any reasons."

"What are some of them? can't I understand?"

"You can understand this; that people who are industrious, and careful,
and who have a talent for business, get on in the world better than
those who are idle or wasteful or self-indulgent or wanting in
cleverness."

"Yes; I can understand that."

"The first class of people make money, and their children, who maybe
are neither careful nor clever, inherit it; along with their business
friends, and their advantages and opportunities; while the children of
the idle and vicious inherit not merely the poverty but to some extent
the other disadvantages of their parents. So one set are naturally
growing richer and richer and the other naturally go on from poor to
poorer."

"Yes, I understand _that_," said Matilda, with a perplexed look. "But
some of these poor people are not bad nor idle?"

"Perhaps their parents have been. Or without business ability; and the
one thing often leads to another."

"But"--said Matilda, and stopped.

"What is it?"

"It puzzles me, sir. I was going to say, God could make it all better;
and why don't he?"

"He will do everything for us, Matilda," said her friend gravely,
"except those things he has given _us_ to do. He will help us to do
those; but he will not prevent the consequences of our idleness or
disobedience. Those we must suffer; and others suffer with us, and
because of us."

"But then"--said Matilda looking up,--"the rich ought to take care of
the poor."

"That is what the Lord meant we should do. We ought to find them work,
and see that they get proper pay for it; and not let them die of hunger
or disease in the mean while."

"Well, why don't people do so?" said Matilda.

"Some try. But in general, people have not come yet to love their
neighbours as themselves."

"Thank you, Mr. Wharncliffe," Matilda said, as he stopped at the foot
of Mrs. Lloyd's steps.

He smiled, and inquired, "For what?"

"For taking me there."

"Why?" said he, growing grave.

But a little to his surprise the little girl hurried up the steps
without making him any answer.

In the house, she hurried in like manner up the first flight of stairs
and up the second flight. Then, reaching her own floor, where nobody
was apt to be at that time of Sunday afternoons, the child stopped and
stood still.

She did not even wait to open her own door; but clasping the rail of
the balusters she bent down her little head there and burst into