The House in Town

"I shouldn't like it, if they had," said Matilda.

"We'll see, when you get them. I wonder how many things Anne and Letitia want? and can't get."

"I shall see them soon," said Matilda. "We are going to New York for the winter."

"You are!" exclaimed Maria, again ruefully. Matilda could not understand why. "But you won't see much of Anne and Letty, I don't believe."

"Perhaps I shall be going to school, and so not have much chance. Where do they live, Maria? I have forgotten."

"You will forget again," said Maria.

"But tell me, please. I will put it down."

"Number 316 Bolivar street. Now how much wiser are you?"

"Just so much," said Matilda, marking the number on a bit of paper. "I must know the name before I can find the place."

"You won't go there much," said Maria again. "Might just as well let it alone."

"Are the people here pleasant, Maria? are they good to live with?"

"They are not what you would call good."

"Are they pleasant?"

"No," said Maria. "They are not at all pleasant. I don't care who hears me say it. All the woman cares for, is to get as much work out of me as she can. That is how I live."

There was no getting to a smooth track for conversation with Maria. Begin where she would, Matilda found herself directly plunged into something disagreeable. She gave it up and sat still, watching the blue ribband curling and twisting in Maria's fingers, and wondering sadly anew why some people should be rich and others poor.

"Aren't you going to take off your things and have dinner with me?" said Maria, glancing up from her trimming.

"I cannot do that very well; Norton is coming for me; and I do not know how soon."

"I don't suppose I could give you anything you would like to eat. Where will you get your dinner then?"

"Somewhere with Norton."

"Then you didn't bring it with you?"

"No."

Matilda did not feel that it would do to-day, to invite Maria to go with them to the restaurant. Norton had said nothing about it; and in Maria's peculiar mood Matilda could not tell how she might behave herself or what she would say. Perhaps Maria expected it, but she could not help that. The time was a silent one between the sisters, until the expected knock at the house door came. It was welcome, as well as expected. Matilda got up, feeling relieved if she felt also sorry; and after kissing Maria, she ran down-stairs and found herself in the fresh open air, taking long breaths, like a person that had been shut up in a close little stove-heated room. Which she had. And Norton's cheery voice was a delightful contrast to Maria's dismal tones. With busy steps, the two went up the street again to the restaurant. It was pretty full of people now; but Norton and Matilda found an unoccupied table in a corner. There a good dinner was brought them; and the two were soon equally happy in eating it and in discussing their garden arrangements. After they had dined, Norton ordered ice cream.

Matilda was as fond of ice cream as most children are who have very seldom seen it; but while she sat enjoying it she began to think again, why she should have it and Maria not have it? The question brought up the whole previous question that had been troubling her, about the rich and the poor, and quite gave a peculiar flavour to what she was tasting. She lost some of Norton's talk about bulbs.

"Norton," she exclaimed at last suddenly, "I have found it!"

"Found what?" said Norton. "Not a blue tulip?"

"No, not a blue tulip. I have found the answer to that question you asked me, – you know, – in the cars."

"I asked you five hundred and fifty questions in the cars," said Norton. "Which one?"

"Just before we got to Poughkeepsie, don't you remember?"

"No," said Norton laughing. "I don't, of course. What was it, Pink? The idea of remembering a question!"

"Don't you remember, you asked me if I didn't like poverty and poor people, for the same reason I liked other things?"

But here Norton's amusement became quite unmanageable.

"How should you like poverty and poor people for the same reason you like other things, you delicious Pink?" he said. "How should you like those smoky coats in the omnibus, for the same reason that you like a white hyacinth or a red tulip?"

"That is what I was puzzling about, Norton; you don't recollect; and I could not make it out; because I knew I didn't enjoy poverty and poor things, and you said I ought."

"Excuse me," said Norton. "I never said you ought, in the whole course of my rational existence since I have known you."

"No, no, Norton; but don't you know, I said I liked everything, waves of the river and all, because God made them? and you thought I ought to like poor people and things for the same reason."

"O, that!" said Norton. "Well, why don't you?"

"That is what I could not tell, Norton, and I was puzzling to find out; and now I know."

"Well, why?"

"Because, God did not make them, Norton."

"Yes, he did. Doesn't he make everything?"

"In one way he does, to be sure; but then, Norton, if everybody did just right, there would be no poor people in the world; so it is not something that God has made, but something that comes because people won't do right."

"How?" said Norton.

"Why Norton, you know yourself. If everybody was good and loved everybody else as well as himself, the people who have more than enough would give to the people who are in want, and there would not be uncomfortable poor people anywhere. And that is what the Bible says. 'He that hath two coats,' – don't you remember?"

"No, I don't," said Norton. "Most people have two coats, that can afford it. What ought they to do?"

"The Bible says, 'let him impart to him that hath none.'"

"But suppose I cannot get another," said Norton; "and I want two for myself?"

"But somebody else has not one? suppose."

"I can very easily suppose it," said Norton. "As soon as we get out of the cars in New York I'll shew you a case."

"Well, Norton, that is what I said. If everybody loved those poor people, don't you see, they would have coats, and whatever they need. It is because you and I and other people don't love them enough."

"I don't love another boy well enough to give him my overcoat," said Norton. "But coats wouldn't make a great many poor people respectable. Those children in the omnibus this morning had coats on, comfortable enough; the trouble was, they were full of buckwheat cake smoke."