LITTLE RHODA.

Martha opened the basement-door, and a little black-eyed girl, who did not appear to be more than ten years of age, came in, with a basketful of matches on her arm.

"We don't want none," said Martha, sharply.

"Oh, yes, you do! Where's the lady?"

In she came, preceding the servant, cheerful as a bird, and fearless as a hero; a sweet, plump little child, that talked and looked like a woman.

"I know you want matches by this time, Mrs. Wheeler. She said you didn't; but I know better. It's ten days since I was here. How many bunches?"

"Why, Rhoda," said the woman, "what a pushing little thing you are. No, no! I'm sure Martha has plenty yet."

"But I shan't come again for ever so long. How many?"

Rhoda began to count the bundles of matches with much unconcern.

"There, I think half a dozen bunches will do for this time," she said, piling a little heap of matches on the table, and holding out a tiny hand for the money.

The woman looked at her in comical surprise, but the little rogue refused to understand it.

"Oh! you can have twice as many, if you like," she said, tumbling the matches over in her basket; "plenty of 'em left."

"I don't want any more, nor them either," said the woman, laughing; "but I'll take the matches, to get rid of you."

"Yes, I know; two cents more, please. What's that? Oh! I had forgotten, it belongs to the lady up stairs."

The object which caused this question was the brass castor of a chair, which lay in the bottom of Rhoda's basket.

"What lady up stairs, Rhoda?"

"Why, Mrs. Holt; a real, real lady, that was so good to my mother. I've told you about that, haven't I?"

"No."

"Well, then, I will. No, I won't; there's no good in chattering; but that lady is an angel, good as gold. You ought to be proud of having her in the house."

"But how did you know Mrs. Holt?"

"How? She came to our room when nobody else would. She sent that great, beautiful chair for my sick mother to sit in, and never asked for it again, or told us where to send it. She gave father money to buy a violin with, a real Cremona, and got the manager to take him back after he'd—Well no matter about that. She——"

"But how did you know she lived here?"

"I went up stairs one day to ask if any of 'em had any old dresses, and saw her sitting there."

"Yes, I dare say. No cat from the street ever took more liberties in a house than you do, Rhoda."

"Yes, I make myself at home. Why not? You all know me. Everybody knows me. Who shuts a closet-door or hides away the silver when Rhoda comes in? When I find a door on the latch, in I go; the girls look out from the kitchen, see me, and go back to their work, saying to each other, 'Oh! it's only that bright little imp, Rhoda. We don't want any of her matches; but she will come in, anyhow.' They don't want my matches. Well, marm, they do want 'em, and buy 'em, too, as sure as you live. Think I ever mean to let 'em get out and buy at the groceries? Not as I know of."

"But you don't want to sell matches to Mrs. Holt?"

"No. I'd like to give her fifty bunches. Yes, I would; but she won't take 'em from me. She's a lady, every inch of her."

"Well, I wish she was lady enough to pay what she owes me," said the housewife, darning vigorously at the carpet.

Rhoda sat down her basket and went close to Mrs. Wheeler, her keen, little face full of startled interest.

"How much does she owe you, marm? How much?"

"Why what's that to you? Fifty dollars, if you must know."

Rhoda recoiled, took up her basket, and went toward the door; then came back suddenly and said, in a sort of panic,

"Fifty dollars? Did you mean that?"

"Yes, I mean it; and mean something else," said the woman sharply.

"What is that?"

"To have my money."

"Ye-e-s."

"But where are you going now, child?"

"Up stairs to give this little brass wheel to the lady. It belongs to her chair."

"Very well; but mind you say nothing of what we've been talking about."

"What, me? Oh, Mrs. Wheeler!"

Mrs. Holt was bending over her chair, drawing her swift needle in and out of the broken silk, when little Rhoda came softly through the door and stood looking at her. She had taken the missing castor from her basket, and held it in one hand, hesitating, as if intrusion on a real lady, without knocking, had just struck her as a questionable proceeding. At last she advanced a pace, and held out the castor, saying, in a low, almost meek voice,

"Here is the little wheel, marm. It will make it stand up straighter."

Mrs. Holt started, looked up, and the color came into her face.

"Ah! Rhoda Weeks, is it you?" she said. "How is your father? What have you got there? Something to sell?"

"Nothing that you want, lady," said Rhoda, drawing a corner of her little shawl over the basket.

"Oh, yes! I must take something," said Mrs. Holt, putting one hand into her pocket from simple habit and drawing out her porte-monnaie; but her face flushed crimson as she opened it and remembered, all at once, how empty it was. "Then you won't sell me anything? Well, next time I will not let your basket pass," she said, bending her eyes beneath the keen anxious look with which Rhoda was regarding her.

"I hope—oh! I hope the chair was not quite spoiled for you," said the girl, dropping her eyes. "We tried hard to keep it nice; but she was so long sick, and loved to sit in it all the time. I can see her in it now, marm, with her white cheek leaning against the silk, just here."

There were tears in the child's eyes, and tears in that sweet, broken voice, when little Rhoda laid her hand upon the chair, and looked down into Mrs. Holt's face with such wistful gratitude.

"I am glad, very glad, if anything I did made your poor mother more comfortable," said Mrs. Holt, a good deal moved. "But it was very little."

"Very little, was it? Didn't you give her everything? Didn't you get my father's place back after the manager had turned him off, and give him money to buy the violin he loved so well, after it had gone clean out of his hands? Didn't you buy the greenest place for us to bury her in, and pay for it? Oh, marm! how I wish I could die for you just here! I would—I would."

Mrs. Holt looked upon the child at first in surprise; then a quiver of disturbed feeling came to her face.

"Don't cry, Rhoda. It makes me feel like a child when you make such a baby of yourself, about nothing, too."

"Please excuse me, marm," answered Rhoda, wiping her eyes with a corner of her apron. "I don't cry often; ask father if I do. Haven't made such a baby of myself since she died; and now I've gone and done it for you. Please, now, just let me wipe my eyes and forgive me."

Rhoda was wiping her eyes vigorously as she spoke; then she lifted the corner of her apron to Mrs. Holt's face, and brushed some tears away. This action touched the poor lady to the heart. She threw her arms across the bottom of the chair, and burst into a passion of tears that fairly frightened the little girl.

"Of all that I have helped, all that I have loved, this poor child alone remembers me with gratitude," she sobbed.

"No, no! there is father! He loves you; he is grateful!" pleaded the little girl.

Mrs. Holt looked up, and swept the tears from her face. "I know it! I know it all, Rhoda Weeks! You are good people, and I am wrong to think that there can be no more like you. Run home, now, and I will go on with my work; you shall see how nice the chair will look the next time you bring your basket this way. Stop a minute, I think we can find a ribbon for your hair. Yes; here is something scarlet. See! it looks like a flame among those jet-black waves. Wear it home, and see if your father will notice how well you look."

"Yes, yes, I will! He loves my hair; and I brush it ever so much for his sake."

Rhoda's eyes were dancing with happiness. Bits of finery did not often come in her way; and this was so brilliant and fresh, that it made her forgetful of everything else. As for Mrs. Holt, the gift had appeased the craving of her benevolence, and the child's joy soothed her as nothing else could have done; for she was borne down with cares and regrets such as made her very life a pain.