had the choice, whether I would appear before the Master in the train of the _unbelieving_ Mrs. Morgenstern or that of the _believing_ Mrs. Worboise. And as to self-righteousness, I think there is far less of that among those who regard the works of righteousness as the means of salvation, than among those by whom faith itself is degraded into a work of merit--a condition by fulfilling which they become fit for God's mercy; for such is the trick which the old Adam and the Enemy together are ready enough to play the most orthodox, in despite of the purity of their creed. CHAPTER XIII. MATTIE'S MICROCOSM. Although Mrs. Boxall, senior, was still far from well, yet when the morning of Mrs. Morgenstern's gathering dawned, lovely even in the midst of London, and the first sun-rays, with green tinges and rosy odors hanging about their golden edges, stole into her room, reminding her of the old paddock and the feeding cows at Bucks Horton, in Buckingham, she resolved that Lucy should go to Mrs. Morgenstern's. So the good old lady set herself to feel better, in order that she might be better, and by the time Lucy, who had slept in the same room with her grandmother since her illness, awoke, she was prepared to persuade her that she was quite well enough to let her have a holiday. "But how am I to leave you, grannie, all alone?" objected Lucy. "Oh! I dare say that queer little Mattie of yours will come in and keep me company. Make haste and get your clothes on, and go and see." Now Lucy had had hopes of inducing Mattie to go with her; as I indicated in a previous chapter; but she could not press the child after the reason she gave for not going. And now she might as well ask her to stay with her grandmother. So she went round the corner to Mr. Kitely's shop, glancing up at Mr. Spelt's nest in the wall as she passed, to see whether she was not there. When she entered the wilderness of books she saw no one; but peeping round one of the many screens, she spied Mattie sitting with her back toward her and her head bent downward. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that she had a large folding plate of the funeral of Lord Nelson open before her, the black shapes of which, with their infernal horror of plumes--the hateful flowers that the buried seeds of ancient paganism still shoot up into the pleasant Christian fields--she was studying with an unaccountable absorption of interest. "What _have_ you got there Mattie?" asked Lucy. "Well, I don't ezackly know, miss," answered the child, looking up, very white-faced and serious. "Put the book away and come and see grannie. She wants you to take care of her to-day, while I go out." "Well, miss, I would with pleasure; but you see father is gone out, and has left me to take care of the shop till he comes back." "But he won't be gone a great while, will he?" "No, miss. He knows I don't like to be left too long with the books. He'll be back before St. Jacob's strikes nine--that I know."