Trading. Warner Susan
by and by, it might be managed. In the mean time, Sarah might learn, and possibly get work; or get a machine and pay for it gradually by doing work for the makers. Such arrangements are made."
"How much does a sewing machine cost?"
"From forty five to sixty dollars."
"Forty five," repeated Matilda gravely. "But, Mr. Wharncliffe, in the first place the thing to do is to get them out of that place into a new room. Might we not do that? and don't you think the rest can be managed, somehow?"
"If we do that, the rest must be managed, if possible. It is always greater kindness and a far greater benefit, Matilda, to help poor people to take care of themselves, than to save them that care."
"Why, sir?"
"People are better and happier and stronger, working for their living and earning it, and keeping the sense of independence, than they are when living on the money of other people and losing their own self-respect. That is very ruinous to character. Avoid it always, in all your efforts to help people."
"Yes, I see," said Matilda thoughtfully. "But, Mr. Wharncliffe, Sarah and her mother cannot do anything to get in a better way while they live in that cellar. They want some help just at first. Don't they?"
"Certainly; and I think we have struck the right line of action to pursue for them. Help to put them in the way of being comfortably independent, is just what they want."
"Then the first thing is a lodging," said Matilda, with a relieved and brightening face. "How can we find one, Mr. Wharncliffe? I don't want them to know about it till we get it all settled and ready for them to move into."
"Ready for them?" said Mr. Wharncliffe inquiringly.
"Yes, sir; you know they have nothing to put into a nice room now, if they had one."
"Aren't you laying plans beyond your means?"
"Beyond mine; but I shall have some help. I don't know exactly how much, but some."
"Well, you will let me help too if necessary," said the gentleman. "And I will look out for a lodging."
"O thank you! Will you, sir?"
"To be sure. That is one way I am going to help."
"And when you have found one, you will let me know?"
"Whom else? Certainly, I will. I shall take no step without your direction."
"O thank you, sir!" said Matilda again.
They had been walking up the Avenue during this talk, to have uninterrupted time for it; now they had turned about to come home. Clear and bright and cold the sun was leaving the streets and lingering about the house roofs and chimneys; and the steeples of churches were shining marks of light on one side, on the other dark spires against the western sky. Mr. Wharncliffe and Matilda quickened their steps, which the frosty air made it pleasant to do. She supposed that the subject of their conversation was ended for the present, and so was somewhat surprised to hear the next question from her companion. It came out after some little pause.
"Matilda what has put this in your head?"
"This we have been talking of? Why I wanted to make Sarah comfortable. I could not bear to have her in that dreadful place. Mr. Wharncliffe, don't you think it is dreadful?"
"I do think it is dreadful; and your feeling very natural. Then you want to go to this expense and trouble for the comfort of knowing that she is comfortable?"
"I think so," said Matilda, somewhat puzzled. "I could not bear to think of her there."
"All perfectly right, Matilda," said her friend smiling. "I only want, while you are taking care of Sarah, to take care of you."
"How, sir?"
"There are so many ways in which good things may be done; and I wish you to take the best."
"What ways do you mean, sir? I do not understand."
"There is one way of doing kind things, merely or chiefly to save one's self from the uncomfortable feeling that the sight of misery gives. Kind people of that sort are benevolent in spots, just when they see or hear of something that touches them, and never at any other time. Others do kind things because they like to have a name for generosity, and giving money costs them nothing."
Matilda looked inquiringly up in Mr. Wharncliffe's face. "It made me very uncomfortable to see Sarah in that place," she said; "and to think of her in it."
"A third sort of kindness," Mr. Wharncliffe went on smiling, "is done because people love the Lord Jesus, and so love all whom he loves, and like to do the work he wants done."
"But it makes them feel badly to see people suffering?" said Matilda.
"Undoubtedly. They are the tenderest of all. But they will do as much for people they never saw, as for those at hand; and their spring of kindness never dries up. It is a perpetual flow. When they do not see objects on which to spend it, they seek them out."
Matilda pondered matters a little. Then she lifted a very honest face towards her companion.
"Which reason did you think made me want to do this for Sarah, sir?"
"I wanted you to think about it."
"Don't you think, Mr. Wharncliffe, it is very difficult to find out really why one does things?"
"Very difficult," said Mr. Wharncliffe with a comical drawing of his lips; "but very useful."
"I do not think," began Matilda again, very gravely, "I do not think my wanting to do this for Sarah was just to make myself feel comfortable."
"I do not think it, my child; but it is no harm to have your attention directed to the question. In all such matters, keep your action pure; let every thing be done for Christ, and then it will be all right. For instance, Matilda, when the real motive is self, or when there is no higher at work, one is easily tempted to do too much in a given case; to indulge one's self with great effects and astonishing liberality; when, if it were simply for Christ, one would be moderate and simple and prudent, and keep a due proportion in things."
"Yes," said Matilda looking puzzled, – "I understand. You will help me keep a 'proper proportion' in what I do for Sarah Staples, Mr. Wharncliffe?"
"How much are you thinking of doing?"
"I want to get her into a comfortable room," said Matilda. "That is first. Then – they have no furniture, Mr. Wharncliffe?"
"You want to get them some?"
"Would that be too much? a little? common things, of course, but what they cannot be comfortable without."
"How much money do you propose to spend on Sarah at this time?"
"I do not know. I know about how much I have, but I can't tell yet how much help I shall get. I want to do what ought to be done."
The last words were said with such an accent of earnest determination, that Mr. Wharncliffe again had almost smiled at his scholar; but he did not. He went on quite gravely: —
"A room and some necessary furniture, I should think, could be managed."
"Then we want to get them into a way of earning more."
"Yes. I will see about that. And about the room. And I can get what you want in furniture, at a second hand place, where the articles will cost very little."
"That's good," said Matilda. "Well, Mr. Wharncliffe, all that will not be too much?"
"I think not."
Matilda hesitated, and then added doubtfully, "Don't you think they want clean dresses?"
Mr. Wharncliffe smiled now.
"Where shall we stop?" said he.
"But they are very – uncomfortable," said Matilda, after waiting to choose a word. Her teacher thought for a minute of Sarah's well-worn, faded, lank, best dress, and how little evidently there was under it to keep the child warm, and his brow grew very sober indeed, and his blue eye misty.
"I'll not check you, Matilda," he said, "unless I