you were the witch, grandmother," said Norton. "I knew it. I was sure of it. What did you do it for?"
"Do what, boy?"
"Take up a witch's trade?"
"I have not laid
