calls me out of the garding and down from the attic."

"Look here," said Matilda, showing a sugar-plum; "I'll give you that,
if you will tell me."

The boy eyed it, and her, and finally said--

"Lem."

"Your name is Lem?"

He nodded.

"There, Lem, is a sugar-plum for you. Now if you'll come to
Sunday-school next Sunday, and stay and behave yourself, I'll give you
three more."

"Three more?" said the boy.

"Yes. Now come, and you'll like it."

And Matilda sped home with her soda.

"I should think you had been making the soda," said Maria; "you have
been long enough. What kept you?"

"How _do_ they make soda, I wonder?" said Matilda, looking at it. "Do
you know, Maria?"

"I have enough to do to know how to get breakfast. Tilly, run and grind
the coffee and make it--quick, will you? now I am in a hurry."

Matilda thought Maria might have done it herself, while she was waiting
for the soda. But she said nothing of that. In ten minutes more the
coffee was made, the corn bread was ready, and the ladies came down.

Matilda was in a mood as gentle as the morning, and almost as
cloudless. Her morning's work and walk and the meeting with Lem Dow had
given her an appetite; and the work of the night before had left a
harmony in her spirit, as if sweet music were sounding there. Her
little face was thus like the very morning itself, shining with the
fair shining of inward beauty; in contrast with all the other faces at
the table. For Clarissa's features were coldly handsome and calm; Mrs.
Candy's were set and purposeful; and poor Maria's were sadly clouded
and out of humour. Matilda took little heed of them all; she was
thinking of Lemuel Dow.

"Matilda," said her aunt, suddenly--"I wish you to come to me every
morning to read. A person who has taken the step you took last night,
is no longer a child, but deserves to be treated as a woman. It is
necessary that you should fit yourself for a woman's place. Come to me
at ten o'clock. I will have you read to me some books that will make
you better understand the things you have taken upon you, and the
things you have done."

"Why, I am a child yet, Aunt Candy," Matilda answered in some dismay.

"You think so, do you?"

"Yes, ma'am,--I feel so; and I _am_."

"I thought you considered yourself more than a child. But you have
assumed a woman's place, and it is now necessary that you should be
fitted for it. _I_ think the best way is to get the preparation first;