Trading. Warner Susan

do you think it is wicked to build cities?"

      "I don't know about that," said David; "that's another matter. Without cities a great many good things would be impossible."

      "Would they? what?" said Matilda.

      "Well, commerce, you know; without great centres of commerce, there could not be great commerce; and there would not be great fortunes then; and without great for tunes there could not be the grand things in music and painting and sculpture and architecture and books, that there are now."

      What "great centres of commerce" might be, Matilda could not tell; and she did not like to ask David too many questions. She suddenly came out with an objection.

      "But Abraham did not live in a city."

      David started, looked at her, and then laughed a little.

      "Abraham! no, he did not; and he was a rich man; but one rich man here and there could not do those things I spoke of."

      "Then, wouldn't it be better there should be no cities?" said Matilda.

      "Better than what? Better than have cities with such dreadful poor people? Can't have the good without the bad, I suppose."

      "You said, people grow wicked in cities."

      "Well, they do."

      "Then ought people to build cities?"

      "I don't know how the world would get on, at that rate," said David smiling. "Anyhow the cities are built; and we are living in one; and one corner house in it gives you and me as much as we can do."

      "A single room in it, David."

      "Yes. Well, you know you consulted a witch the other night."

      "Did I?" said Matilda.

      "The witch gave me orders to search into your matter. I have done it, and told her what I had found; and she has commissioned me to deliver to you – this."

      So saying, David produced a little gold piece, the very mate to the one Matilda had earned by telling her thoughts.

      "O David!" Matilda exclaimed, – "O David!"

      "Well?" said David smiling. "What?"

      "I am getting so much!"

      "You will want it."

      "But I don't see how it should take such a very great deal of money just to do this little thing," said Matilda; and she went on to explain Mr. Wharncliffe's propositions and helping agency. Before she had well got through, Norton dashed in.

      "Hallo! David here? All the better. Isn't she a jewel of a witch, David?"

      David looked up with a responsive twinkle in his eye; and Matilda asked what he meant.

      "Mean?" said Norton, "I mean the witch. You went to see the witch, Pink; haven't you heard from her?"

      "Yes! just this minute; but Norton, I don't know what you expected to hear. What have you heard?"

      "Glorious!" cried Norton, swinging his cap joyously. "We've got that little room, Pink, for a greenhouse; and a stove in it for cold nights; and shelves and benches and frames and all those things I'll put up my self; and then we'll have a show of flowers. Your hyacinths will do a great deal better up there."

      "Will they?" said Matilda. "They are doing very nicely here; and they look nicely."

      "Now we can do all we've a mind to, Pink. I'll have some amaryllis roots right off; and japonicas, japonicas, Pink; and everything you like. Geraniums, and Bovardias, and Azaleas, and Cacti; and Cyclamens; and Cassia and Arbutillon. Fuchsias too, and what you like!"

      "Why that little room will not hold everything," said Matilda. "Can't you have some roses?"

      "Roses? O yes, and carnations; everything you like. Yes, it will hold everything. Lots of tulips, too."

      "How about the money?" David asked.

      "It don't take a fortune to stock a little greenhouse."

      "You haven't got a fortune."

      "I have got enough."

      "Have anything left for other objects?"

      "What objects?" said Norton. "I haven't but one object at present. One's enough."

      "But Matilda has an object too," David said smiling enough to show his white teeth; "and her object will want some help, I'm thinking."

      "What object?" said Norton.

      "Don't you remember? I told you, Norton, about Sarah" —

      "O that!" said Norton with a perceptible fall of his mental thermometer. "That's all your visions, Pink; impracticable; fancy. The idea of you, with your little purse, going into the mud of New York, and thinking to dean the streets."

      "Certainly," said David, "and so she wauls a little help from our purses, don't you see?"

      "David Bartholomew!" Norton burst out, "you know as well as I do, that it is no sort of use to try that game. Just go look at the mud; it will take all we could throw into it, and never shew."

      "No," said David; "we could clear up a little corner, I think, if we tried."

      "You!" cried Norton. "Are you at that game? You turned soft suddenly?"

      "Do no harm, that I see," replied David composedly.

      "These people aren't your people," said Norton.

      "They are your people," said David.

      "They are not! I have nothing to do with them, and it is no use – Davie Bartholomew, you know it's no use – to try to help them. Pink is so tender-hearted, she wants to help the whole world; and it's all very well for her to want it; but she can't; and I can't; and you can't."

      "But we can help Sarah Staples," Matilda ventured.

      "And then you may go on to help somebody else, and then somebody else; and there's no end to it; only there's this end, that you'll always be poor yourself and never be able to do anything you want to do."

      Norton was unusually heated, and both his hearers were for a moment silenced.

      "You know that's the truth of it, Davie," he went on; "and it's no use to encourage Pink to fancy she can comfort everybody that's in trouble, and warm everybody that is cold, and feed everybody that is hungry, because she just can't do it. You can tell her there is no end to that sort of thing if she once tries it on. Suppose we all went to work at it. Just see where we would be. Where would be Pink's gold watch, and her picture? and where would be her gold bracelet? and where would my greenhouse be? And where would this house be, for that matter? and the furniture in it? and how should we all dress? Your mother wouldn't wear velvet dresses, that you like so much; and mine wouldn't wear that flimsy muslin stuff that she likes so much; and grandmamma's lace shawl would never have been mended, for it never would have been here to get burnt. It's all a lot of nonsense, that's what it is."

      "There is law about it, though," David began again gravely.

      "Law?" Norton echoed.

      "The law of my people."

      "O what is it, David?" cried Matilda; while Norton was grumly silent. He did not want to debate David's Jewish law with him. David gave the words very readily.

      "'When there is with thee any needy one of one of thy brethren, in one of thy cities, in thy land which Jehovah thy God is giving to thee, thou dost not harden thy heart, nor shut thy hand from thy needy brother; for thou dost certainly open thy hand to him, and dost certainly lend him sufficient for his lack which he lacketh.'"

      "That says what the people would do – not what they ought to do," said Norton.

      "I beg your pardon; it is a strong way of saying, in the Hebrew, what they must do. Listen. 'Thou dost certainly give to him, and thy heart is not sad in thy giving to him, for because of this thing doth Jehovah thy God bless thee in all thy works, and in every putting forth of thine hand; because the needy one doth not cease out of the land, therefore I am commanding thee, saying, Thou dost certainly open thy hand to thy brother,