am not going to leave you up, either. I know how that works. The bonnet can be finished to-morrow. And, Anne, roll up your ruffles. Come, girls!"
"What a lovely mantilla that is going to be; isn't it, mamma?" said Maria. "Won't Anne look nice when she gets it on? I wish you'd let me have one just like it, mamma."
"I do not care about your having one just like it," said Anne. "What would be the use of that?"
"The same use, I suppose – "
"Maria, go to bed!" said her mother "And Matilda. Look what o'clock it is."
"I can't go, mamma, unless somebody will bring me some shoes. Mine are wet."
"Maria, fetch Tilly a pair of shoes. And go, children."
The children went; but Maria grumbled.
"Why couldn't you come up-stairs in your stocking feet? I should."
"It isn't nice," said the little one.
"Nice! you're so terribly nice you can't do anything other people do. There is no use in our coming to bed now; Anne and Letty will sit up till eleven o'clock, I shouldn't wonder; and we might just as well as not. Mamma can't get them to bed. Letty and Anne ought to have been at the meeting to-night. I wonder if they would have risen? Why did not you rise, Matilda?"
"I had not thought about it."
"Can't you do anything without thinking about it first?"
"I do not understand it yet."
"Understand! why, nothing is easier than to understand. Of course, we are all to be as good as we can be, that's all."
"You don't think that is much," said the little one, as she began slowly to undress herself. The work of undressing and dressing was always slow with Tilly. Every article of clothing taken off was to be delicately folded and nicely laid away at night; and taken out and put on with equal care and punctiliousness in the morning. Maria's stockings went one way and her shoes another; while Tilly's were put exactly ready for use under her chair. And Maria's clothes presently lay in a heap on the floor. But not till some time after Matilda's neat arrangements had been made and she herself was safe in bed. Maria had dallied while the other was undressing.
"I think you are very curious, Matilda!" she exclaimed, as she followed her sister into bed. "I shouldn't think it required much thinking, to know that one ought to be good."
"You haven't put out the candle, Maria."
Maria bounced from her bed, and bounced in again.
"O Maria!" said Matilda in a moment or two, plaintively; "you've blown it out! and the room is all filled with smoke."
"It doesn't make any difference," said Maria.
"It is very disagreeable."
"It will be gone in a minute."
"No, it won't, for I can see the red spark on the end of the candle now."
"You are so particular, Tilly!" said her sister. "If you ever take a notion to be good, you'll have to leave off some of your ways, I can tell you. You needn't mind a little smell of candle-smoke. Go to sleep, and forget it."
"Don't good people mind disagreeable things?" said Matilda.
"No, of course, they don't. How could they get along, you know? Don't you remember what Mr. Richmond said?"
"I don't remember that he said that. But then, Maria, would you mind getting up to snuff out that candle? It's dreadful!"
"Nonsense! I shan't do it. I've just got warm."
Another minute or two gave tokens that Maria was past minding discomfort of any sort. She was fast asleep. Tilly waited, panted, looked at the glimmering red end of the candle snuff; finally got out of bed and crept to the dressing-table where it stood, and with some trouble managed to put a stop to smoke for that night.
CHAPTER II
The house in which these things happened was a brown house, standing on the great high-road of travel which ran through the country, and just where a considerable village had clustered round it. From the upper windows you caught a glimpse of a fine range of blue mountains, lying miles away, and with indeed a broad river flowing between; but the river was too far off to be seen, and hidden behind intervening ground. From the lower windows you looked out into the village street; clean and wide, with comfortable houses standing along the way, not crowded together; and with gardens between and behind them, and many trees shielding and overhanging. The trees were bare now; the gardens a spread of snow; the street a white way for sleigh-runners; nevertheless, the aspect of the whole was hopeful, comfortable, thriving, even a little ambitious. Within this particular house, if you went in, you would see comfort, but little pretension; a neat look of things, but such things as had been mended and saved, and would not be rashly replaced. It was very respectable, therefore, and had no look of poverty. So of the family gathered around the breakfast-table on the morning after the Sunday-School meeting. It was a fair group, healthy and bright; the four girls and their mother. They were nicely dressed; and good appetites spoke of good spirits; and the provision on the table was abundant though plain.
Maria asked if Letty had finished her bonnet last night. Letty said she had.
"And did you put those red flowers in?"
"Certainly."
"That will be gay."
"Not too gay. Just enough. The bonnet would be nothing if it had not flowers."
Maria's spoon paused half way to mouth. "I wonder," she said, gravely, "if Mr. Richmond likes red flowers?"
"He has nothing to do with my bonnet," said Letitia. "And no more have you. You need not raise the question. I shall wear what becomes me."
"What is the difference whether one wears red or blue, Maria?" said her mother. "Do you think one colour is more religious than another? – or more wicked? What do you mean?"
"Nothing, ma'am," Maria answered, a little abashed. "I was only thinking."
"I think Mr. Richmond likes flowers everywhere," said Matilda; "and all colours."
"People that are very religious do not wear flowers in their bonnets though, do they?" said Maria.
"Mr. Richmond did not say any such thing!" said Matilda, indignantly.
"What did he say? What was all this last night's talk about?" said Anne. "I did not understand half of it. Was it against red flowers, or red anything?"
"I did not understand any of it," said Mrs. Englefield.
"Why, mamma, I told you all, as plain as could be," said Maria. "I told you he made a Band – "
"He didn't," interrupted Matilda; "the Band made themselves."
But at this, the shout that went round the breakfast-table threatened to endanger the dishes.
"It's no use trying to talk," said Maria, sullenly, "if you laugh so. I told you there was a Band; ever so many of us rose up and agreed that we would belong to it."
"Matilda, are you in it too?" the mother asked.
"No, mamma."
"Why not? How comes that?"
"She wasn't ready," her sister said.
"Why not, Tilly?"
"Mamma, I want to understand," said the child.
"Quite right; so do I."
"Wouldn't you do what Mr. Richmond says, whether you understand or not?" inquired Maria, severely.
"I would rather know what it is, first," said Matilda, in her way, which was a compound of cool and demure, but quite natural.
"And when is the next meeting?" said Letitia. "I guess I'll go."
"It won't be for a week," said Matilda.
"And will you join the Band, Letty?" Maria asked somewhat eagerly.
"How, join it?"
"Why, rise up, when you