The House in Town Part 34

"So am I. One can always do something in New York. We'll go and have dinner."

"At home?"

"No indeed. Short of home. We'll jump into an omnibus and be at the place in a minute."

It did not seem much more, and they went into a restaurant and took their places at a little marble table, and Norton ordered what they both liked; oyster pie and coffee.

"But mamma does not like me to drink coffee," said Matilda suddenly.

"No harm, just for once," said Norton. "She would let you, if she was here, I know."

"But she isn't here, and I don't like to do it, Norton."

"I have ordered it. You'll have to take it," said Norton. "Judy takes it every night, and her mother does not wish her to have any."

"What then?" said Matilda.

"Nothing; only that you two are not much alike."

"David don't look at me any more, since last week," said Matilda. "Do you suppose he never will again?"

"No hurt if he don't," said Norton. "He has _my_ leave. Well, Pink, what are you going to get?"

"I don't know a bit, Norton--except one or two things. I am certain of nothing else but just one or two."

"I am going to get that ring for mamma; that's fixed. The one with that pale malachite. Grandmamma is disposed of. Then for aunt Judy a box of French bon-bons. I think I'll give Davy a standish--I haven't picked it out yet; but I don't know about Judy. It's hard to please her, I never did but once."

"Then I shall not," said Matilda.

"And it doesn't matter, either. Here's your coffee, Pink; and here's mine."

But after a little struggle with herself, Matilda pushed her cup as far away as she could, and drew the gla.s.s of ice-water up to her plate instead. The dinner was good enough, even so; and Norton called for ice-cream and fruit afterward. And all the time they consulted over their Christmas work, which made it wonderfully relishing. It was curious to see how other people too were evidently thinking of Christmas. Here there was a brown paper parcel; there somebody had an armful; crowds came to get their luncheon or dinner, as Norton and Matilda were doing; stowed their packages on the chair or sofa beside them and refitted themselves for more shop-going. All sorts of people,--and all sorts of lunches! Some had soup and steak and tartlets; some had coffee and m.u.f.fins; some had oysters and ale; some took cups of tea and an omelet. It was as good to see what was going on, as to take her own part in it, almost, to Matilda; and yet her own part was very satisfactory. They went home only to order the horses and go to drive in the Park; Norton and she alone. It was a long afternoon of enchantment. The place, and the people, and the horses and the equipages; and the strange animals; and the lake and its boats; everything was a delight, and Norton had as much pleasure as he expected in seeing Matilda's enjoyment and answering her questions.

"Norton," said the little girl at length, "I don't believe anybody here is having such a good time as we are."

"Why?" said Norton.

"They don't look so."

"You can't tell about people from their looks."

"Can't you? But I am sure you can, Norton, partly. People don't look stupid when they feel bright, do they?"

Norton laughed a good deal at this. "But then, Pink," he remarked, "you must remember people are used to it. You have never seen it before, you know, and it's all fresh and new. It's an old story to them."

"Does everything grow to be an old story?" said Matilda rather thoughtfully.

"I suppose so," said Norton. "That makes people always hunting up new things."

Matilda wondered silently whether it was indeed so with _everything_.

Would her new dresses come to be an old story too, and she lose her pleasure in them? Could the Park? could the flowers?

"Norton," she broke out, "there are _some_ things that never grow to be an old story. Flowers don't."

"Flowers--no, they don't," said Norton; "that's a fact. But then, they're always new, Pink. They don't last. They are always coming up new; that's the beauty of them."

"I do not think _that_ is the beauty of them," Matilda answered slowly.

"Well, you'd get tired of them if they didn't," said Norton.

"Do people get tired of coming here?" Matilda asked again, as her eye roved over the gay procession of carriages which just then they could trace along several turns in the road before them.

"I suppose so," said Norton. "Why not?"

"I do not see how they ever could. Why it's beautiful, Norton! And the air is so sweet."

"I never know how the air is."

"Don't you! But then you lose a great deal that I don't lose. I am smelling it all the while. Are there any flowers here in summer time?"

"Lots."

"It must be lovely then. Norton, it must be nice to come here and walk."

"Walking is stupid," said Norton. "I can't see any use in walking, except to get to a place."

"Norton, do you see a boy yonder, coming towards us, on a black pony?"

"I see him."

"It looks so like David Bartholomew."

"You'll see why, in another minute. It's himself."

"I didn't know he rode in the Park too," said Matilda, as David pa.s.sed them with a bow.

"Everybody rides in the Park--or drives."

"That is what we are doing?"

"Exactly."

"I should think it was pleasant to ride on horseback."

"This is better," said Norton.

"I wonder whether David will ever look pleasant at me again."