“You don’t know what she may have in her power,” said Verna, with a curious enjoyment of the picture she was about to draw. “She may be able to do everything for you, or perhaps nothing; how can we tell? But in the meantime it is better to have her good opinion. Do as I told you; talk as little as you can, and look as pitiful as you please. Probably we shall have to go to the funeral; or if not to the funeral--we can say you are not well enough--at least to the reading of the will, and that will be very important. Nobody can expect you to do anything but cry. Whatever you may hear, Matty, for God’s sake don’t commit yourself to say anything. Leave it all to me. It will save you ever so much trouble, and you may be sure it will succeed better. You know you are not so quick as I am; you are a great deal prettier, but not so quick. Now do promise, there’s a darling. Take your best handkerchief, and tie your cap well round your face, and cry all the time; not noisily, but in a nice ladylike way. It will have the very best effect; and if you promise, it will leave my mind quite easy, and I can give my attention to what is going on. Now, Matty dear, won’t you do as much as this for Tommy’s sake and for me?” “Is the funeral to be to-morrow?” said Matilda, putting off the formality of the promise. “Why, I tell you again this is not India, you silly child,” said Verna. “It will not be, I suppose, till this day week, and there will be hosts of people. I shall have quantities to do without looking after you. Now promise, Matty! If you don’t, I can’t answer for what may happen; they may send you back to papa--” “I will do whatever is best,” said Matilda, moved by this horrible threat. “Tell me what is best, and I will do it. Oh, they never could think of that! They must give me so much a year at least, and some place to live in. I could not go back to papa to be snubbed and treated like a baby, and hear the dear children sworn at, and never dare venture to speak to anyone. I would rather die.” “If you are good, and do what I tell you, it will never happen,” said Verna, kissing her. “I have a great deal in my head, Matty. I have heard something--but never you mind. I will tell you when I have found it all out. I should not wonder if we were to be very well off, and never to require to do anything after this but please ourselves. Hush! don’t agitate yourself. You can’t think what a deal I have to think of; but we shall know all about it when the funeral is over, and how it is all to be.”