"I remember 'most everything," said the woman, wearily. "Times when I was well and strong – and young – and had my house comfor'ble and my things respectable. Them times was once. And I had what I wanted, and could do what I had a mind to. There ain't no use in remembering. I'd like to forget. Now I lie here."

"Do you remember nothing else?" said Matilda.

"I remember it all," said the woman. "I've nothin' to do but think. When I was first married, and just come home, and thought all the world was" – she stopped to sigh – "a garden o' posies. 'Tain't much like it – to poor folks. And I had my children around me – Sabriny's the last on 'em. She's out there, ain't she?"

"Yes."

"What's she doin'?"

"She is ironing."

"Yes; she takes in. Sabriny has it all to do. I can't do nothin' – this five year."

"May I come and see you again, Mrs. Rogers? I must go now."

"You may come if you like," was the answer. "I don't know what you should want to come for."

Matilda was afraid her fire of pine sticks would give out; and hurried across the lane again with her basket of clean things. The stove had fired up, to be sure; and Mrs. Eldridge was sitting crouched over it, with an evident sense of enjoyment that went to Matilda's heart. If the room now were but clean, she thought, and the other room; and the bed made, and Mrs. Eldridge herself. There was too much to think of; Matilda gave it up, and attended to the business in hand. The kettle boiled. She made the tea in the tea-cup; laid a herring on the stove; spread some bread and butter; and in a few minutes invited Mrs. Eldridge's attention to her supper spread on a chair. The old woman drank the tea as if it were the rarest of delicacies; Matilda filled up her cup again; and then she fell to work on the fish and bread and butter, tearing them to pieces with her fingers, and in great though silent appreciation. Meanwhile Matilda brought the cupboard to a little order; and then filling up Mrs. Eldridge's cup for the third time, carried back the kettle to Sabrina Rogers and begged the loan of an old broom.

"What do you want to do with it?"

"Mrs. Eldridge's room wants sweeping very much."

"Likely it does! Who's a going to sweep it, though, if I lend you my broom?"

"There's nobody but me," said Matilda.

The woman brought the broom, and, as she gave it, asked, "Who sent you to do all this?"

"Nobody."

"What made you come, then? It's queer play for a child like you."

"Somebody must do it, you know," said Matilda; and she ran away.

But Sabrina's words recurred to her. It was queer play. But then, who would do it? And it was not for Mrs. Eldridge alone. She brushed away with a good heart, while the poor old woman was hovering over the chair on which her supper was set, munching bread and herring with a particularity of attention which shewed how good a good meal was to her. Matilda did not disturb her, and she said never a word to Matilda; till, just as the little girl had brought all the sweepings of the floor to the threshold, where they lay in a heap, and another stroke of the broom would have scattered them into the street, the space outside the door was darkened by a figure, the sight of which nearly made the broom fly out of Matilda's hand. Nobody but Mr. Richmond stood there. The two faces looked mutual pleasure and surprise at each other.

"Mr. Richmond!"

"What are you doing here, Tilly?"

"Mr. Richmond, can you step over this muss? I will have it away directly."

Mr. Richmond stepped in, looked at the figure by the stove, and then back at Matilda. The little girl finished her sweeping and came back, to receive a warm grasp of the hand from her minister; one of the things Matilda liked best to get.

"Is all this your work, Tilly," he whispered.

"Mr. Richmond, nobody has given her a cup of tea in a long while."

The minister stepped softly to the figure still bending over the broken herring; I think his blue eye had an unusual softness in it. The old woman pushed her chair back, and looked up at him.

"It's the minister agin," said she.

"Are you glad to see me?" said Mr. Richmond, taking a chair that Matilda had dusted for him. I am afraid she took off her apron to do it with, but the occasion was pressing. There was no distinct answer to the minister's question.

"You seem to have had some supper here," he remarked.

"It's a good cup o' tea," said Mrs. Eldridge; – "a good cup o' tea. I hain't seen such a good cup o' tea, not since ten year!"

"I am very glad of that. And you feel better for it, don't you?"

"A good cup o' tea makes one feel like folks," Mrs. Eldridge assented.

"And it is pleasant to think that somebody cares for us," Mr. Richmond went on.

"I didn't think as there warn't nobody," said Mrs. Eldridge, wiping her lips.

"You see you were mistaken. Here are two people that care for you."

"She cares the most," said Mrs. Eldridge, with a little nod of her head towards Matilda.

"I will not dispute that," said the minister, laughing. "She has cared fire, and tea, and bread, and fish, hasn't she? and you think I have only cared to come and see you. Don't you like that?"

"I used fur to have visits," said the poor old woman, "when I had a nice place and was fixed up respectable. I had visits. Yes, I had. There don't no one come now. There won't no more on 'em come; no more."

"Perhaps you are mistaken, Mrs. Eldridge. Do you see how much you were mistaken in thinking that no one cared for you? Do you know there is more care for you than hers?"

"I don't know why she cares," said Mrs. Eldridge.

"Who do you think sent her, and told her to care for you?"

"Who sent her?" the woman repeated.

"Yes, who sent her. Who do you think it was?"

As he got but a lack-lustre look in reply, the minister went on.

"This little girl is the servant of the Lord Jesus Christ; and He sent her to come and see you, and care for you; and He did that because He cares. He cares about you. He loves you, and sent His little servant to be His messenger."

"He didn't send no one afore," the old woman remarked.

"Yes, He did," said Mr. Richmond, growing grave, "He sent others, but they did not come. They did not do what He gave them to do. And now, Mrs. Eldridge, we bring you a message from the Lord – this little girl and I do, – that He loves you and wants you to love Him. You know you never have loved, or trusted, or obeyed Him, in all your life. And now, the goodness of God leadeth thee to repentance."

"There ain't much as a poor old thing like I can do," she said, after a long pause.

"You can trust the Lord that died for you, and love Him, and thank Him. You can give yourself to the Lord Jesus to be made pure and good. Can't you? Then He will fit you for His glorious place up yonder. You must be fitted for it, you know. Nothing that defileth or is defiled can go in; only those that havt washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Listen, now, while I read about that."

Mr. Richmond opened his Bible and read first the seventh chapter of the Revelation, and then the twenty-second; and Matilda, standing and leaning on the back of his chair, thought how wonderful the words were, that even so poor an old helpless creature as the one opposite him might come to have a share in them. Perhaps the wonder and the beauty of them struck Mrs. Eldridge too, for she listened very silently. And then Mr. Richmond knelt down and prayed.

After that, he and Matilda together took the way home.

The evening was falling, and soft and sweet the light and the air came through the trees, and breathed even over Lilac Lane. The minister and the little girl together drew fresh breaths. It was all so delicious after the inside of the poor house where they had been.

"Light is a pleasant thing!" said the minister, half to himself. "I think, Matilda, heaven will seem something so, when we get there."

"Like this evening, Mr. Richmond?"

"Like this evening light and beauty, after coming out of Mrs. Eldridge's house."

"And then, will this world seem like Mrs. Eldridge's house?"

"I think it will, in the contrast. Look at those dainty little flecks of cloud yonder, low down in the sky, that seem to have caught the light in their vaporous drapery and embodied it. See what brilliance of colour is there, and upon what a pure sky beyond!"

"Will this ever seem like Mrs. Eldridge's house?" said Matilda.

"This is the world that God made," said the minister, smiling. "I was thinking of the world that man has made."

"Lilac Lane, Mr. Richmond?" said Matilda, glancing around her. They were hardly out of it.

"Lilac Lane is not such a bad specimen," said the minister, with a sigh this time. "There is much worse than this, Matilda. And the worst of Lilac Lane is what you do not see. You had to buy your opportunity, then?" he added, with a smile again, looking down at Matilda.

"I suppose I had, Mr. Richmond."

"What did you pay?"

"Mr. Richmond, it was not pleasant to think of touching Mrs. Eldridge's things."

"No. I should think not. But you are not sorry you came? Don't you find, that as I said, it pays?"

"Oh yes, sir! But – "

"But what?"

"There is so much to do."

"Yes!" said the minister, thoughtfully. And it seemed to have stopped his talk.

"Is Mrs. Rogers the other one?" Matilda asked.

"The other one?" repeated Mr. Richmond.

"The other opportunity. You said there were two in Lilac Lane, sir."

"I do not know Mrs. Rogers."

"But she is another one that wants the Bible read to her, Mr. Richmond. She lives just across the way; I found her out by going to borrow a tea-kettle."

"You borrowed your tea-kettle?"

"Yes, sir. Mrs. Eldridge has none. She has almost nothing, and as she says, there is nobody that cares."

"Well, that will not do," said the minister. "We must see about getting a kettle for her."

"Then, Mr. Richmond, Mrs. Rogers is a third opportunity. She has been sick a-bed for five years, and there is not a Bible in the house."

"There are opportunities starting up on every side, as soon as we are ready for them," said the minister.

"But Mr. Richmond – I am afraid, – I am not ready for them."

"Why so, my dear child? I thought you were."

"I am afraid I was sorry when I found out about Mrs. Rogers."

"Why were you sorry?"

"There seemed so much to do, Mr. Richmond; so much disagreeable work. Why, it would take every bit of time I have got, and more, to attend to those two; every bit."

There came a rush of something that for a moment dimmed Mr. Richmond's blue eyes; for a moment he was silent. And for that moment, too, the language of gold clouds and sky was a sharp answer – the answer of Light – to the thoughts of earth.

"It is very natural," Mr. Richmond said. "It is a natural feeling."

"But it is not right, is it?" said Matilda, timidly.

"Is it like Jesus?"

"No, sir."

"Then it cannot be right. 'Who being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God; but made Himself of no reputation, and took upon Himself the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men: and being found in fashion as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.'

"Who 'pleased not Himself.' Who 'had not where to lay His head!' Who, 'though He was rich, yet for our sakes He became poor.' 'He laid down His life for us, and we ought to lay our lives down for the brethren.'"

Matilda listened, with a choking feeling coming in her throat.

"But then what can I do, Mr. Richmond? how can I help feeling so?"

"There is only one way, dear Matilda," said her friend. "The way is, to love Jesus so much, that you like His will better than your own; so much, that you would rather please Him than please yourself."

"How can I get that, Mr. Richmond?"

"Where we get all other good things. Ask the Lord to reveal Himself in your heart, so that the love of Him may take full possession."

The walk was silent for the greater part of the remaining way – silent and pleasant. The colours of sunset faded away, but a cool, fair, clear heaven carried on the beauty and the wordless speech of the earlier evening. At Matilda's gate Mr. Richmond stopped, and holding her hand still, spoke with a bright smile.

"I will give you a text to think about and pray over, Matilda."

"Yes, Mr. Richmond."

"Keep it, and think of it, and pray about it, till you understand it, and love it."

"Yes, Mr. Richmond. I will."

"The words are these. You will find them in the fourth chapter of the Second Epistle to the Corinthians."

"In the fourth chapter of the Second Epistle to the Corinthians. Yes, sir."

"These are the words. 'Always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body.' Good night."