sible to make a disturbance and he was obliged to
give up the point. Matilda wondered at what she supposed an uncommon
mark of favour in Judy; and resolved to be as nice a neighbour as she
could. There was not much chance, for of course talking, except a low
word now and then, was out of the question. It happened that one of the
servants was for some reason out of the way, and there was not the
usual abundant service of the table. Just when everybody was helped,
Judy somewhat officiously handed somebody's plate to Matilda to be
passed for some oysters. The plate came back to her full; it had meat
and gravy and oysters and maccaroni on it, and was heavy as well as
full. Carefully giving it, as she thought, into Judy's hand, Matilda
was dismayed to find it seemingly slip from her own; and down it went,
taking impartially Judy's dress and her own in its way. Turkey gravy
and oysters lodged on Judy's blue silk; while the maccaroni, rich with
butter and cheese, made an impression never to be effaced on Matilda's
crimson. The little girl absolutely grew pale as she looked down at the
disastrous state of things, and then up at Judy. Judy's eyes were
snapping.

"Did I do that?" said Matilda, in a bewildered consciousness that she
had _not_ done it.

"O, I guess not," replied Judy; in a tone which civilly said, "Of
course you did!" Matilda dared not look at anybody else.

"You had better go up and change your dress, Matilda," said Mrs. Laval
gravely. And Matilda went, greatly disconcerted. She was a very dainty
child herself; rudeness and awkwardness were almost as abhorrent to her
as they were even to Mrs. Lloyd; and now she felt that she had
disgraced herself, mortified Mrs. Laval, and displeased the old lady;
besides drawing down the censure and slighting remark of Mrs.
Bartholomew. But _had_ she done the thing? She was supposed to have
done it, that was clear, from the tone of Mrs. Lloyd's voice and from
Mrs. Laval's command, as well as from Judy's words; that young lady
herself had kept her place in the dining room, for all that appeared.
And Matilda's beautiful crimson dress was spoiled. No doubt about it;
when she had got it off and looked at it she saw that the butter and
cheese had done their work too thoroughly to leave any hope that it
might be undone. No acid or French chalk would be of any avail there.
Poor Matilda! she was very much dismayed. She had a particular fancy
for the colour of that dress; it was a beau