so miserable to her nice senses,
the room within was; with its huddled up bundle of dirty coverlets, and
the soiled bed under them on the floor. Not much of a bed either, and
not much else in the room. A great burden was gathering on Matilda's
heart and shoulders; the burden of the wants of her neighbour, and her
own responsibilities.

The afternoon was now waning; what was to be done? Matilda tried to
think that somebody would come in and do what she herself was very
unwilling to do; but conscience reminded her that it was very unlikely.
Did that neglected cupboard give much promise of kind attendance or
faithful supply? or that rusty stove look like neighbourly care? But
then Matilda pleaded to herself that she had her own work, and not much
time; and that such a dirty place was very unfit for her nice little
hands.

"Good-bye, Mrs. Eldridge," she said, lingering. "I'll come and see you
again."

"'Taint a pleasant place to come to," said the old woman. "'Taint a
pleasant place fur nobody. And nobody comes to it. Nobody comes."

"I'll come, though," said Matilda. She could do so much as that, she
thought. "Good-bye. I must go home."

She left the old woman and the house, and began her walk. The lane, she
observed, looked as if other houses and other people in it might be as
ill off as those she had been visiting. "She is not worse than a number
of others, I dare say," thought Matilda. "I could not visit them all,
and I could not certainly take care of them all. It really makes little
difference on the whole, whether or no I kindle Mrs. Eldridge's fire.
It is delightful to get away from the place."

And then Matilda tried to think that in making her visit and reading to
the old woman, she had really done a good deal; made a good afternoon's
work. Nobody else had done even so much as that; not even anybody in
all Shadywalk. The walk home was quite pleasant, under the soothing
influence of these thoughts. Nevertheless, a little secret point of
uneasiness remained at Matilda's heart. She did not stop to look at it,
until she and Maria went up to bed. Then, as usual, while Maria got
ready for sleep, Matilda knelt down before the table where her open
Bible lay under the lamp; and there conscience met her.

And when conscience meets any one, it is the same thing as to say that
the Lord meets him.

That was what Matilda felt this night. For her reading fell upon the
story of the woman who brought the precious ointmen