ot come again in a
very long while. She wanted to see how the stove would work; she wanted
to hear the kettle sing, and to set the table with the new cups and
saucers, and to make the tea that first time, and give the in comers a
welcome. _Could_ all that be lost? It seemed very hard. Matilda's eyes
filled with tears.

"What is the matter?" said David kindly.

Matilda struggled to speak. She knew what she must say; but at first
she could hardly get the words out. She hesitated, and David repeated
his question.

"It won't do for them to wait so long," she said, lifting her eyes to
his face.

"Who? your poor people there? Well, it does seem a pity, looking at the
place where they are now."

"It won't do," Matilda repeated. "It is best for them to go right in,
David. But I can't manage it. I can't do anything."

"Will you trust me?"

"O yes! if you'll do it. But won't it be a great trouble to you, David?"

"On the contrary, I shall like it capitally. You tell me exactly what
you want done, and I'll attend to it."

"O thank you! Then you'll have to get the supper things, David."

"Yes, I know all about that."

"And get Mr. Wharncliffe to tell Mrs. Staples."

"Yes."

"And--can you buy some calico for me?"

"Certainly. But I'd put something warmer on them than calico, Tilly."

"What?"

"I don't know," said David laughingly; "I don't know what women wear.
But I suppose I can find out. Something _warm_, Tilly; the air is
snapping and biting out of doors, I can tell you."

"O well, do see about it as soon as you can, David, and let them move
in by Saturday; can't you?"

David promised. And when he was gone, and Matilda was alone in bed
again at night, she fought out her whole fight with disappointment.
Rather a hard fight it was. Matilda did not see why, when she was about
a very good thing, so much of the pleasure of it should have been taken
away from her. Why could not her sickness have been delayed for one
week? and now the very flower and charm of her scheme must fall into
the hands of others. She dwelt upon the details, from which she had
looked for so much pleasure, and poured out hearty tears over them. She
was as much in the dark nearly as Job had been; as much at a loss to
know why all this should have befallen her. All the comfort she could
get at was in imagining the scenes she could not now see, and fancying
all over and over to herself how Sarah and her mother would look and
feel.

After