Part 2 (1/2)

”No, of course, they don't. How could they get along, you know? Don't you remember what Mr. Richmond said?”

”I don't remember that he said _that_. But then, Maria, would you mind getting up to snuff out that candle? It's dreadful!”

”Nonsense! I shan't do it. I've just got warm.”

Another minute or two gave tokens that Maria was past minding discomfort of any sort. She was fast asleep. Tilly waited, panted, looked at the glimmering red end of the candle snuff; finally got out of bed and crept to the dressing-table where it stood, and with some trouble managed to put a stop to smoke for that night.

CHAPTER II.

The house in which these things happened was a brown house, standing on the great high-road of travel which ran through the country, and just where a considerable village had cl.u.s.tered round it. From the upper windows you caught a glimpse of a fine range of blue mountains, lying miles away, and with indeed a broad river flowing between; but the river was too far off to be seen, and hidden behind intervening ground.

From the lower windows you looked out into the village street; clean and wide, with comfortable houses standing along the way, not crowded together; and with gardens between and behind them, and many trees s.h.i.+elding and overhanging. The trees were bare now; the gardens a spread of snow; the street a white way for sleigh-runners; nevertheless, the aspect of the whole was hopeful, comfortable, thriving, even a little ambitious. Within this particular house, if you went in, you would see comfort, but little pretension; a neat look of things, but such things as had been mended and saved, and would not be rashly replaced. It was very respectable, therefore, and had no look of poverty. So of the family gathered around the breakfast-table on the morning after the Sunday-School meeting. It was a fair group, healthy and bright; the four girls and their mother. They were nicely dressed; and good appet.i.tes spoke of good spirits; and the provision on the table was abundant though plain.

Maria asked if Letty had finished her bonnet last night. Letty said she had.

”And did you put those red flowers in?”

”Certainly.”

”That will be gay.”

”Not too gay. Just enough. The bonnet would be nothing if it had not flowers.”

Maria's spoon paused half way to mouth. ”I wonder,” she said, gravely, ”if Mr. Richmond likes red flowers?”

”He has nothing to do with _my_ bonnet,” said Let.i.tia. ”And no more have you. You need not raise the question. I shall wear what becomes me.”

”What is the difference whether one wears red or blue, Maria?” said her mother. ”Do you think one colour is more religious than another?--or more wicked? What do you mean?”

”Nothing, ma'am,” Maria answered, a little abashed. ”I was only thinking.”

”I think Mr. Richmond likes flowers everywhere,” said Matilda; ”and all colours.”

”People that are very religious do not wear flowers in their bonnets though, do they?” said Maria.

”Mr. Richmond did not say any such thing!” said Matilda, indignantly.

”What did he say? What was all this last night's talk about?” said Anne. ”I did not understand half of it. Was it against red flowers, or red anything?”

”I did not understand any of it,” said Mrs. Englefield.

”Why, mamma, I told you all, as plain as could be,” said Maria. ”I told you he made a Band----”

”He didn't,” interrupted Matilda; ”the Band made themselves.”

But at this, the shout that went round the breakfast-table threatened to endanger the dishes.

”It's no use trying to talk,” said Maria, sullenly, ”if you laugh so. I told you there was a Band; ever so many of us rose up and agreed that we would belong to it.”

”Matilda, are you in it too?” the mother asked.