Trading. Warner Susan

thy needy one, in thy land.'"

      Matilda was thinking of other words, which she dared not bring forward; being in a part of her Bible which David did not like. Neither was it necessary. Norton had got quite enough, she could see. He was in a state of fume, privately.

      "I am going to give one side of the green house to you," he said, turning to Matilda. "Now you have got to think and find out what you will put in it. I shall have the shelves and all ready by the end of the week; and next week, Pink, – next week! – we must put the plants in; because the winter is going on, you know."

      The conclave broke up, to go upstairs and look at the new greenhouse. Norton explained his arrangements; the oil-cloth he was going to put on the floor, the rising banks of green shelves, the watering and syringing and warming of the little place; till Matilda almost smelt the geranium leaves before they were there.

      "Now, Pink, what will you have on your side?"

      "I can't give more than a dollar to it, Norton," said Matilda very regretfully.

      "A dollar! A dollar, Pink? A dollar will get you two or three little geraniums. What's to become of the rest of your shelves?"

      "I shall have to give them back to you, I'm afraid."

      "You've got money, plenty."

      "But I can't spend it for plants."

      "Because you are going to throw it into the mud, Pink? O no, you'll not do that. I'll give you a catalogue of plants, and you shall look it over; and you will find a dollar won't do much, I can tell you. And then you will see what you want."

      He was as good as his word; and Matilda sipped her glass of water and eat her sponge cake at tea time between the pages of a fascinating pamphlet, which with the delights it offered almost took away her breath, and quite took away the taste of the sponge cake. Norton looked over her shoulder now and then, well pleased to see his charm working.

      "Yellow carnations?" cried Matilda.

      "I don't like them best, though," said Norton. "There, that– La purité – that's fine; and the striped ones, Pink; those double heads, just as full as they can be, and just as sweet as they can be, and brilliant carmine and white – those are what I like."

      Matilda drew a long breath and turned a leaf.

      "Violets!" she exclaimed.

      "Do you like them?"

      "Violets? Why, Norton, I don't like any thing better! I don't think I do. Dear little sweet things! they do not cost much?"

      "No," said Norton, "they do not cost much; and they don't make much show, neither."

      "But they don't take much room."

      "No; and you want things that do take room, to fill your shelves. The greenhouse ought to be all one mass of green and bloom all round."

      Matilda heaved another sigh and turned another leaf.

      "I don't know anything about tuberoses," she said. "Primroses? what are they like? 'A thousand flowers often from one plant!' what are they like, Norton?"

      "Like?" said Norton. "I don't know what they are like."

      "I'll tell you," said Judy, who as usual was pleasing herself with a cup of strong coffee; "they are like buttercups come to town and grown polished."

      "They are not in the least like buttercups!" said Norton.

      "That's what I said," replied Judy coolly; "they have left off their country ways, and don't wear yellow dresses."

      Matilda thought it was best to take no notice, so with another crumb of sponge cake she turned over to the next flower in the catalogue.

      "What are Bouvardias? I don't know anything about them."

      "Of course," said Judy. "Not to be expected."

      "Do you want to take care of your own flowers yourself, Pink?" inquired Norton; "or do you mean to have me do it?"

      "Why, I will do it, I suppose."

      "Then you had better leave the Bouvardias to me. They are a little particular about some things."

      "Are they handsome?"

      "Wait till you see. Splendid! You'll see, when I get them a going. We'll have just a blaze of them."

      "A blaze?" said Matilda. "What colour?"

      "Flame colour, and scarlet, and white, and splendid crimson."

      "Heliotrope. O I like heliotrope," Matilda went on.

      "You can have those," said Norton. "They're sweet and easy. And we must have them, of course, on one side or the other. Begonias – those you might have, too."

      "Hyacinths I have got," said Matilda.

      "Yes, but you will want more, now that you have room for them."

      "Azaleas – O azaleas are lovely," said Matilda. "They are showy too; and you want a show, Norton."

      "So do you, Pink."

      "Well, I like azaleas," said Matilda. "Do they cost much?"

      "Not so very. I guess you can have some."

      "O what a geranium!" Matilda exclaimed. "'Lady James Vick' – 'seventy-five cents each' – but what a lovely colour, Norton! O I like geraniums next best to roses, I believe."

      "You must go to another catalogue for your roses," said Norton.

      "That is beautiful! I never saw such a colour. These roses are better yet."

      "You can't have roses enough in bloom at once. We want other things to help make up the blaze of colour there ought to be. But that's easy."

      Matilda turned the catalogue over and over with a disturbed mind. It seemed to her that to have such a little greenhouse as Norton proposed, full of beauties, would be one of the most enjoyable things that could be. Every new page of the catalogue, every new detail of Norton's plan, tugged at her heart-strings. She wanted to get those plants and flowers. A few delicate tea roses, some crimson blush roses, some pots of delicious purple heliotropes with spicy breath; two or three – or four – great double carnations; bunches of violets, sweetest of all; she wanted these! Then some azaleas, larger of course, to fill up the shelves and make a beautiful show of colour, as Norton desired. Her imagination went over and over the catalogue, always picking these out for her choice; and then imagination took them to the little room upstairs, which was going to be such a lovely little greenhouse, and saw them there and almost smelt their fragrance. It would be so pleasant to take care of them; she fancied herself watering them and dressing them, picking off the dead leaves and tying up the long wreaths of vines, and putting flowers into Mrs. Laval's stem glass for her dressing table. But what use? she had not the money to buy the plants, if she went on with her plans for Sarah's behoof; no counting nor calculating could come to any other conclusion. She thought of it by day and she thought of it by night; and the more she thought, the more her desires grew. Then too, the wish to please Norton was a very serious element in her cogitations. To disappoint him by utterly failing to do all he wished and counted upon from her, was very hard to do and very disagreeable to face. But Sarah? Matilda could not change her line of action, nor divert more than one dollar from the fund saved for her benefit. One dollar, Matilda thought, might be given for flowers; but what would one dollar be worth, with all one side of the little greenhouse to be filled.

      It is not easy to tell, how much trouble all this question gave Matilda. She thought it was quite strange and notable, that just when she was trying to accomplish so right a thing as the helping of that poor family in the cellar, this temptation of flowers should come up to make it hard. In one of her windows stood three little pots, in which three hyacinths were already bursting through the brown earth and showing little stout green points of leaf buds which promised nicely for other buds by and by. They had been a delight to Matilda's heart only a week ago; now, it seemed as if that vision of heliotropes and roses and geraniums had somehow swallowed them up.

      When she went next to Sunday school, however, and saw Sarah's meek, patient face, Matilda was very much astonished at herself, and not a little ashamed. She sat next Sarah in the class,