Opportunities. Warner Susan

That church ruins her. She will be fit for nothing."

      "I will take the nonsense out of her," said Mrs. Candy. "I cannot take her out of the church, while we remain here, for that would raise a hue and cry; but I will do as well. Here she comes."

      A little soft knock at the door was followed by the little girl herself; looking demure and sweet, after her fashion lately. It used to be arch and sweet. But Matilda had been very sober since her mother's death. The room into which she came had an air now very unlike all the rest of the house. Mrs. Englefield's modest preparations for the comfort of her guests were quite overlaid and lost sight of. It was as if some fairy had shaken her hand over the room, and let fall pleasant things everywhere. On the Marseilles quilt a gorgeous silk coverlet lay folded. On the dressing-table a confusion of vases and bottles, in coloured glass and painted china, were mixed up with combs and brushes and fans and watch pockets and taper stands. The table in the middle of the floor was heaped with elegant books and trinkets and work-boxes and writing implements; and book stands and book shelves were about, and soft foot cushions were dropped on the carpet, and easy arm-chairs stood conveniently, and some faint perfume breathed all through the room. Mrs. Candy was in one arm-chair and Clarissa in another.

      Matilda was bidden to take a cricket, which she privately resented, and then her aunt placed in her hands a largish volume and pointed her to the page where she was to begin. Glancing up and down, at the top of the page and the beginning of the book, Matilda found it was a treatise, or a collection of advices, for the instruction of persons about to be received into the Church. Not a little dismayed by this discovery, no less than by the heavy look of the pages, Matilda however began her reading. It was dragging work, as she expected. Her thoughts wandered. What could her aunt think she wanted with this, when she had Mr. Richmond's instructions? What could these ponderous reasonings be expected to add to his words? The immediate effect of them certainly was not salutary to Matilda's mind.

      "My dear, you do not read so well as usual," her aunt said at length.

      Matilda paused, glad to stop even for a little.

      "Your sentences come heavily from your tongue."

      "Yes. They are heavy, aunt Candy."

      "My dear! Those are the words of the Rev. Benjamin Orderly – a very famous writer, and loved by all good people. Those are excellent words that you have been reading."

      Matilda said nothing further.

      "Did you understand them?"

      "They did not interest me, aunt Candy."

      "My dear, they ought to interest one who has just taken such a step as you have taken."

      Matilda wondered privately whether being baptized ought properly to have any effect to change the natural taste and value of things; but she did not answer.

      "You understood what you read, did you?"

      Matilda coloured a little.

      "Aunt Candy, it was not interesting, and I did not think about it."

      Mrs. Candy drew the book severely from Matilda's hand.

      "After taking such a step as you took last night, you ought to try to be interested, if it were only for consistency's sake. Do you see that you were hasty? A person who does not care about the privileges and duties of church membership most certainly ought not to be a church member."

      "But, aunt Candy, I do care," said Matilda.

      "So it seems."

      "I care about it as the Bible speaks of it; and as Mr. Richmond talks about it."

      "You are very fond of Mr. Richmond, I know."

      Matilda added nothing to that, and there was a pause.

      "Do you want anything more of me, Aunt Candy?"

      "Yes. I want to teach you something useful. Here are a quantity of stockings of yours that need mending. I am going to show you how to mend them. Go and get your work-box and bring it here."

      "Couldn't you tell me what you want me to do, Aunt Candy, and let me go and do it where Maria is?"

      "No. Maria is busy. And I have got to take a good deal of pains to teach you, Tilly, what I want you to know. Go fetch your box and work things."

      Matilda slowly went. It was so pleasant to be out of that perfumed room and out of sight of the Rev. Mr. Orderly's writings. She lingered in the passages; looked over the balusters and listened, hoping that by some happy chance Maria might make some demand upon her. None came; the house was still; and Matilda had to go back to her aunt. She felt like a prisoner.

      "Now I suppose you have no darning cotton," said Mrs. Candy. "Here is a needleful. Thread it, and then I will show you what next."

      "This is three or four needlefuls, aunt Candy. I will break it. I cannot sew with such a thread."

      "Stop. Yes, you can. Don't break it. I will show you. Thread your needle."

      "I haven't one big enough."

      That want was supplied.

      "Now you shall begin with running this heel," said Mrs. Candy. "See, you shall put this marble egg into the stocking, to darn upon. Now look here. You begin down here, at the middle, so – and take up only one thread at a stitch, do you see? and skip so many threads each time – "

      "But there is no hole there, Aunt Erminia."

      "I know that. Heels should always be run before they come to holes. There are half-a-dozen heels here, I should think, that require to be run. Now, do you see how I do it? You may take the stocking, and when you have darned a few rows, come and let me see how you get on."

      Matilda in a small fit of despair took the stocking to a little distance and sat down to work. The marble egg was heavy to hold. It took a long while to go up one side of the heel and down the other. She was tired of sitting under constraint and so still. And her Aunt Candy seemed like a jailer, and that perfumed room like a prison. The quicker her work could be done, the better for her. So Matilda reflected, and her needle went accordingly.

      "I have done it, Aunt Erminia," she proclaimed at last.

      "Done the heel?"

      "Yes, ma'am."

      "You cannot possibly. Come here and let me look at it. Why, of course! That is not done as I showed you, Tilly; these rows of darning should be close together, one stitch just in the middle between two other stitches; you have just gone straggling over the whole heel. That will have to come all out."

      "But there is no hole in it," said Matilda.

      "Always darn before the holes come. That will not do. You must pick it all out, Tilly."

      "Now?" said Matilda, despairingly.

      "Certainly now. You make yourself trouble in that way. I am sorry. Pick it all neatly out."

      Matilda went at it impatiently; tugged at the thread; pulled the heel of her stocking into a very intricate drawn-up state; then had to smooth it out again with difficulty.

      "This is very hard to come out," she said.

      "Yes, it is bad picking," said her aunt, composedly.

      Matilda was very impatient and very weary besides. However, work did it, in time.

      "Now see if you can do it better," said Mrs. Candy.

      "Now, Aunt Erminia?"

      "Certainly. It is your own fault that you have made such a business of it. You should have done as I told you."

      "But I am very tired."

      "I dare say you are."

      Matilda was very much in the mind to cry; but that would not have mended matters, and would have hurt her pride besides. She went earnestly to work with her darning needle instead. She could use it nicely, she found, with giving pains and time enough. But it took a great while to do a little. Up one side and down the other; then up that side and down the first; threading long double needlefuls, and having them used up with great rapidity; Matilda seemed to grow into a darning machine. She was very still; only a deep-drawn long