What She Could Part 34

"_You?_" said Clarissa, with a gentle intonation.

"I don't care!" said Maria, desperately. "People are as they are brought up. My mother don't care for such fidgety notions. I speak to please her, and that is enough."

"No, Maria, it is not enough," resumed Mrs. Candy. "Your mother loves you, and so she is willing to overlook little things in you that she _can_ overlook because you are her child; but when you are grown up, you would wish to be liked by other nice people, wouldn't you? people of education, and taste, and elegant habits; and they do not like to have anything to do with people who 'poke their noses' into things, or who say that they do."

"I'll keep in the kitchen then," said Maria, hastily.

The breakfast may be said to have ended here; for though a few more mouthfuls were eaten, no more words were said. Mrs. Candy and her daughter left the room and went up-stairs. Maria and Matilda began the work of clearing the table.

"Ain't she too much!" Maria exclaimed.

"But, Maria," said her little sister, "I wish you _wouldn't_ say such things."

"If I am going to be a kitchen maid," said Maria, "I may as well talk kitchen maid."

"Oh, I don't think so, Maria!"

"I don't care!" said Maria. "I would rather vex aunt Candy than not; and she _was_ vexed this morning. She kept it in pretty well; but she was vexed."

"But, Maria, that isn't right, is it?"

"Nothing is right," said Maria; "and nothing is going to be, I guess, while they are here."

"Then think, what would mamma do if they went away?"

"I wish I could go away, then!" said Maria, beginning to cry. "I can't bear to live so! 'Why do you do so,' and 'why do you do _so;_' and Clarissa sitting by with that little smile on her mouth, and lifting up her eyes to look at you--it just makes me _mad_. There! It is a pity Aunt Candy wasn't here to be shocked at American children."

"But, Maria," said Matilda with her eyes swimming too, "you know the Lord Jesus has given us this work."

"No, I don't!" said Maria; "and what if He did?"

"Why, then, it would please Him--you know, Maria, it would please Him--to have us do it just nicely and beautifully, and not like kitchen maids, but like His children. You know we said we were ready to do any work that he would give us."

"I didn't," said Maria, half crying, half pouting. "I didn't promise to do _this_ sort of thing."

"But we mustn't choose," said Matilda.

"But we _did_ choose," said Maria. "I said what I would do, and other people said what they would do; and n.o.body said anything about was.h.i.+ng dishes and peeling potatoes. We were not talking of _that_."

"The covenant says, 'we stand ready to do His will.' Don't you know?"

"I believe you know that covenant by heart," said Maria. "I don't. And I don't care. Matilda, I wish you would run down cellar with the b.u.t.ter, and the cream, and the bread--will you?"

Matilda did not run, but she made journey after journey down the cellar stairs, with feet that grew weary; and then she dried the china while her sister washed it. Then they brushed up the kitchen and made up the fires. Then Maria seated herself on the kitchen table and looked at Matilda.

"I'm tired now, Tilly."

"So am I."

"Is there anything else to be done?"

"Why, there is the dinner, Maria."

"It isn't near dinner time. It is only ten o'clock."

"How long will it take the potatoes to boil?"

"Oh, not long. It is not time to put them on for a great while."

"But they are not ready, are they?"

"No."

"And what else, Maria?"

Here came a call from the stair head. Maria went to the foot of the stairs to hear what the business was, and came back with her mood nowise sweetened; to judge by the way she went about; filled an iron pot with water and set it on the stove, and dashed things round generally. Matilda looked on without saying a word.

"I've got my day's work cut out for me now," said Maria at last.

"There's that leg of mutton to boil, and turnips to be mashed; besides the potatoes. And the turnips have got to be peeled. Come and help me, Tilly, or I shall never get through. Won't you?"

Now Matilda had her own notions about things she liked and things she did not like to do; and one of the things she did not like to do was to roughen or soil her hands. To put her little hands into the pan of water, and handle and pare the coa.r.s.e roots with the soil hanging to them, was very distasteful to her nicety. She looked a little dismayed.

But there were the roots all to be pared and washed, and Maria would have her hands full; and was not this also work given to Matilda to do?

At any rate, she felt that she could not refuse without losing influence over Maria, and that she could not afford. So Matilda's hands and her knife went into the pan. She thought it was very disagreeable, but she did it. After the potatoes and turnips were ready for the pot, Maria demanded her help about other things; she must clean the knives, and set the table, and prepare the celery and rub the apples; while Maria kept up the fire, and attended to the cookery. Matilda did one thing after another; her weary little feet travelled out and in, from one room to the other room, and got things in order for dinner in both places.

It was a pretty satisfactory dinner, on the whole. The mutton was well cooked and the vegetables were not bad, Mrs. Candy said; but Matilda thought with dismay of the after dinner dishes. However, dinner gives courage sometimes; and both she and Maria were stronger-hearted when they rose from table than when they had sat down. Dishes, and pots, and kettles, and knives, and endless details beside, were in course of time got rid of; and then Matilda put on her hat and cloak, and set forth on an errand she had been meditating.

CHAPTER X.

It was a soft pleasant day late in March. The snow had all gone for the present. Doubtless it might come back again; no one could tell; in Shadywalk snow was not an unknown visitor even in April; but for the present no such reminder of winter was anywhere to be seen. The air was still and gentle; even the brown tree stems looked softer and less bare than a few weeks ago, though no bursting buds yet were there to make any real change. The note of a bird might be heard now and then; Matilda had twice seen the glorious colour of a blue bird's wings as they spread themselves in the light. It was quite refres.h.i.+ng to get out of the house and the kitchen work, and smell the fresh, pure air, and see the sky, and feel that all the world was not between four walls anywhere. Matilda went softly along, enjoying. At the corner she turned, and walked up b.u.t.ternut street--so called, probably, in honour of some former tree of that family, for not a shoot of one was known in the street now. On and on she went till her church was pa.s.sed, and then turned down the little lane which led to the parsonage. The snow all gone, it was looking pretty here. On one side the old church, the new lecture-room on the other, and between them the avenue of elms, arching their branches over the way and making a vista, at the end of which was the brown door of the parsonage. Always that was a pleasant view to Matilda, for she a.s.sociated the brown door with a great many things; however, this day she did not seek the old knocker which hung temptingly overhead, but sheered off and went round to the back of the house; and there entered at once, and without knocking, upon Miss Redwood's premises. They were in order; n.o.body ever saw the parsonage kitchen otherwise; and Miss Redwood was sitting in front of the stove, knitting.

"Well, if there ain't Tilly Englefield!" was her salutation.

"May I come in, Miss Redwood?--if you are not busy."

"Suppos'n I _was_ busy, I guess you wouldn't do me no harm, child. Come right in and sit down, and tell me how's all goin' on at your house.

How's your mother, fust thing?"

"Aunt Candy says she's not any better."

"What does your mother say herself?"

"I have not seen her to-day. Aunt Candy says she is nervous; and she wants me not to go into her room."