The House in Town. Warner Susan
you have cousins!" Matilda repeated.
"Two Jew cousins. Yes."
"Are they Jews?"
"She isn't, my aunt isn't; but they are. Judith is a real little Jewess, with eyes as black as a dewberry, and as bright; and David – well, he's a Jew."
"How old are they?"
"About as old as we are. There's a chestnut, Pink! it went over there."
That chestnut was captured, and kept and eaten; and Matilda said she had never eaten anything so good in the shape of a chestnut.
"Of course you haven't," said Norton. "That one wasn't done, though. We must leave them a little while longer."
"And when you're in the city you all live together?" Matilda went on.
"When we are in the city we all live together. And grandmamma never will leave aunt Judy, and aunt Judy never will come up here; so in the summer we don't all live together. And I am glad of it."
Matilda wanted very much to ask why, but she did not. Norton presently went on.
"It is all very well in the winter. But then I am going to school all the while, and there isn't so much time for things. And I like driving here better than in the park."
"What is the park?" Matilda inquired.
"You don't know!" exclaimed Norton. "That's good fun. Promise me, Pink, that you will go with nobody but me the first time. Promise me!"
"Why, whom should I go with, Norton? Who would take me?"
"I don't know. Mamma might, or grandmother might, or aunt Judy. Promise, Pink."
"Well, I will not, if I can help it," said Matilda. "But how funny it is that I should be making you such a promise."
"Ay, isn't it?" said Norton. "There will be a good many such funny things, you'll find."
"But how are these cousins of yours Jews, Norton, when their mother is not a Jew?"
"Jewess," said Norton. "Why, because their father was, – a Jew, I mean. He was a Spanish Jew; and my aunt and cousins have lived in Spain till three years ago. How should a boy with his name, David Bartholomew, be anything but a Jew?"
"Bartholomew is English, isn't it?"
"Yes, the name. O they are not Spaniards entirely; only the family has lived out there for ever so long. They have relations enough in New York. I wish they hadn't."
"But how are they Jews, Norton? Don't they believe what we believe?" – Matilda's voice sunk.
"What we believe?" repeated Norton.
"Part of it, I suppose. They are not like Hindoos or Chinese. But you had better not talk to them just as you talked to Mr. Richmond to-night."
"But, Norton – I must live so."
"Live how you like; they have got nothing to do with your living. Now, Pink, I think we'll overhaul those chestnuts, – if you've no objection."
It was very exciting, getting the roasted fruit out from among the ashes and coals, burning their fingers, counting the chestnuts, and eating them; and then Norton prepared a second batch, that they might, as he said, have some to give to Mr. Richmond. Eating and cooking, a great deal of talk went on all the while. Eight o'clock came, and nine; and still not Mr. Richmond. Norton went out to look at the weather, as far as the piazza steps; and came in powdered with snow. It was thickly falling, he said; so the two children went to work again. It was impossible to sit there with the chestnuts and not eat them; so Norton roasted a third quantity. Just as these were reclaimed from the ashes, Mr. Richmond came in. He looked tired.
"So you have kept my hearth warm for me," he said; "and provided me supper. Thank you."
"We have done no harm, sir, I hope," said Norton; "though it was in your study."
"My study was the very place," said Mr. Richmond. "You cannot get such a fire everywhere; and my fire does not often have such pleasant use made of it. I shall miss you both."
"How soon shall we be ordered away, sir?" Norton asked.
"Your mother said to-morrow; but at the rate the snow is falling, that will hardly be. It looks like a great storm, or feels like it rather. It's impossible to see."
A great storm it proved the next morning. The snow was falling very thick; it lay heaped on the branches of the pines, and drifted into a great bank at the corner of the piazza, and blocked up the window-sills. It was piled up high on the house steps, and had quite covered all signs of path and roadway; the little sweep in front of the house was levelled and hid; the track to the barn could not be traced any longer. And still the snow came down, in gentle, swift, stayless supply; fast piling up fresh beautiful feathers of crystal on those that already settled soft upon all the earth. So Matilda found things when she got up in the morning. The air was dark with the snow-clouds, and yet light with a beautiful light from the universal whiteness; and the air was sweet with the pure sweetness of the falling snow. Matilda hurried down. It was Sunday morning.
"There'll be no getting away to-day," said Norton, as together they set the breakfast in readiness.
"Miss Redwood can't come home either," said Matilda. She was privately glad. A snowy Sunday at the parsonage, one more Sunday, would be pleasant.
"You can't get to church either," Norton went on.
"Why Norton! This little bit of way? It isn't but half a dozen steps."
"It is several half dozen," said Norton; "and the snow is all of a foot deep, and in places it has drifted, and there isn't a sign of anybody coming to clear it away yet. I don't believe there'll be twenty people in church, anyhow. It's falling as thick as it can."
"Mr. Ulshoeffer will clear it away in front of the church," said Matilda. "Some people will come. There! there's somebody at our back steps now."
Norton opened the kitchen door to see if it was true; and to his great astonishment found Mr. Richmond, in company with a large wooden shovel, clearing the snow from the steps and kitchen area.
"Good morning!" said the minister, from out of the snow.
"Good morning, sir. Mr. Richmond! isn't there somebody coming to do that for you, sir?"
"I don't know who is to come," said the minister pleasantly. "You had better shut the door and keep warm."
"Tell him breakfast is ready, Norton," Matilda cried.
"Well!" said Norton, shutting the door and coming in. "Do you mean to say that Mr. Richmond shovels his own snow?"
"His own snow!" repeated Matilda, with a little burst of laughter. "Which part of the snow is Mr. Richmond's?"
"What lies on his own ground, I should say. Why don't he have some one come to do it?"
"I don't know," said Matilda; and she looked grave now. "I don't know who there is to come to do it."
"There are people enough to do anything for money," said Norton. "Don't he have somebody come to do it?"
"I don't know," said Matilda. "If he had, I do not think he would do it himself."
"Then he gets very shabby treatment," said Norton; "that's all. I tell you, shovelling snow is work; and cold work at that."
"I suppose the people can't give great pay to their minister," said Matilda.
"Then they can come and clear away the snow for him. They have hands enough, if they haven't the cash. I wonder if they let him do it for himself always?"
"I don't know."
"Well, if I was a minister," said Norton, "which I am glad I'm not, I'd have a church where people could give me enough pay to keep my hands out of the snow!"
"Hush!" said Matilda. "Breakfast is ready, and Mr. Richmond is coming in."
The little dining-room was more pleasant than ever that morning. The white brightness that came in through the snowy air seemed to make fire and warmth and breakfast particularly cosy. And there