{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_35983/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_35983","id":"gutenberg_35983","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35983","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Children -- Death -- Juvenile fiction","Children's accidents -- Juvenile fiction","Christian life -- Juvenile fiction","Poverty -- Juvenile fiction","Siblings -- Juvenile fiction","Temperance -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"\n\n\n\nProduced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n LITTLE NETTIE.\n\n [Illustration: MR. MATHIESON STALKED OUT OF THE HOUSE AND STRODE\n ALONG THE ROAD.]\n\n\n\n\n LITTLE NETTIE;\n\n OR,\n HOME SUNSHINE.\n\n\n BY THE AUTHOR OF \"THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD,\"\n ETC., ETC.\n\n\n LONDON:\n FREDERICK WARNE & CO.\n AND NEW YORK.\n\n\n\n\n CONTENTS.\n\n CHAPTER PAGE\n\n I.--_Saturday Evening's Work_ 5\n\n II.--_Sunday's Rest_ 23\n\n III.--_Nettie's Garret_ 57\n\n IV.--_The Brown Cloak in November_ 67\n\n V.--_The New Blanket_ 77\n\n VI.--_The House-Raising_ 88\n\n VII.--_The Waffles_ 97\n\n VIII.--_The Golden City_ 115\n\n\n\n\nLITTLE NETTIE;\n\nOR,\n\nHOME SUNSHINE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n_SATURDAY EVENING'S WORK._\n\n \"Tender and only beloved in the sight of my mother.\"--\n _Prov._ iv. 3.\n\n\nDown in a little hollow, with the sides grown full of wild thorn, alder\nbushes, and stunted cedars, ran the stream of a clear spring. It ran\nover a bed of pebbly stones, showing every one, as if there had been no\nwater there, so clear it was; and it ran with a sweet soft murmur or\ngurgle over the stones, as if singing to itself and the bushes as it\nran.\n\nOn one side of the little stream a worn footpath took its course among\nthe bushes; and down this path, one summer's afternoon, came a woman\nand a girl. They had pails to fill at the spring: the woman had a large\nwooden one and the girl a light tin pail; and they drew the water with\na little tin dipper, for it was not deep enough to let a pail be used\nfor that. The pails were filled in silence, only the spring always was\nsinging; and the woman and girl turned and went up the path again.\nAfter getting up the bank, which was only a few feet, the path still\nwent gently rising through a wild bit of ground, full of trees and low\nbushes; and not far off, through the trees, there came a gleam of bright\nlight from the window of a house on which the setting sun was shining.\nHalf-way to the house the girl and the woman stopped to rest; for water\nis heavy, and the tin pail, which was so light before it was filled, had\nmade the little girl's figure bend over to one side like a willow branch\nall the way from the spring. They stopped to rest, and even the woman\nhad a very weary, jaded look.\n\n\"I feel as if I shall give up some of these days,\" she exclaimed.\n\n\"Oh, no, mother!\" the little girl answered, cheerfully. She was panting,\nwith her hand on her side, and her face had a quiet, very sober look;\nonly at those words a little pleasant smile broke over it.\n\n\"I shall,\" said the woman. \"One can't stand everything,--for ever.\"\n\nThe little girl had not got over panting yet, but standing there, she\nstruck up the sweet air and words,--\n\n \"'There is rest for the weary,\n There is rest for the weary,\n There is rest for the weary,\n There is rest for you.'\"\n\n\"Yes, in the grave!\" said the woman bitterly. \"There's no rest short of\nthat--for mind or body.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, mother dear. 'For we which have believed do enter into rest.'\nThe Lord Jesus don't make us wait.\"\n\n\"I believe you eat the Bible and sleep on the Bible,\" said the woman,\nwith a faint smile, taking at the same time a corner of her apron to\nwipe away a stray tear which had gathered in her eye. \"I am glad it\nrests you, Nettie.\"\n\n\"And you, mother.\"\n\n\"Sometimes,\" Mrs. Mathieson answered with a sigh. \"But there's your\nfather going to bring home a boarder, Nettie.\"\n\n\"A boarder, mother!--What for?\"\n\n\"Heaven knows!--if it isn't to break my back and my heart together. I\nthought I had enough to manage before, but here's this man coming, and\nI've got to get everything ready for him by to-morrow night.\"\n\n\"Who is it, mother?\"\n\n\"It's one of your father's friends; so it's no good,\" said Mrs.\nMathieson.\n\n\"But where can he sleep?\" Nettie asked, after a moment of thinking.\n\nHer mother paused.\n\n\"There's no room but yours he can have. Barry won't be moved.\"\n\n\"Where shall I sleep, mother?\"\n\n\"There's no place but up in the attic. I'll see what I can do to fit up\na corner for you--if I ever can get time,\" said Mrs. Mathieson, taking\nup her pail. Nettie followed her example, and certainly did not smile\nagain till they reached the house. They went round to the front door,\nbecause the back door belonged to another family. At the door, as they\nset down their pails again before mounting the stairs, Nettie smiled at\nher mother very placidly, and said,\n\n\"Don't you go to fit up the attic, mother; I'll see to it in time. I can\ndo it just as well.\"\n\nMrs. Mathieson made no answer, but groaned internally, and they went up\nthe flight of steps which led to their part of the house. The ground\nfloor was occupied by somebody else. A little entry-way received the\nwooden pail of water, and with the tin one Nettie went into the room\nused by the family. It was her father and mother's sleeping-room, their\nbed standing in one corner. It was the kitchen apparently, for a small\ncooking-stove was there, on which Nettie put the tea-kettle when she\nhad filled it. And it was the common living-room also; for the next\nthing she did was to open a cupboard and take out cups and saucers,\nand arrange them on a leaf table which stood toward one end of the room.\nThe furniture was wooden and plain; the woodwork of the windows was\nunpainted; the cups and plates were of the commonest kind; and the floor\nhad no covering but two strips of rag carpeting; nevertheless the whole\nwas tidy and very clean, showing constant care. Mrs. Mathieson had sunk\ninto a chair as one who had no spirit to do anything, and watched her\nlittle daughter setting the table with eyes which seemed not to see her.\nThey gazed inwardly at something she was thinking of.\n\n\"Mother, what is there for supper?\"\n\n\"There is nothing. I must make some porridge.\" And Mrs. Mathieson got up\nfrom her chair.\n\n\"Sit you still, mother, and I'll make it. I can.\"\n\n\"If both our backs are to be broken,\" said Mrs. Mathieson, \"I'd rather\nmine would break first.\" And she went on with her preparations.\n\n\"But you don't like porridge,\" said Nettie. \"You didn't eat anything\nlast night.\"\n\n\"That's nothing, child. I can bear an empty stomach, if only my brain\nwasn't quite so full.\"\n\nNettie drew near the stove and looked on, a little sorrowfully.\n\n\"I wish you had something you liked, mother! If only I was a little\nolder, wouldn't it be nice? I could earn something then, and I would\nbring you home things that you liked out of my own money.\"\n\nThis was not said sorrowfully, but with a bright gleam as of some\nfancied and pleasant possibility. The gleam was so catching, Mrs.\nMathieson turned from her porridge-pot, which she was stirring, to give\na very heartfelt kiss to Nettie's lips; then she stirred on, and the\nshadow came over her face again.\n\n\"Dear,\" she said, \"just go in Barry's room and straighten it up a little\nbefore he comes in--will you? I haven't had a minute to do it, all day;\nand there won't be a bit of peace if he comes in and it isn't in order.\"\n\nNettie turned and opened another door, which let her into a small\nchamber used as somebody's bed-room. It was all brown like the other,\na strip of the same carpet in the middle of the floor, and a small\ncheap chest of drawers, and a table. The bed had not been made up, and\nthe tossed condition of the bed-clothes spoke for the strength and\nenergy of the person that used them, whoever he was. A pair of coarse\nshoes were in the middle of the whole; another pair, or rather a\npair of half-boots, out at the toes, were in the middle of the floor;\nstockings,--one under the bed and one under the table. On the table was\na heap of confusion; and on the little bureau were to be seen pieces\nof wood, half-cut and uncut, with shavings, and the knife and saw that\nhad made them. Old newspapers, and school-books, and a slate, and two\nkites, with no end of tails, were lying over every part of the room that\nhappened to be convenient; also an ink-bottle and pens, with chalk and\nresin and a medley of unimaginable things beside, that only boys can\ncollect together and find delight in. If Nettie sighed as all this\nhurly-burly met her eye, it was only an internal sigh. She set about\npatiently bringing things to order. First she made the bed, which it\ntook all her strength to do, for the coverlets were of a very heavy\nand coarse manufacture of cotton and woollen mixed, blue and white; and\nthen gradually she found a way to bestow the various articles in Barry's\napartment, so that things looked neat and comfortable. But perhaps it\nwas a little bit of a sign of Nettie's feelings, that she began softly\nto sing to herself,--\n\n \"'There is rest for the weary.'\"\n\n\"Hallo!\" burst in a rude boy of some fifteen years, opening the door\nfrom the entry,--\"who's puttin' my room to rights?\"\n\nA very gentle voice said, \"I've done it, Barry.\"\n\n\"What have you done with that pine log?\"\n\n\"Here it is,--in the corner behind the bureau.\"\n\n\"Don't you touch it, now, to take it for your fire,--mind, Nettie!\nWhere's my kite?\"\n\n\"You won't have time to fly it now, Barry; supper will be ready in two\nminutes.\"\n\n\"What have you got?\"\n\n\"The same kind we had last night.\"\n\n\"_I_ don't care for supper.\" Barry was getting the tail of his kite\ntogether.\n\n\"But please, Barry, come now; because it will give mother so much more\ntrouble if you don't. She has the things to clear away after you're\ndone, you know.\"\n\n\"Trouble! so much talk about trouble! _I_ don't mind trouble. I don't\nwant any supper, I tell you.\"\n\nNettie knew well enough he would want it by-and-bye, but there was no\nuse in saying anything more, and she said nothing. Barry got his kite\ntogether and went off. Then came a heavier step on the stairs, which\nshe knew; and she hastily went into the other room to see that all was\nready. The tea was made, and Mrs. Mathieson put the smoking dish of\nporridge on the table, just as the door opened and a man came in--a\ntall, burly, strong man, with a face that would have been a good face\nenough if its expression had been different and if its hue had not been\nthat of a purplish-red flush. He came to the table and silently sat down\nas he took a survey of what was on it.\n\n\"Give me a cup of tea! Have you got no bread, Sophia?\"\n\n\"Nothing but what you see. I hoped you would bring home some money, Mr.\nMathieson. I have neither milk nor bread; it's a mercy there's sugar. I\ndon't know what you expect a lodger to live on.\"\n\n\"Live on his board,--that'll give you enough. But you want something to\nbegin with. I'd go out and get one or two things--but I'm so confoundedly\ntired, I can't.\"\n\nMrs. Mathieson, without a word, put on a shawl and went to the closet\nfor her bonnet.\n\n\"I'll go, mother! Let me go, please. I want to go,\" exclaimed Nettie,\neagerly. \"I can get it. What shall I get, father?\"\n\nSlowly and weariedly the mother laid off her things; as quickly the\nchild put hers on.\n\n\"What shall I get, father?\"\n\n\"Well, you can go down the street to Jackson's, and get what your mother\nwants: some milk and bread; and then you'd better fetch seven pounds of\nmeal and a quart of treacle. And ask him to give you a nice piece of\npork out of his barrel.\"\n\n\"She can't bring all that!\" exclaimed the mother; \"you'd better go\nyourself, Mr. Mathieson. That would be a great deal more than the child\ncan carry, or I either.\"\n\n\"Then I'll go twice, mother: it isn't far; I'd like to go. I'll get it.\nPlease give me the money, father.\"\n\nHe cursed and swore at her for answer. \"Go along, and do as you are bid,\nwithout all this chaffering! Go to Jackson's, and tell him you want the\nthings, and I'll give him the money to-morrow. He knows me.\"\n\nNettie knew he did, and stood her ground.\n\nHer father was just enough in liquor to be a little thick-headed and\nfoolish.\n\n\"You know I can't go without the money, father,\" she said, gently; \"and\nto-morrow is Sunday.\"\n\nHe cursed Sunday and swore again, but finally put his hand in his pocket\nand threw some money across the table to her. He was just in a state not\nto be careful what he did, and he threw her crown-pieces where, if he\nhad been quite himself, he would have given shillings. Nettie took them\nwithout any remark, and her basket, and went out.\n\nIt was just sundown. The village lay glittering in the light that would\nbe gone in a few minutes; and up on the hill the white church, standing\nhigh, showed all bright in the sun-beams, from its sparkling vane at the\ntop of the spire down to the lowest step at the door. Nettie's home was\nin a branch road, a few steps from the main street of the village, that\nled up to the church at one end of it. All along that street the sunlight\nlay, on the grass, and the roadway, and the side-walks, and the tops of\na few elm trees. The street was empty; it was most people's supper-time.\nNettie turned the corner and went down the village. She went slowly: her\nlittle feet were already tired with the work they had done that day, and\nback and arms and head all seemed tired too. But Nettie never thought it\nhard that her mother did not go instead of letting her go; she knew her\nmother could not bear to be seen in the village in the old shabby gown\nand shawl she wore; for Mrs. Mathieson had seen better days. And besides\nthat, she would be busy enough as it was, and till a late hour, this\nSaturday night. Nettie's gown was shabby too--yes, very shabby, compared\nwith that almost every other child in the village wore; yet somehow\nNettie was not ashamed. She did not think of it now, as her slow steps\ntook her down the village street; she was thinking what she should do\nabout the money. Her father had given her two or three times as much,\nshe knew, as he meant her to spend; he was a good workman, and had just\ngot in his week's wages. What should Nettie do? Might she keep and give\nto her mother what was over? it was, and would be, so much wanted! and\nfrom her father they could never get it again. He had his own ways of\ndisposing of what he earned, and very little indeed went to the wants of\nhis wife and daughter. What might Nettie do! She pondered, swinging her\nbasket in her hand, till she reached a corner where the village street\nturned off again, and where the store of Mr. Jackson stood. There she\nfound Barry bargaining for some things he at least had money for.\n\n\"Oh, Barry, how good!\" exclaimed Nettie; \"you can help me carry my\nthings home.\"\n\n\"I'll know the reason first, though,\" answered Barry. \"What are you\ngoing to get?\"\n\n\"Father wants a bag of corn-meal, and a piece of pork, and some treacle;\nand you know I can't carry them all, Barry. I've got to get bread and\nmilk besides.\"\n\n\"Hurrah!\" said Barry; \"now we'll have fried cakes! I'll tell you what\nI'll do, Nettie--I'll take home the treacle, if you'll make me some\nto-night for supper.\"\n\n\"Oh, I can't, Barry! I've got so much else to do, and it's Saturday\nnight.\"\n\n\"Very good--get your things home yourself, then.\"\n\nBarry turned away, and Nettie made her bargains. He still stood by,\nhowever, and watched her. When the pork and the meal and the treacle\nwere bestowed in the basket, it was so heavy she could not manage to\ncarry it. How many journeys to and fro would it cost her?\n\n\"Barry,\" she said, \"you take this home for me, and if mother says so,\nI'll make you the cakes.\"\n\n\"Be quick, then,\" said her brother, shouldering the basket, \"for I'm\ngetting hungry.\"\n\nNettie went a few steps farther on the main road of the village, which\nwas little besides one long street, and not very long either, and went\nin at the door of a very little dwelling, neat and tidy like all the\nrest. It admitted her to the tiniest morsel of a shop--at least there\nwas a long table there which seemed to do duty as a counter; and\nbefore, not behind it, sat a spruce little woman sewing. She jumped up\nas Nettie entered. By the becoming smartness of her calico dress and\nwhite collar, the beautiful order of her hair, and a certain peculiarity\nof feature, you might know before she spoke that the little baker was a\nFrenchwoman. She spoke English quite well, but rather slowly.\n\n\"I want two loaves of bread, Mrs. August, and a pint of milk, if you\nplease.\"\n\n\"How will you carry them, my child? you cannot take them all at the\ntime.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, I can,\" said Nettie, cheerfully. \"I can manage. They are not\nheavy.\"\n\n\"No, I hope not,\" said the Frenchwoman; \"it is not heavy, my bread! but\ntwo loaves are not one, no more. Is your mother well?\"\n\nShe then set busily about wrapping the loaves in paper and measuring out\nthe milk. Nettie answered, her mother was well.\n\n\"And you?\" said the little woman, looking at her sideways. \"Somebody is\ntired this evening.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Nettie, brightly; \"but I don't mind. One must be tired\nsometimes. Thank you, ma'am.\"\n\nThe woman had put the loaves and the milk carefully in her arms and in\nher hands, so that she could carry them, and looked after her as she\nwent up the street.\n\n\"One must be tired sometimes!\" said she to herself, with a turn of her\ncapable little head. \"I should like to hear her say 'One must be rested\nsometimes;' but I do not hear that.\"\n\nSo perhaps Nettie thought, as she went homeward. It would have been very\nnatural. Now the sun was down, the bright gleam was off the village; the\nsoft shades of evening were gathering, and lights twinkled in windows.\nNettie walked very slowly, her arms full of the bread. Perhaps she\nwished her Saturday's work was all done, like other people's. All I can\ntell you is, that as she went along through the quiet deserted street,\nall alone, she broke out softly singing to herself the words,--\n\n \"No need of the sun in that day\n Which never is followed by night;\"\n\nand that when she got home she ran upstairs quite briskly, and came in\nwith a very placid face, and told her mother she had had a pleasant\nwalk--which was perfectly true.\n\n\"God bless you, child!\" said her mother; \"you are the very rose of my\nheart!\"\n\nThere was only time for this little dialogue, for which Mr. Mathieson's\nslumbers had given a chance. But then Barry entered, and noisily claimed\nNettie's promise. And without a cloud crossing her sweet brow, she made\nthe cakes, and baked them on the stove, and served Barry until he had\nenough; nor ever said how weary she was of being on her feet. There were\nmore cakes left, and Mrs. Mathieson saw to it that Nettie sat down and\nate them; and then sent her off to bed, without suffering her to do\nanything more; though Nettie pleaded to be allowed to clear away the\ndishes. Mrs. Mathieson did that, and then sat down to darns and patches\non various articles of clothing, till the old clock of the church on the\nhill tolled out solemnly the hour of twelve all over the village.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n_SUNDAY'S REST._\n\n \"This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice\n and be glad in it.\"--_Psalm_ cxviii, 24.\n\n\nNettie's room was the only room on that floor besides her mother's and\nBarry's. It was at the back of the house, with a pleasant look-out over\nthe trees and bushes between it and the spring. Over these the view went\nto distant hills and fields, that always looked pretty in all sorts of\nlights, Nettie thought. Besides that, it was a clean, neat little room;\nbare, to be sure, without even Barry's strip of rag carpet; but on a\nlittle black table lay Nettie's Bible and Sunday-school books; and each\nwindow had a chair; and a chest of drawers held all her little wardrobe\nand a great deal of room to spare besides; and the cot-bed in one\ncorner was nicely made up. It was a very comfortable-looking room to\nNettie.\n\n\"So this is the last night I shall sleep here!\" she thought as she went\nin. \"To-morrow I must go up to the attic. Well, I can pray there just\nthe same; and God will be with me there just the same.\"\n\nIt was a comfort; but it was the only one Nettie could think of in\nconnection with her removal. The attic was no room, but only a little\ngarret used as a lumber-place; not boarded up nor plastered at all;\nnothing but the beams and the side boarding for the walls, and nothing\nbut the rafters and the shingles between it and the sky. Besides which,\nit was full of lumber of one sort and another. How Nettie was to move up\nthere the next day, being Sunday, she could not imagine; but she was so\ntired that as soon as her head touched her pillow she fell asleep, and\nforgot to think about it.\n\nThe next thing was the bright morning light rousing her, and the joyful\nthought that it was Sunday morning. A beautiful day it was. The eastern\nlight was shining over upon Nettie's distant hills with all sorts of\nfresh, lovely colours, and promise of what the coming hours would bring.\nNettie looked at them lovingly, for she was very fond of them, and had a\ngreat many thoughts about those hills. \"As the mountains are round about\nJerusalem, so the Lord is round about His people;\"--that was one thing\nthey made her think of. She thought of it now as she was dressing, and\nit gave her the feeling of being surrounded with a mighty and strong\nprotection on every side. It made Nettie's heart curiously glad, and her\ntongue speak joyful things; for when she knelt down to pray she was full\nof thanksgiving.\n\nThe next thing was that, taking her tin pail, Nettie set off down to the\nspring to get water to boil her kettle. It was so sweet and pleasant--no\nother spring could supply nicer water. The dew brushed from the bushes\nand grass as she went by; and from every green thing there went up a\nfresh dewy smell, that was reviving. The breath of the summer wind,\nmoving gently, touched her cheek and fluttered her hair, and said God\nhad given a beautiful day to the world; and Nettie thanked Him in her\nheart, and went on rejoicing. Sunday was Nettie's holiday, and Sunday\nschool and church were her delight. And though she went in all weathers,\nand nothing would keep her, yet sunshine is sunshine, and she felt so\nthis morning. So she gaily filled her pail at the spring and trudged\nback with it to the house. The next thing was to tap at her mother's\ndoor.\n\nMrs. Mathieson opened it, in her night-gown; she was just up, and looked\nas if her night's sleep had been all too short for her.\n\n\"Why, Nettie! is it late?\" she said, as Nettie and the tin pail came in.\n\n\"No, mother; it's just good time. You get dressed, and I'll make the\nfire ready. It's beautiful out, mother!\"\n\nMrs. Mathieson made no answer, and Nettie went to work with the fire.\nIt was an easy matter to put in some paper and kindle the light wood;\nand when the kettle was on, Nettie went round the room, softly setting\nit to rights as well as she could; then glanced at her father, still\nsleeping.\n\n\"I can't set the table yet, mother.\"\n\n\"No, child; go off, and I'll see to the rest.--If I can get folks up, at\nleast,\" said Mrs. Mathieson, somewhat despondingly.\n\nSunday morning that was a doubtful business, she and Nettie knew. Nettie\nwent to her own room to carry out a plan she had. If she could manage\nto get her things conveyed up to the attic without her mother knowing\nit, just so much labour and trouble would be spared her, and her mother\nmight have a better chance of some rest that day. Little enough, with a\nlodger coming that evening! To get her things up there,--that was all\nNettie would do to-day; but that must be done. The steep stairs to the\nattic went up from the entry-way, just outside of Nettie's door. She\nwent up the first time to see what room there was to bestow anything.\n\nThe little garret was strewn all over with things carelessly thrown in\nmerely to get them out of the way. There was a small shutter window in\neach gable. One was open, just revealing the utter confusion, but half\nshowing the dust that lay on everything. The other window, the back\none, was fairly shut up by a great heap of boxes and barrels piled\nagainst it. In no part was there a clear space or a hopeful opening.\nNettie stood aghast for some moments, not knowing what to do. \"But if\nI don't, mother will have to do it,\" she thought. It nerved her little\narm, and one thought of her invisible Protector nerved her heart, which\nhad sunk at first coming up. Softly she moved and began her operations,\nlest her mother downstairs should hear and find out what she was about\nbefore it was done. Sunday too! But there was no help for it.\n\nNotwithstanding the pile of boxes, she resolved to begin at the end with\nthe closed window; for near the other there were things she could not\nmove: an old stove, a wheelbarrow, a box of heavy iron tools, and some\nbags of charcoal, and other matters. By a little pushing and coaxing,\nNettie made a place for the boxes, and then began her task of removing\nthem. One by one, painfully, for some were unwieldy and some were\nweighty, they travelled across in Nettie's arms, or were shoved and\nturned over and across the floor, from the window to a snug position\nunder the eaves, where she stowed them. Barry would have been a good\nhand at this business, not to speak of his father; but Nettie knew there\nwas no help to be expected from either of them, and the very thought of\nthem did not come into her head. Mr. Mathieson, provided he worked at\nhis trade, thought the \"women folks\" might look after the house; Barry\nconsidered that when he had got through the heavy labours of school,\nhe had done his part of the world's work. So Nettie toiled on with her\nboxes and barrels. They scratched her arms; they covered her clean face\nwith dust; they tried her strength; but every effort saved one to her\nmother, and Nettie never stopped except to gather breath and rest.\n\nThe last thing of all under the window was a great old chest. Nettie\ncould not move it, and she thought it might stay there very conveniently\nfor a seat. All the rest of the pile she cleared away, and then opened\nthe window. There was no sash--nothing but a wooden shutter fastened\nwith a hook. Nettie threw it open. There, to her great joy, behold, she\nhad the very same view of her hills, all shining in the sun now. Only\nthis window was higher than her old one and lifted her up more above the\ntops of the trees, and gave a better and clearer and wider view of the\ndistant open country she liked so much. Nettie was greatly delighted,\nand refreshed herself with a good look out and a breath of fresh air\nbefore she began her labours again. That gave the dust a little chance\nto settle too.\n\nThere was a good deal to do yet before she could have a place clear for\nher bed, not to speak of anything more. However, it was done at last,\nthe floor brushed up, all ready, and the top of the chest wiped clean;\nand next Nettie set about bringing all her things up the stairs and\nsetting them here, where she could. Her clothes, her little bit of a\nlooking-glass, her Bible and books and slate, even her little washstand,\nshe managed to lug up to the attic, with many a journey and much pains.\nBut it was about done before her mother called her to breakfast. The two\nlagging members of the family had been roused at last, and were seated\nat the table.\n\n\"Why, what have you been doing, child? how you look!\" said Mrs.\nMathieson.\n\n\"How do I look?\" said Nettie.\n\n\"Queer enough,\" said her father.\n\nNettie laughed, and hastened to another subject: she knew if they got\nupon this there would be some disagreeable words before it was over. She\nhad made up her mind what to do, and now handed her father the money\nremaining from her purchases.\n\n\"You gave me too much, father, last night,\" she said, simply; \"here is\nthe rest.\"\n\nMr. Mathieson took it and looked at it.\n\n\"Did I give you all this?\"\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\n\"Did you pay for what you got, besides?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nHe muttered something which was very like an oath in his throat, and\nlooked at his little daughter, who was quietly eating her breakfast.\nSomething touched him unwontedly.\n\n\"You're an honest little girl,\" he said. \"There! you may have that for\nyourself.\" And he tossed her a shilling.\n\nYou could see, by a little streak of pink colour down each of Nettie's\ncheeks, that some great thought of pleasure had started into her mind.\n\"For myself, father?\" she repeated.\n\n\"All for yourself,\" said Mr. Mathieson, buttoning up his money with a\nvery satisfied air.\n\nNettie said no more, only ate her breakfast a little quicker after that.\nIt was time, too; for the late hours of some of the family always made\nher in a hurry about getting to Sunday school; and the minute Nettie\nhad done, she got her bonnet--her Sunday bonnet--the best she had to\nwear--and set off. Mrs. Mathieson never let her wait for anything at\nhome _that_ morning.\n\nThis was Nettie's happy time. It never troubled her that she had nothing\nbut a sun-bonnet of white muslin, nicely starched and ironed, while\nalmost all the other girls that came to the school had little straw\nbonnets trimmed with blue and pink, and yellow and green ribbons; and\nsome of them wore silk bonnets. Nettie did not even think of it; she\nloved her Sunday lesson, and her Bible, and her teacher, so much; and it\nwas such a pleasant time when she went to enjoy them all together. It\nwas only a little way she had to go, for the road where Mrs. Mathieson\nlived, after running down a little farther from the village, met another\nroad which turned right up the hill to the church; or Nettie could\ntake the other way, to the main village street, and straight up that.\nGenerally she chose the forked way, because it was the emptiest.\n\nNettie's class in the Sunday school was of ten little girls about her\nown age; and their teacher was a very pleasant and kind gentleman,\nnamed Mr. Folke. Nettie loved him dearly; she would do anything that Mr.\nFolke told her to do. Their teacher was very apt to give the children a\nquestion to answer from the Bible, for which they had to look out texts\nduring the week. This week the question was, \"Who are happy?\" and Nettie\nwas very eager to know what answers the other girls would bring. She\nwas in good time, and sat resting and watching the boys and girls and\nteachers as they came in, before the school began. She was first there\nof all her class; and she watched so eagerly to see those who were\ncoming, that she did not know Mr. Folke was near till he spoke to her.\nNettie started and turned.\n\n\"How do you do?\" said her teacher, kindly. \"Are you quite well, Nettie,\nthis morning?\" For he thought she looked pale and tired. But her face\ncoloured with pleasure, and a smile shone all over it, as she told him\nshe was very well.\n\n\"Have you found out who are the happy people, Nettie?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Folke; I have found a verse. But I knew before.\"\n\n\"I thought you did. Who are they, Nettie?\"\n\n\"Those who love Jesus, sir.\"\n\n\"Ay. In the Christian armour, you know, the feet are 'shod with the\npreparation of the Gospel of peace.' With the love of Jesus in our\nhearts, our feet can go over rough ways and hardly feel that they are\nrough. Do you find it so?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, sir!\"\n\nHe said no more, for others of the class now came up; and Nettie\nwondered how he knew, or if he knew, that she had a rough way to go\nover. But his words were a help and comfort to her. So was the whole\nlesson that day. The verses about the happy people were beautiful. The\nseven girls who sat on one side of Nettie repeated the blessings told\nof in the fifth chapter of St. Matthew, about the poor in spirit, the\nmourners, the meek, those that hunger and thirst after righteousness,\nthe merciful, the pure in heart, and the peacemakers. Then came Nettie's\nverse. It was this:\n\n\"Happy is he that hath the God of Jacob for his help, whose hope is in\nthe Lord his God.\"\n\nThe next girl gave the words of Jesus, \"If ye know these things, happy\nare ye if ye do them.\"\n\nThe last gave \"Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin\nis covered.\"\n\nThen came Mr. Folke's verse, and Netty thought it was the most beautiful\nof all.\n\n\"Blessed are they that do His commandments, that they may have right to\nthe tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the city.\"\n\nThen Mr. Folke talked about that city--its streets of gold, and the\ngates of pearl, through which nothing that defileth can by any means\nenter. He told how Jesus will make His people happy there; how they will\nbe with Him, and all their tears wiped away. And Jesus will be their\nShepherd; His sheep will not wander from Him any more; \"and they shall\nsee His face, and His name shall be in their foreheads.\"\n\nFrom school they went to church, of course. A strange clergyman preached\nthat day, and Nettie could not understand him always; but the words of\nthe hymn and Mr. Folke's words ran in her head then, and she was very\nhappy all church-time. And as she was walking home, still the tune and\nthe words ran in her ears,--\n\n \"Jesus all the day long\n Is my joy and my song;\n O that all His salvation might see!\"\n\nSo, thinking busily, Nettie got home and ran upstairs. What a change! It\nlooked like a place very, very far from those gates of pearl.\n\nHer mother sat on one side of the stove, not dressed for church, and\nleaning her head on her hand. Mr. Mathieson was on the other side,\ntalking and angry. Barry stood back, playing ball by himself by throwing\nit up and catching it again. The talk stopped at Nettie's entrance. She\nthrew off her bonnet and began to set the table, hoping that would bring\npeace.\n\n\"Your father don't want any dinner,\" said Mrs. Mathieson.\n\n\"Yes, I do!\" thundered her husband; \"but I tell you I'll not take\nanything now; so leave your cooking till supper--when Lumber will be\nhere. Go on, child, and get your work done.\"\n\nThere were no preparations for dinner, and Nettie was at a loss, and did\nnot like to say anything for fear of bringing on a storm. Her mother\nlooked both weary and out of temper. The kettle was boiling, the only\nthing about the room that had a pleasant seeming.\n\n\"Will you have a cup of tea, father?\" said Nettie.\n\n\"Anything you like--yes, a cup of tea will do; and hark ye, child, I\nwant a good stout supper got this afternoon. Your mother don't choose\nto hear me. Mr. Lumber is coming, and I want a good supper to make him\nthink he's got to the right place. Do you hear, Nettie?\"\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\nNettie went on to do the best she could. She warmed the remains of last\nnight's porridge, and gave it to Barry, with treacle, to keep him\nquiet. Meanwhile she had made the tea, and toasted a slice of bread\nvery nicely, though with great pains, for the fire wasn't good; and the\ntoast and a cup of tea she gave to her father. He ate it with an\neagerness which let Nettie know she must make another slice as fast as\npossible.\n\n\"Hallo! Nettie--I say, give us some of that, will you?\" said Barry,\nfinding his porridge poor in taste.\n\n\"Barry, there isn't bread enough--I can't,\" whispered Nettie. \"We've got\nto keep a loaf for supper.\"\n\n\"Eat what you've got, or let it alone!\" thundered Mr. Mathieson, in the\nway he had when he was out of patience, and which always tried Nettie\nexceedingly.\n\n\"She's got more,\" said Barry. \"She's toasting two pieces this minute. I\nwant one.\"\n\n\"I'll knock you over if you say another word,\" said his father.\n\nNettie was frightened, for she saw he meant to have the whole, and she\nhad destined a bit for her mother. However, when she gave her father his\nsecond slice, she ventured, and took the other with a cup of tea to the\nforlorn figure on the other side of the stove. Mrs. Mathieson took only\nthe tea. But Mr. Mathieson's ire was roused afresh. Perhaps toast and\ntea didn't agree with him.\n\n\"Have you got all ready for Mr. Lumber?\" he said, in a tone of voice\nvery unwilling to be pleased.\n\n\"No,\" said his wife,--\"I have had no chance. I have been cooking and\nclearing up all the morning. His room isn't ready.\"\n\n\"Well, you had better get it ready pretty quick. What's to do?\"\n\n\"Everything's to do,\" said Mrs. Mathieson.\n\nHe swore at her. \"Why can't you answer a plain question? I say, _what's_\nto do?\"\n\n\"There's all Nettie's things in the room at present. They are all to\nmove upstairs, and the red bedstead to bring down.\"\n\n\"No, mother,\" said Nettie, gently, \"all my things are upstairs already;\nthere's only the cot and the bed, that I couldn't move.\"\n\nMrs. Mathieson gave no outward sign of the mixed feeling of pain\nand pleasure that shot through her heart. Pleasure at her child's\nthoughtful love, pain that she should have to show it in such a way.\n\n\"When did you do it, Nettie?\"\n\n\"This morning before breakfast, mother. It's all ready, father, if you\nor Barry would take up my cot and the bed, and bring down the other\nbedstead. It's too heavy for me.\"\n\n\"That's what I call doing business and having some spirit,\" said her\nfather. \"Not sitting and letting your work come to you. Here, Nettie,\nI'll do the rest for you.\"\n\nNettie ran with him to show him what was wanted; and Mr. Mathieson's\nstrong arms had it all done very quickly. Nettie eagerly thanked him;\nand then seeing him in good humour with her, she ventured something\nmore.\n\n\"Mother's very tired to-day, father,\" she whispered; \"she'll feel better\nby-and-bye if she has a little rest. Do you think you would mind helping\nme put up this bedstead?\"\n\n\"Well, here goes!\" returned Mr. Mathieson. \"Which piece belongs here, to\nbegin with?\"\n\nNettie did not know much better than he; but putting not only her whole\nmind but also her whole heart into it, she managed to find out and\nto direct him successfully. Her part was hard work: she had to stand\nholding up the heavy end of the bedstead while her father fitted in the\nlong pieces; and then she helped him to lace the cords, which had to be\ndrawn very tight; and precious time was running away fast, and Nettie\nhad had no dinner. But she stood patiently, with a thought in her heart\nwhich kept her in peace all the while. When it was done, Mr. Mathieson\nwent out, and Nettie returned to her mother. She was sitting where she\nhad left her. Barry was gone.\n\n\"Mother, won't you have something to eat?\"\n\n\"I can't eat, child. Have you had anything yourself?\"\n\nNettie had seized a remnant of her father's toast, and was munching it\nhastily.\n\n\"Mother, won't you put on your gown and come to church this afternoon?\nDo! It will rest you. Do, mother!\"\n\n\"You forget I've got to get supper, child. Your father doesn't think\nit necessary that anybody should rest, or go to church, or do anything\nexcept work. What he is thinking of, I am sure I don't know. There is no\nplace to eat in but this room, and he is going to bring a stranger into\nit; and if I was dying I should have to get up for every meal that is\nwanted. I never thought I should come to live so! And I cannot dress\nmyself, or prepare the victuals, or have a moment to myself, but I have\nthe chance of Mr. Lumber and your father in here to look on! It is worse\nthan a dog's life!\"\n\nIt looked pretty bad, Nettie thought. She did not know what to say. She\nbegan clearing away the things on the table.\n\n\"And what sort of a man this Mr. Lumber is, I don't know. I dare say he\nis like his name--one of your father's cronies--a drinker and a swearer.\nAnd Mr. Mathieson will bring him here, to be on my hands! It will kill\nme before spring, if it lasts.\"\n\n\"Couldn't there be a bed made somewhere else for Barry, mother? and then\nwe could eat in there.\"\n\n\"Where would you make it? I could curtain off a corner of this room,\nbut Barry wouldn't have it, nor your father; and they'd all want to be\nclose to the fire the minute the weather grows the least bit cool. No;\nthere is nothing for me but to live on till Death calls for me!\"\n\n\"Mother, Jesus said, 'He that liveth and believeth in Me shall never\ndie.'\"\n\n\"Oh, yes!\" said Mrs. Mathieson, with a kind of long-drawn groan, \"I\ndon't know how it will be about that! I get so put about now in these\ntimes, that it seems to me I don't know my own soul!\"\n\n\"Mother, come to church this afternoon.\"\n\n\"I can't, child. I've got to put up that man's bed and make it.\"\n\n\"That is all done, mother, and the floor brushed up. Do come!\"\n\n\"Why, who put it up?\"\n\n\"Father and I.\"\n\n\"Well! you do beat all, Nettie. But I can't, child; I haven't time.\"\n\n\"Yes, mother, plenty. There's all the hour of Sunday school before\nchurch begins. Now do, mother!\"\n\n\"Well, you go off to school; and if I can, maybe I will. You go right\noff, Nettie.\"\n\nNettie went, feeling weary and empty by dint of hard work and a dinner\nof a small bit of dry toast. But she thought little about that. She\nwanted to ask Mr. Folke a question.\n\nThe lesson that afternoon was upon the peacemakers; and Mr. Folke asked\nthe children what ways they knew of being a peacemaker. The answer,\nsomehow, was not very ready.\n\n\"Isn't it to stop people from quarrelling?\" one child asked.\n\n\"How can you do that, Jane?\"\n\nJane seemed doubtful. \"I could ask them to stop,\" she said.\n\n\"Well, suppose you did. Would angry people mind your asking?\"\n\n\"I don't know, sir. If they were very angry, I suppose they wouldn't.\"\n\n\"Perhaps not. One thing is certain, Jane; you must have peace in your\nown heart, to give you the least chance.\"\n\n\"How, Mr. Folke?\"\n\n\"If you want to put out a fire, you must not stick into it something\nthat will catch.\"\n\n\"That would make the fire worse,\" said one of the girls.\n\n\"Certainly. So if you want to touch quarrelsome spirits with the least\nhope of softening them, you must be so full of the love of Jesus\nyourself that nothing but love can come out of your own spirit. You see,\nit means a good deal to be a peacemaker.\"\n\n\"I always thought that must be one of the easiest things of the whole\nlist,\" said one of the class.\n\n\"You won't find it so, I think; or rather you will find they are all\nparts of the same character, and the blessing is one. But there are\nmore ways of being a peacemaker. What do you do when the hinge of a\ndoor creaks?\"\n\nOne said \"She didn't know;\" another said \"Nothing.\" \"I stop my ears,\"\nsaid a third. Mr. Folke laughed.\n\n\"_That_ would not do for a peacemaker,\" he said. \"Don't you know what\nmakes machinery work smoothly?\"\n\n\"Oil!\" cried Jane.\n\n\"Oil to be sure! One little drop of oil will stop ever so much creaking\nand groaning and complaining, of hinges and wheels and all sorts of\nmachines. Now, people's tempers are like wheels and hinges. But what\nsort of oil shall we use?\"\n\nThe girls looked at each other, and then one of them said, \"Kindness.\"\n\n\"To be sure! A gentle word, a look of love, a little bit of kindness,\nwill smooth down a roughened temper or a wry face, and soften a hard\npiece of work, and make all go easily. And so of reproving sinners. The\nPsalmist says, 'Let the righteous smite me; it shall be a kindness: and\nlet him reprove me; it shall be an excellent oil, which shall not break\nmy head.' But, you see, the peacemaker must be righteous himself, or he\nhasn't the oil. Love is the oil--the 'love of Jesus.'\"\n\n\"Mr. Folke,\" said Nettie, timidly, \"wasn't Jesus a peacemaker?\"\n\n\"The greatest that ever lived!\" said Mr. Folke, his eyes lighting up\nwith pleasure at her question. \"He made all the peace there is in the\nworld, for He bought it, when He died on the cross to reconcile man with\nGod. All our drops of oil were bought with drops of blood.\"\n\n\"And,\" said Nettie, hesitatingly, \"Mr. Folke, isn't that one way of\nbeing a peacemaker?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I mean, to persuade people to be at peace with Him?\"\n\n\"That is the way above all others, my child; that is truly to be the\n'children of God.' Jesus came and preached peace; and that is what His\nservants are doing, and will do, till He comes. And 'they shall be\ncalled the children of God.' 'Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought\nalso to love one another.'\"\n\nMr. Folke paused, with a face so full of thought, of eagerness, and of\nlove, that none of the children spoke, and some of them wondered. And\nbefore Mr. Folke spoke again, the superintendent's little bell rang,\nand they all stood up to sing. But Nettie Mathieson hardly could sing;\nit seemed to her so glorious a thing to be _that_ sort of a peacemaker.\nCould she be one? But the Lord blessed the peacemakers; then it must be\nHis will that all His children should be such; then He would enable her\nto be one! It was a great thought. Nettie's heart swelled with hope and\njoy and prayer. She knew whose peace she longed for first of all.\n\nHer mother had now come to church, so Nettie enjoyed all the services,\nwith nothing to hinder. Then they walked home together, not speaking\nmuch to each other, but every step of the way pleasant in the Sunday\nafternoon light, till they got to their own door. Nettie knew what her\nmother's sigh meant, as they mounted the stairs. Happily, nobody was at\nhome yet but themselves.\n\n\"Now, mother,\" said Nettie, when she had changed her dress and come to\nthe common room, \"what's to be for supper? I'll get it. You sit still\nand read, if you want to, while it's quiet. What must we have?\"\n\n\"There is not a great deal to do,\" said Mrs. Mathieson. \"I boiled the\npork this morning, and that was what set your father up so; that's\nready; and he says there must be cakes. The potatoes are all ready to\nput down--I was going to boil 'em this morning, and he stopped me.\"\n\nNettie looked grave about the cakes.\n\n\"However, mother,\" she said, \"I don't believe that little loaf of bread\nwould last, even if you and I didn't touch it; it is not very big.\"\n\nMrs. Mathieson wearily sat down and took her Testament, as Nettie begged\nher; and Nettie put on the kettle and the pot of potatoes, and made the\ncakes ready to bake. The table was set, and the treacle and everything\non it, except the hot things, when Barry burst in.\n\n\"Hallo, cakes!--hallo, treacle!\" he shouted. \"Pork and treacle--that's\nthe right sort of thing. Now we're going to live something like.\"\n\n\"Hush, Barry, don't make such a noise,\" said his sister. \"You know it's\nSunday evening.\"\n\n\"Sunday! well, what about Sunday? What's Sunday good for, except to eat,\nI should like to know?\"\n\n\"O Barry!\"\n\n\"O Barry!\" said he, mimicking her. \"Come, shut up, and fry your cake.\nFather and Lumber will be here just now.\"\n\nNettie hushed, as she was bidden; and as soon as her father's step\nwas heard below, she went to frying cakes with all her might. She\njust turned her head to give one look at Mr. Lumber as he came in. He\nappeared to her very like her father, but without the recommendation\nwhich her affection gave to Mr. Mathieson. A big, strong, burly fellow,\nwith the same tinges of red about his face that the summer sun had never\nbrought there. Nettie did not want to look again.\n\nShe had a good specimen this evening of what they might expect in\nfuture. Mrs. Mathieson poured out the tea, and Nettie baked the cakes;\nand perhaps because she was almost faint for want of something to eat,\nshe thought no three people ever ate so many griddle cakes before at one\nmeal. In vain plateful after plateful went upon the board, and Nettie\nbaked them as fast as she could; they were eaten just as fast; and when\nfinally the chairs were pushed back, and the men went downstairs, Nettie\nand her mother looked at each other.\n\n\"There's only one left, mother,\" said Nettie.\n\n\"And he has certainly eaten half the piece of pork,\" said Mrs.\nMathieson. \"Come, child, take something yourself; you're ready to drop.\nI'll clear away.\"\n\nBut it is beyond the power of any disturbance to take away the gladness\nof a heart where Jesus is. Nettie's bread was sweet to her, even that\nevening. Before she had well finished her supper, her father and his\nlodger came back. They sat down on either side the fire, and began to\ntalk of politics, and of their work on which they were then engaged,\nwith their employers and their fellow-workmen; of the state of business\nin the village, and profits and losses, and the success of particular\nmen in making money. They talked loudly and eagerly; and Nettie had to\ngo round and round them to get to the fire for hot water, and back to\nthe table to wash up the cups and plates. Her mother was helping at\nthe table, but to get round Mr. Lumber to the pot of hot water on the\nfire every now and then, fell to Nettie's share. It was not a very nice\nending of her sweet Sabbath day, she thought. The dishes were done and\nput away, and still the talk went on as hard as ever. It was sometimes a\npleasure to Nettie's father to hear her sing hymns of a Sunday evening.\nNettie watched for a chance, and the first time there was a lull of the\nvoices of the two men, she asked softly,\n\n\"Shall I sing, father?\"\n\nMr. Mathieson hesitated, and then answered,\n\n\"No,--better not, Nettie: Mr. Lumber might not find it amusing;\" and the\ntalk began again.\n\nNettie waited a little longer, feeling exceedingly tired. Then she rose\nand lighted a candle.\n\n\"What are you doing, Nettie?\" her mother said.\n\n\"I am going to bed, mother.\"\n\n\"You can't take a candle up there, child! the attic's all full of\nthings, and you would certainly set us on fire.\"\n\n\"I'll take great care, mother.\"\n\n\"But you can't, child! The wind might blow the snuff of your candle\nright into something that would be all a-flame by the time you're\nasleep. You must manage without a light somehow.\"\n\n\"But I can't see to find my way,\" said Nettie, who was secretly\ntrembling with fear.\n\n\"I'll light you then, for once, and you'll soon learn the way. Give me\nthe candle.\"\n\nNettie hushed the words that came crowding into her mouth, and clambered\nup the steep stairs to the attic. Mrs. Mathieson followed her with the\ncandle till she got to the top, and there she held it till Nettie had\nfound her way to the other end where her bed was. Then she said \"Good\nnight!\" and went down.\n\nThe little square shutter of the window was open, and a ray of moonlight\nstreamed in upon the bed. It was nicely made up: Nettie saw that her\nmother had been there and had done that for her, and wrought a little\nmore space and order among the things around the bed. But the moonlight\ndid not get in far enough to show much more. Just a little of this thing\nand of that could be seen; a corner of a chest, or a gleam on the side\nof a meal-bag: the half-light showed nothing clearly except the confused\nfulness of the little attic. Nettie had given her head a blow against a\npiece of timber as she came through it; and she sat down upon her little\nbed, feeling rather miserable. Her fear was that the rats might visit\nher up there. She did not certainly know that there were rats in the\nattic, but she had been fearing to think of them, and did not dare to\nask, as well as unwilling to give trouble to her mother; for if they\n_did_ come there, Nettie did not see how the matter could be mended. She\nsat down on her little bed, so much frightened that she forgot how tired\nshe was. Her ears were as sharp as needles, listening to hear the scrape\nof a rat's tooth upon a timber, or the patter of his feet over the\nfloor.\n\nFor a few minutes Nettie almost thought she could not sleep up there\nalone, and must go down and implore her mother to let her spread her bed\nin a corner of her room. But what a bustle that would make! Her mother\nwould be troubled, and her father would be angry, and the lodger would\nbe disturbed, and there was no telling how much harm would come of it.\nNo; the peacemaker of the family must not do that. And then the words\nfloated into Nettie's mind again, \"Blessed are the peacemakers, for\nthey shall be called the children of God.\" Like a strain of the sweetest\nmusic it floated in; and if an angel had come and brought the words\nstraight to Nettie, she could not have been more comforted. She felt the\nrats could not hurt her while she was within hearing of that music; and\nshe got up and kneeled down upon the chest under the little window, and\nlooked out.\n\nIt was like the day that had passed, not like the evening. So purely and\nsoftly the moon-beams lay on all the fields and trees and hills, there\nwas no sign of anything but peace and purity to be seen. No noise of\nmen's work or voices; no clangour of the iron foundry which on week-days\nmight be heard; no sight of anything unlovely; but the wide beauty which\nGod had made, and the still peace and light which He had spread over it.\nEvery little flapping leaf seemed to Nettie to tell of its Maker; and\nthe music of those words seemed to be all through the still air--\"Blessed\nare the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.\"\nTears of gladness and hope slowly gathered in Nettie's eyes. The\nchildren of God will enter in, by-and-bye, through those pearly gates,\ninto that city of gold \"where they need no candle, neither light of the\nsun, for the Lord God giveth them light.\"\n\n\"So He can give me light here--or what's better than light,\" thought\nNettie. \"God isn't only out there, in all that beautiful moonlight\nworld--He is here in my poor little attic too; and He will take just as\ngood care of me as He does of the birds, and better, for I am His child,\nand they are only His beautiful little servants.\"\n\nNettie's fear was gone. She prayed her evening prayer, and trusted\nherself to the Lord Jesus to take care of her; and then she undressed\nherself and lay down and went to sleep, just as quietly as any sparrow\nof them all, with its head under its wing.\n\n \"O day of rest and gladness!\n O day of joy and light!\n O balm of care and sadness,\n Most beautiful, most bright!\n On thee the high and lowly,\n Through ages join'd in tune,\n Sing, Holy, Holy, Holy,\n To the great God Triune.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n_NETTIE'S GARRET._\n\n \"I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.\"--_Psalm_ xxiii. 4.\n\n\nNettie's attic grew to be a very pleasant place to her. She never heard\nthe least sound of rats; and it was so nicely out of the way. Barry\nnever came up there, and there she could not even hear the voices of\nher father and Mr. Lumber. She had a tired time of it down stairs.\n\nThe first afternoon was a good specimen of the way things went on.\nNettie's mornings were always spent at school; Mrs. Mathieson would\nhave that, as she said, whether she could get on without Nettie or no.\nFrom the time Nettie got home till she went to bed she was as busy as\nshe could be. There was so much bread to make and so much beef and pork\nto boil, and so much washing of pots and kettles; and at meal-times\nthere was often cakes to fry, besides all the other preparations. Mr.\nMathieson seemed to have made up his mind that his lodger's rent should\nall go to the table and be eaten up immediately; but the difficulty was\nto make as much as he expected of it in that line; for now he brought\nnone of his own earnings home, and Mrs. Mathieson had more than a sad\nguess where they went. By degrees he came to be very little at home in\nthe evenings, and he carried off Barry with him. Nettie saw her mother\nburdened with a great outward and inward care at once, and stood in\nthe breach all she could. She worked to the extent of her strength,\nand beyond it, in the endless getting and clearing away of meals; and\nwatching every chance, when the men were out of the way, she would coax\nher mother to sit down and read a chapter in her Testament.\n\n\"It will rest you so, mother,\" Nettie would say; \"and I will make the\nbread just as soon as I get the dishes done. Do let me! I like to do\nit.\"\n\nSometimes Mrs. Mathieson could not be persuaded; sometimes she would\nyield, in a despondent kind of way, and sit down with the Testament, and\nlook at it as if neither there nor anywhere else in the universe could\nshe find rest or comfort any more.\n\n\"It don't signify, child,\" said she, one afternoon when Nettie had been\nurging her to sit down and read. \"I haven't the heart to do anything.\nWe're all driving to rack and ruin just as fast as we can go.\"\n\n\"Oh no, mother,\" said Nettie, \"I don't think we are.\"\n\n\"I am sure of it. I see it coming every day. Every day it is a little\nworse; and Barry is going along with your father; and they are\ndestroying me among them, body and soul too.\"\n\n\"No, mother,\" said Nettie, \"I don't think that. I have prayed the Lord\nJesus, and you know He has promised to hear prayer; and I know we are\nnot going to ruin.\"\n\n\"_You_ are not, child, I believe; but you are the only one of us that\nisn't. I wish I was dead, to be out of my misery!\"\n\n\"Sit down, mother, and read a little bit; and don't talk so. Do,\nmother! It will be an hour or more yet to supper, and I'll get it ready.\nYou sit down and read, and I'll make the shortcakes. Do, mother! and\nyou'll feel better.\"\n\nIt was half despair and half persuasion that made her do it; but Mrs.\nMathieson did sit down by the open window and take her Testament; and\nNettie flew quietly about, making her shortcakes and making up the fire\nand setting the table, and through it all casting many a loving glance\nover to the open book in her mother's hand, and the weary, stony face\nthat was bent over it. Nettie had not said how her own back was aching,\nand she forgot it almost in her business and her thoughts; though by the\ntime her work was done her head was aching wearily too. But cakes and\ntable and fire and everything else were in readiness; and Nettie stole\nup behind her mother and leaned over her shoulder--leaned a little\nheavily.\n\n\"Don't that chapter comfort you, mother?\" she whispered.\n\n\"No. It don't seem to me as I've got any feeling left,\" said Mrs.\nMathieson.\n\nIt was the fourth chapter of John at which they were both looking.\n\n\"Don't it comfort you to read of Jesus being wearied?\" Nettie went on,\nher head lying on her mother's shoulder.\n\n\"Why should it, child?\"\n\n\"I like to read it,\" said Nettie. \"Then I know He knows how I feel\nsometimes.\"\n\n\"God knows everything, Nettie.\"\n\nWith that Mrs. Mathieson cast down her book and burst into such a\npassion of weeping that Nettie was frightened. It was like the breaking\nup of an icy winter. She flung her apron over her head and sobbed aloud;\ntill, hearing the steps of the men upon the staircase, she rushed off to\nBarry's room, and presently got quiet, for she came out to supper as if\nnothing had happened.\n\nFrom that time there was a gentler mood upon her mother; Nettie saw,\nthough she looked weary and careworn as ever, there was now not often\nthe hard, dogged look which had been wont to be there for months past.\nNettie had no difficulty to get her to read the Testament; and of all\nthings, what she liked was to get a quiet hour of an evening alone with\nNettie, and hear her sing hymns. But both Nettie and she had a great\ndeal, as Mrs. Mathieson said, \"to put up with.\"\n\nAs weeks went on, the father of the family was more and more out at\nnights, and less and less agreeable when he was at home. He and his\nfriend Lumber helped each other in mischief. The lodger's rent and board\nhad been at first given for the household daily expenses; but then Mr.\nMathieson began to pay over a smaller sum, saying that it was all that\nwas due; and Mrs. Mathieson began to suspect that the rest had been\npaid away already for brandy. Then Mr. Mathieson told her to trade at\nJackson's on account, and he would settle the bill. Mrs. Mathieson held\noff from this as long as it was possible. She and Nettie did their very\nbest to make the little that was given them go a good way: they wasted\nnot a crumb nor a penny. By degrees it came to be very customary for\nMrs. Mathieson and Nettie to make their meal of porridge and bread,\nafter all the more savoury food had been devoured by the others; and\nmany a weary patch and darn filled the night hours because they had not\nmoney to buy a cheap dress or two. Nettie bore it very patiently. Mrs.\nMathieson was sometimes impatient.\n\n\"This won't last me through the week, to get the things you want,\" she\nsaid one Saturday to her husband, when he gave her what he said was\nLumber's payment to him.\n\n\"You'll have to make it last,\" said he gruffly.\n\n\"Will you tell me how I'm going to do that? Here isn't more than half\nwhat you gave me at first.\"\n\n\"Send to Jackson's for what you want!\" he roared at her; \"didn't I tell\nyou so? and don't come bothering me with your noise.\"\n\n\"When will you pay Jackson?\"\n\n\"I'll pay you first!\" he said, with an oath, and very violently. It was\na ruder word than he had ever said to her before, and Mrs. Mathieson\nwas staggered for a moment by it; but there was another word she was\ndetermined to say.\n\n\"May do what you like to me,\" she said, doggedly; \"but I should think\nyou would see for yourself that Nettie has too much to get on with. She\nis getting just as thin and pale as she can be.\"\n\n\"That's just your fool's nonsense!\" said Mr. Mathieson; but he spoke it\nmore quietly. Nettie just then entered the room.\n\n\"Here, Nettie, what ails you? Come here. Let's look at you. Ain't you as\nstrong as ever you was? Here's your mother says you're getting puny.\"\n\nNettie's smile and answer were so placid and untroubled, and the little\ncolour that rose in her cheeks at her father's question made her look so\nfresh and well, that he was quieted. He drew her within his arms, for\nhis gentle, dutiful little daughter had a place in his respect and\naffection both, though he did not often show it very broadly; but now he\nkissed her.\n\n\"There!\" said he; \"don't you go to growing thin and weak without telling\nme, for I don't like such doings. You tell me when you want anything.\"\nBut with that Mr. Mathieson got up and went off out of the house; and\nNettie had small chance to tell him if she wanted anything. However,\nthis little word and kiss were a great comfort and pleasure to her. It\nwas the last she had from him in a good while.\n\nNettie, however, was not working for praise or kisses, and very little\nof either she got. Generally her father was rough, imperious, impatient,\nspeaking fast enough if anything went wrong, but very sparing in\nexpressions of pleasure. Sometimes a blessing did come upon her from the\nvery depth of Mrs. Mathieson's heart, and went straight to Nettie's; but\nit was for another blessing she laboured, and prayed, and waited.\n\nAs the summer passed away, it began to grow cold, too, up in her garret.\nNettie had never thought of that. As long as the summer sun warmed the\nroof well in the day, and only the soft summer wind played in and out\nof her window at night, it was all very well, and Nettie thought her\nsleeping-chamber was the best in the whole house, for it was nearest the\nsky. But August departed with its sunny days, and September grew cool in\nthe evening; and October brought still sunny days, it is true, but the\nnights had a clear sharp frost in them; and Nettie was obliged to cover\nherself up warm in bed and look at the moonlight and the stars as she\ncould see them through the little square opening left by the shutter.\nThe stars looked very lovely to Nettie, when they peeped at her so in\nher bed out of their high heaven; and she was very content.\n\nThen came November; and the winds began to come into the garret, not\nonly through the open window, but through every crack between two\nboards. The whole garret was filled with the winds, Nettie thought. It\nwas hard work managing then. Shutting the shutter would bar out the\nstars, but not the wind, she found; and to keep from being quite chilled\nthrough at her times of prayer, morning and evening, Nettie used to take\nthe blanket and coverlets from the bed, and wrap herself in them. It was\nall she could do. Still, she forgot the inconveniences; and her little\ngarret chamber seemed to Nettie very near heaven, as well as near the\nsky.\n\nBut all this way of life did not make her grow strong or rosy; and\nthough Nettie never told her father that she wanted anything, her\nmother's heart measured the times when it ought to be told.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n_THE BROWN CLOAK IN NOVEMBER._\n\n \"How long, O Lord?\"--_Rev._ vi. 10.\n\n\nNovember days drew toward an end; December was near. One afternoon Mrs.\nMathieson, wanting Nettie, went to the foot of the garret stairs to call\nher.\n\n\"Yes, mother. Coming.\"\n\n\"Fetch down your school cloak, child.\"\n\nShe went back to her room, and presently Nettie came in with the cloak,\nlooking placid as usual, but very pale.\n\n\"Somebody's got to go to Mr. Jackson's, but you ain't fit, child; you\nate next to nothing at noon. You can't live on porridge.\"\n\n\"I like it, mother; but I wasn't hungry. What's wanting from\nJackson's?\"\n\nNettie put on her cloak, and took her basket, and went out. It was after\nsundown already, and a keen wind swept through the village street, and\nswept through Nettie's brown cloak too, tight as she wrapt it about her.\nBut though she was cold and blue, and the wind seemed to go through\n_her_ as well as the cloak, Nettie was thinking of something else. She\nknew that her mother had eaten a very scanty, poor sort of dinner, as\nwell as herself, and that _she_ often looked pale and wan; and Nettie\nwas almost ready to wish she had not given the last penny of her\nshilling on Sunday to the missionary-box.\n\n\"What do you want?\" said Mr. Jackson, rather curtly, when Nettie's turn\ncame to be served, and she had told her errand. \"What!\" he exclaimed,\n\"seven pounds of meal, and a pound of butter, and two pounds of sugar!\nWell, you tell your father that I should like to have my bill settled;\nit's all drawn up, you see, and I don't like to open a new account till\nit's all square.\"\n\nHe turned away immediately to another customer, and Nettie felt she\nhad got her answer. She stood a moment, very disappointed, and a little\nmortified, and somewhat downhearted. What should they do for supper? and\nwhat a storm there would be when her father heard about all this, and\nfound nothing but bread and tea on the table! Slowly Nettie turned away,\nand slowly made the few steps from the door to the corner. She felt\nvery blue indeed; coming out of the warm store, the chill wind made her\nshiver. Just at the corner somebody stopped her.\n\n\"Nettie!\" said the voice of the little French baker, \"what ails you? you\nlook not well.\"\n\nNettie gave her a grateful smile, and said she was well.\n\n\"You look not like it,\" said Madame Auguste; \"you look as if the wind\nmight carry you off before you get home. Come to my house; I want to see\nyou in the light.\"\n\n\"I haven't time; I must go home to mother, Mrs. August.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know! You will go home all the faster for coming this way first.\nYou have not been to see me in these three or four weeks.\"\n\nShe carried Nettie along with her; it was but a step, and Nettie did not\nfeel capable of resisting anything. The little Frenchwoman put her into\nthe shop before her, made her sit down, and lighted a candle. The shop\nwas nice and warm, and full of the savoury smell of fresh baking.\n\n\"We have made our own bread lately,\" said Nettie, in answer to the\ncharge of not coming there.\n\n\"Do you make it good?\" said Madame Auguste.\n\n\"It isn't like yours, Mrs. August,\" said Nettie, smiling.\n\n\"If you will come and live with me next summer, I will teach you how to\ndo some things; and you shall not look so blue neither. Have you had\nyour supper?\"\n\n\"No; and I am just going home to get supper. I must go, Mrs. August.\"\n\n\"You come in here,\" said the Frenchwoman; \"you are my prisoner. I am all\nalone, and I want somebody for company. You take off your cloak, Nettie,\nand I shall give you something to keep the wind out. You do what I bid\nyou!\"\n\nNettie felt too cold and weak to make any ado about complying, unless\nduty had forbade; and she thought there was time enough yet. She let\nher cloak drop, and took off her hood. The little back room to which\nMadame Auguste had brought her was only a trifle bigger than the bit\nof a shop; but it was as cozy as it was little. A tiny stove warmed it,\nand kept warm, too, a tiny iron pot and tea-kettle, which were steaming\naway. The bed was at one end, draped nicely with red curtains; there was\na little looking-glass, and some prints in frames round the walls; there\nwas Madame's little table covered with a purple cloth, and with her work\nand a small clock and various pretty things on it. Madame Auguste had\ngone to a cupboard in the wall, and taken out a couple of plates and\nlittle bowls, which she set on a little round stand; and then lifting\nthe cover of the pot on the stove, she ladled out a bowlful of what was\nin it, and gave it to Nettie with one of her nice crisp rolls.\n\n\"Eat that!\" she said. \"I shan't let you go home till you have swallowed\nthat to keep the cold out. It makes me all freeze to look at you.\"\n\nSo she filled her own bowl, and made good play with her spoon, while\nbetween spoonfuls she looked at Nettie; and the good little woman\nsmiled in her heart to see how easy it was for Nettie to obey her. The\nsavoury, simple, comforting broth she had set before her was the best\nthing to the child's delicate stomach that she had tasted for many a\nday.\n\n\"Is it good?\" said the Frenchwoman, when Nettie's bowl was half empty.\n\n\"It's so good!\" said Nettie. \"I didn't know I was so hungry.\"\n\n\"Now you will not feel the cold so,\" said the Frenchwoman, \"and you will\ngo back quicker. Do you like my _riz-au-gras_?\"\n\n\"_What_ is it, ma'am?\" said Nettie.\n\nThe Frenchwoman laughed, and made Nettie say it over till she could\npronounce the words.\n\n\"Now you like it,\" she said, \"that is a French dish. Do you think Mrs.\nMat'ieson would like it?\"\n\n\"I am sure she would!\" said Nettie. \"But I don't know how to make it.\"\n\n\"You shall come here, and I will teach it to you. And now you shall\ncarry a little home to your mother, and ask her if she will do the\nhonour to a French dish to approve it. It do not cost anything. I\ncannot sell much bread the winters; I live on what cost me nothing.\"\n\nWhile saying this, Madame Auguste had filled a little pail with the\n_riz-au-gras_, and put a couple of her rolls along with it. \"It must\nhave the French bread,\" she said; and she gave it to Nettie, who looked\nquite cheered up, and very grateful.\n\n\"You are a good little girl!\" she said. \"How keep you always your\nface looking so happy? There is always one little streak of sunshine\nhere\"--drawing her finger across above Nettie's eyebrows--\"and another\nhere,\"--and her finger passed over the line of Nettie's lips.\n\n\"That's because I _am_ happy, Mrs. August.\"\n\n\"_Always?_\"\n\n\"Yes, always.\"\n\n\"What makes you so happy always? You was just the same in the cold\nwinter out there, as when you was eating my _riz-au-gras_. Now, me--I\nam cross in the cold, and not happy.\"\n\nBut the Frenchwoman saw a deeper light come into Nettie's eyes as she\nanswered,\n\n\"It is because I love the Lord Jesus, Mrs. August, and He makes me\nhappy.\"\n\n\"_You?_\" said Madame. \"My child! What do you say, Nettie? I think not I\nhave heard you right.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mrs. August, I am happy because I love Jesus. I know He loves me,\nand He will take me to be with Him.\"\n\n\"Not just yet,\" said the Frenchwoman, \"I hope. Well, I wish I was so\nhappy as you, Nettie. Good bye!\"\n\nNettie ran home, more comforted by her good supper, and more thankful\nto the goodness of God in giving it, and happy in the feeling of His\ngoodness, than can be told. And very, very glad she was of that little\ntin pail in her hand she knew her mother needed. Mrs. Mathieson had time\nto eat the rice broth before her husband came in.\n\n\"She said she would show me how to make it,\" said Nettie, \"and it don't\ncost anything.\"\n\n\"Why, it's just rice and--_what_ is it? I don't see,\" said Mrs.\nMathieson. \"It isn't rice and milk.\"\n\nNettie laughed at her mother.\n\n\"Mrs. August didn't tell. She called it reeso--I forget what she called\nit!\"\n\n\"It's the best thing I ever saw,\" said Mrs. Mathieson. \"There--put the\npail away. Your father's coming.\"\n\nHe was in a terrible humour, as they expected; and Nettie and her mother\nhad a sad evening of it. And the same sort of thing lasted for several\ndays. Mrs. Mathieson hoped that perhaps Mr. Lumber would take into his\nhead to seek lodgings somewhere else, or, at least, that Mathieson would\nhave been shamed into paying Jackson's bill; but neither thing happened.\nMr. Lumber found his quarters too comfortable; and Mr. Mathieson spent\ntoo much of his earnings on drink to find the amount necessary to clear\noff the scores at the grocer's shop.\n\nFrom that time, as they could run up no new account, the family were\nobliged to live on what they could immediately pay for. That was seldom\na sufficient supply; and so, in dread of the storms that came whenever\ntheir wants touched Mr. Mathieson's own comfort, Nettie and her mother\ndenied themselves constantly what they very much needed. The old can\nsometimes bear this better than the young. Nettie grew more delicate,\nmore thin, and more feeble every day. It troubled her mother sadly. Mr.\nMathieson could not be made to see it. Indeed, he was little at home\nexcept when he was eating.\n\n \"Scarce discerning aught before us,\n On our weary way we go;\n But one guiding star is o'er us,\n Beaming forth the way to show.\n\n \"Watch we, pray we, that we sink not,\n Journeying on while yet we can;\n At a moment when we think not\n We shall meet the Son of Man.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n_THE NEW BLANKET._\n\n \"Lift up your hands in the sanctuary, and bless the Lord.\"\n _Ps._ cxxxiv. 2.\n\n\nIt was very cold up in Nettie's garret now; the winter had moved on\ninto the latter part of December, and the frosts were very keen; and the\nwinter winds seemed to come in at one end of the attic and to just sweep\nthrough to the other, bringing all except the snow with them. Even the\nsnow often drifted in through the cracks of the rough wainscoat board,\nor under the shutter, and lay in little white streaks or heaps on the\nfloor, and never melted. To-night there was no wind, and Nettie had left\nher shutter open, that she might see the stars as she lay in bed. It did\nnot make much difference in the feeling of the place, for it was about\nas cold inside as out; and the stars were great friends of Nettie's.\nHow bright they looked down to-night! It was very cold, and lying awake\nmade Nettie colder: she shivered sometimes under all her coverings;\nstill she lay looking at the stars in that square patch of sky that her\nshutter-opening gave her to see, and thinking of the Golden City. \"They\nshall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun\nlight on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the\nthrone shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of\nwaters; and God shall wipe all tears from their eyes.\"\n\n\"His servants shall serve Him,\"--thought Nettie; \"and mother will be\nthere, and Barry--and I shall be there! and then I shall be happy. And\nI am happy now. 'Blessed be the Lord, which hath not turned away my\nprayer, nor His mercy from me!'\" And if that verse went through Nettie's\nhead once, it did fifty times: so did this one, which the quiet stars\nseemed to repeat and whisper to her, \"The Lord redeemeth the soul of His\nservants, and none of them that trust in Him shall be desolate.\" And\nthough now and then a shiver passed over Nettie's shoulders with the\ncold, she was ready to sing for very gladness and fulness of heart.\n\nBut lying awake and shivering did not do Nettie's little body any\ngood; she looked so very white the next day that it caught even Mr.\nMathieson's attention. He reached out his arm and drew Nettie toward\nhim, as she was passing between the cupboard and the table. Then he\nlooked at her, but he did not say how she looked.\n\n\"Do you know the day after to-morrow is Christmas Day?\" said he.\n\n\"Yes, I know. It's the day when Christ was born,\" said Nettie.\n\n\"Well, I don't know anything about that,\" said her father; \"but what I\nmean is, that a week after is New Year. What would you like me to give\nyou, Nettie,--hey?\"\n\nNettie stood still for a moment, then her eyes lighted up.\n\n\"Will you give it to me, father, if I tell you?\"\n\n\"I don't know. If it is not extravagant, perhaps I will.\"\n\n\"It will not cost much,\" said Nettie, earnestly. \"Will you give me what\nI choose, father, if it does not cost too much?\"\n\n\"I suppose I will. What is it?\"\n\n\"Father, you won't be displeased?\"\n\n\"Not I!\" said Mr. Mathieson, drawing Nettie's little form tighter in his\ngrasp: he thought he had never felt it so slight and thin before.\n\n\"Father, I am going to ask you a great thing!--to go to church with me\nNew Year's Day.\"\n\n\"To church!\" said her father, frowning; but he remembered his promise,\nand he felt Nettie in his arms yet. \"What on earth good will that do\nyou?\"\n\n\"A great deal of good. It would please me so much, father.\"\n\n\"What do you want me to go to church for?\" said Mr. Mathieson, not sure\nyet what humour he was going to be in.\n\n\"To thank God, father, that there was a Christmas, when Jesus came, that\nwe might have a New Year.\"\n\n\"What--what!\" said Mr. Mathieson. \"What are you talking about?\"\n\n\"Because, father,\" said Nettie, trembling, and seizing her chance,\n\"since Jesus loved us, and came and died for us, we all may have a New\nYear of glory. I shall, father; and I want you too. Oh do, father!\" and\nNettie burst into tears.\n\nMr. Mathieson held her fast, and his face showed a succession of changes\nfor a minute or so. But she presently raised her head and kissed him,\nand said,\n\n\"May I have what I want, father?\"\n\n\"Yes--go along,\" said Mr. Mathieson. \"I should like to know how to\nrefuse you, though. But, Nettie, don't you want me to give you anything\nelse?\"\n\n\"Nothing else!\" she told him, with her face all shining with joy.\n\nMr. Mathieson looked at her, and seemed very thoughtful all supper-time.\n\n\"Can't you strengthen that child up a bit?\" he said to his wife\nafterwards. \"She does too much.\"\n\n\"She does as little as I can help,\" said Mrs. Mathieson, \"but she is\nalways at something. I am afraid her room is too cold o' nights. She\nain't fit to bear it. It's bitter up there.\"\n\n\"Give her another blanket or quilt, then,\" said her husband. \"I should\nthink you would see to that. Does she say she is cold?\"\n\n\"No,--never, except sometimes when I see her looking blue, and ask her.\"\n\n\"And what does she say then?\"\n\n\"She says sometimes she is a little cold,\" said Mrs. Mathieson.\n\n\"Well, do put something more over her, and have no more of it!\" said her\nhusband, violently. \"Sit still and let the child be cold, when another\ncovering would make it all right!\"--and he ended with swearing at her.\n\nMrs. Mathieson did not dare to tell him that Nettie's food was not of a\nsufficiently nourishing kind: she knew what the answer to that would be;\nand she feared that a word more about Nettie's sleeping-room would be\nthought an attack upon Mr. Lumber's being in the house. So she was\nsilent.\n\nBut there came home something for Nettie in the course of the Christmas\nweek, which comforted her a little, and perhaps quieted Mr. Mathieson\ntoo. He brought with him, on coming home to supper one evening, a great\nthick roll of a bundle, and put it in Nettie's arms, telling her that\nwas for her New Year.\n\n\"For me?\" said Nettie, the colour starting a little into her cheeks.\n\n\"Yes, for you. Open it, and see.\"\n\nSo Nettie did, with some trouble, and there tumbled out upon the floor a\ngreat heavy warm blanket, new from the shop. Mr. Mathieson thought the\npink in her cheeks was the prettiest thing he had seen in a long while.\n\n\"Is this for _me_, father?\"\n\n\"I mean it to be so. See if it will go on that bed of yours, and keep\nyou warm.\"\n\nNettie gave her father some very hearty thanks, which he took in a\nsilent, pleased way; and then she hastened off with her blanket\nupstairs. How thick and warm it was! and how nicely it would keep her\ncomfortable when she knelt all wrapped up in it on that cold floor! For\na little while it would; not even a warm blanket would keep her from the\ncold more than a little while at a time up there. But Nettie tried its\npowers the first thing she did.\n\nDid Mr. Mathieson mean the blanket to take the place of his promise?\nNettie thought of that, but like a wise child she said nothing at all\ntill the Sunday morning came. Then, before she set off for Sunday\nschool, she came to her father's elbow.\n\n\"Father, I'll be home at a quarter after ten; will you be ready then?\"\n\n\"Ready for what?\" said Mr. Mathieson.\n\n\"For my New Year's gift,\" said Nettie. \"You know you promised I should\ngo to church with you.\"\n\n\"Did I? And ain't you going to take the blanket for your New Year's\ngift, and let me off, Nettie?\"\n\n\"No, father, to be sure not. I'll be home at a quarter past; please\ndon't forget.\" And Nettie went off to school very thankful and happy,\nfor her father's tone was not unkind. How glad she was New Year's Day\nhad come on Sunday!\n\nMr. Mathieson was as good as his word. He was ready at the time, and\nthey walked to the church together. That was a great day to Nettie.\nHer father and mother going to church in company with her and with\neach other! And when they got to church, it seemed as if every word of\nthe prayers, and of the reading, and of the hymns, and of the sermon,\nstruck on all Nettie's nerves of hearing and feeling. Would her father\nunderstand any of those sweet words? would he feel them? would they\nreach him? Nettie little thought that what he felt most, what _did_\nreach him, though he did not thoroughly understand it, was the look\nof her own face, though she never but once dared turn it toward him.\nThere was a little colour in it more than usual; her eye was deep in\nits earnestness; and the grave set of her little mouth was broken up\nnow and then in a way that Mr. Mathieson wanted to watch better than\nthe straight sides of her sun-bonnet would let him. Once he thought\nhe saw something more.\n\nHe walked home very soberly, and was a good deal on the silent order\nduring the rest of the day. He did not go to church in the afternoon.\nBut in the evening, as her mother was busy in and out getting supper\nready, and Mr. Lumber had not come in, Mr. Mathieson called Nettie to\nhis side.\n\n\"What were you crying for in church this forenoon?\" he said low.\n\n\"Crying!\" said Nettie, surprised. \"Was I crying?\"\n\n\"If it wasn't tears I saw dropping from under your hands on to the\nfloor, it must have been some drops of rain that had got there, and I\ndon't see how they could very well. There warn't no rain outside. What\nwas it for, hey?\"\n\nThere came a great flush all over Nettie's face, and she did not at once\nspeak.\n\n\"Hey?--what was it for?\"--repeated Mr. Mathieson.\n\nThe flush passed away. Nettie spoke very low, and with lips all of\na quiver. \"I remember. I was thinking, father, how 'all things are\nready'--and I couldn't help wishing that you were ready too.\"\n\n\"Ready for what?\" said Mr. Mathieson, somewhat roughly. \"All things\nready for what?\"\n\n\"Ready for you,\" said Nettie. \"Jesus is ready to love you, and calls\nyou--and the angels are ready to rejoice for you--and I----\"\n\n\"Go on. What of you?\"\n\nNettie lifted her eyes to him. \"I am ready to rejoice too, father.\"\n\nBut the time of rejoicing was not yet. Nettie burst into tears.\n\nMr. Mathieson was not angry, yet he flung away from her with a rude\n\"Pshaw!\" and that was all the answer she got. But the truth was, that\nthere was something in Nettie's look of tenderness, and purity, and\ntrembling hope, that her father's heart could not bear to meet; and,\nwhat is more, that he was never able to forget.\n\nNettie went about her evening business, helping her mother, and keeping\nback the tears which were very near again; and Mr. Mathieson began to\ntalk with Mr. Lumber, and everything was to all appearance just as it\nhad been hitherto. And so it went on after that.\n\n \"Well I know thy troubles,\n O My servant true!\n Thou art very weary--\n I was weary too:\n But that toil shall make thee\n Some day all Mine own;\n And the end of sorrow\n Shall be near My throne!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n_THE HOUSE-RAISING._[1]\n\n \"In your patience possess ye your souls.\"--_Luke_ xxi. 19.\n\n\nIt grew colder and colder in Nettie's garret--or else she grew thinner\nand felt it more. She certainly thought it was colder. The snow came,\nand piled a thick covering on the roof, and stopped up some of the\nchinks in the clapboarding with its white caulking; and that made the\nplace a little better: then the winds from off the snow-covered country\nwere keen and bitter.\n\n Footnote 1: A festival common in America on the completion of a\n house.\n\nOne morning Nettie went to Barry secretly in his room, and asked him to\nbring the pail of water from the spring for her. Barry had no mind to\nthe job.\n\n\"Why can't mother do it,\" he said, \"if you can't?\"\n\n\"Mother is busy and hasn't a minute. I always do it for her.\"\n\n\"Well, why can't you go on doing it? You're accustomed to it, you see,\nand I don't like going out so early,\" said Barry, stretching himself.\n\n\"I would, and I wouldn't ask you, only, Barry, somehow I don't think I'm\nquite strong lately, and I can hardly bring the pail--it's so heavy to\nme. I have to stop and rest ever so many times before I can get to the\nhouse with it.\"\n\n\"Well, if you stop and rest, I suppose it won't hurt you,\" said Barry.\n\"_I_ should want to stop and rest too, myself.\"\n\nHis little sister was turning away, giving it up, when she was met by\nher father, who stepped in from the entry. He looked red with anger.\n\n\"You take the pail, and go get the water!\" said he to his son; \"and you\nhear me! Don't you let Nettie bring in another pailful when you're at\nhome, or I'll turn you out of the house. You lazy scoundrel! You don't\ndeserve the bread you eat. Would you let her work for you, when you are\nas strong as sixty?\"\n\nBarry's grumbled words in answer were so very unsatisfactory, that Mr.\nMathieson in a rage advanced towards him with uplifted fist; but Nettie\nsprang in between, and very nearly caught the blow that was meant for\nher brother.\n\n\"Please, father, don't!\" she cried;--\"please, father, don't be angry!\nBarry didn't think--he didn't----\"\n\n\"Why didn't he?\" said Mr. Mathieson. \"Great lazy rascal! He wants to be\nflogged.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't!\" said Nettie: \"he didn't know why I asked him, or he\nwouldn't have refused me.\"\n\n\"Why did you, then?\"\n\n\"Because it made my back ache so to bring it--I couldn't help asking\nhim.\"\n\n\"Did you ever ask him before?\"\n\n\"Never mind, please, father!\" said Nettie, sweetly. \"Just don't think\nabout me, and don't be angry with Barry. It's no matter now.\"\n\n\"Who does think about you? Your mother don't, or she would have seen to\nthis before.\"\n\n\"Mother didn't know my back ached. Father, you know she hasn't a minute:\nshe is so busy getting breakfast in time; and she didn't know I wasn't\nstrong enough. Father, don't tell her, please, I asked Barry. It would\nworry her so. Please don't, father.\"\n\n\"_You_ think of folks, anyhow. You're a regular peacemaker!\" exclaimed\nMr. Mathieson, as he turned away and left her. Nettie stood still, the\nflush paling on her cheek, her hand pressed to her side.\n\n\"Am I that?\" she thought. \"Shall I be that? O Lord, my Saviour, my dear\nRedeemer, send Thy peace here!\" She was still in the same place and\nposition when Barry came in again.\n\n\"It's wretched work!\" he exclaimed, under his breath, for his father was\nin the next room. \"It's as slippery as the plague going down that path\nto the water: it's no use to have legs, for you can't hold up. I'm all\nfroze stiff with the water I've spilt on me!\"\n\n\"I know it's very slippery,\" said Nettie.\n\n\"And then you can't get at the water when you're there, without stepping\ninto it--it's filled chuck full of snow and ice all over the edge. It's\nthe most wretched work!\"\n\n\"I know it, Barry,\" said Nettie. \"I am sorry you have to do it.\"\n\n\"Why did you make me do it, then?\" said he angrily. \"You got it your own\nway this time. But never mind; I'll be even with you for it.\"\n\n\"Barry,\" said his sister, \"please do it just a little while for me,\ntill I get stronger and don't mind; and as soon as ever I can I'll do it\nagain. But you don't know how it made me ache all through, bringing the\npail up that path.\"\n\n\"Stuff!\" said Barry. And from that time, though he did not fail to bring\nthe water in the morning, yet Nettie saw he owed her a grudge for it all\nthe day afterward. He was almost always away with his father, and she\nhad little chance to win him to better feeling.\n\nSo the winter slowly passed and the spring came. Spring months came, at\nleast; and now and then, to be sure, a sweet spring day, when all nature\nsoftened; the sun shone mildly, the birds sang, the air smelt sweet with\nthe opening buds.\n\n\"There's that house-raising to-morrow, Nettie,\" said Mrs. Mathieson;\n\"it's been on my mind this fortnight past, and it kills me.\"\n\n\"Why, mother?\"\n\n\"I know how it will be,\" said Mrs. Mathieson: \"they'll have a grand\nset-to after they get it up, and your father'll be in the first of it;\nand I somehow feel as if it would be the finishing of him. I wish almost\nhe'd get ill--or anything to keep him away. They make such a time after\na house-raising.\"\n\n\"Oh, mother, don't wish that,\" said Nettie; but she began to think how\nit would be possible to withdraw her father from the frolic with which\nthe day's business would be ended. Mr. Mathieson was a carpenter, and a\nfine workman, and always had plenty of work, and was much looked up to\namong his fellows.\n\nNettie began to think whether _she_ could make any effort to keep her\nfather from the dangers into which he was so fond of plunging. Hitherto\nshe had done nothing but pray for him: could she do anything more, with\nany chance of good coming of it? She thought and thought, and resolved\nthat she must try. It did not look hopeful; there was little she could\nurge to lure Mr. Mathieson from his drinking companions; nothing except\nher own timid affection and the one other thing it was possible to offer\nhim--a good supper. How to get that was not so easy; but she consulted\nwith her mother.\n\nMrs. Mathieson said she used in her younger days to know how to make\nwaffles[2], and Mr. Mathieson used to think they were the best things\nthat ever were made: now, if Mrs. Moss, a neighbour, would lend her\nwaffle-iron, and she could get a few eggs, she believed she could manage\nit still.\n\n Footnote 2: _Waffles_, a species of sweet cake used on such\n festivals in America.\n\n\"But we haven't the eggs, child,\" she said; \"and I don't believe any\npower under heaven can get him to come away from that raising frolic.\"\n\nNor did Nettie. It was to no power _under_ heaven that she trusted. But\nshe must use her means. She easily got the iron from Mrs. Moss. Then she\nborrowed the eggs from Madame Auguste, who in Lent-time always had them;\nthen she watched with grave eyes, and many a heart-prayer the while, the\nmixing and making of the waffles.\n\n\"How do you manage the iron, mother?\"\n\n\"Why, it is made hot,\" said Mrs. Mathieson, \"very hot, and buttered; and\nthen, when the batter is light, you pour it in and clap it together, and\nput it in the stove.\"\n\n\"But how can you pour it in, mother? I don't see how you can fill the\niron.\"\n\n\"Why, you can't, child; you fill one half, and shut it together: and\nwhen it bakes it rises up and fills the other half. You'll see.\"\n\nThe first thing Nettie asked when she came home from school in the\nafternoon was, if the waffles were light?\n\nShe never saw any look better, Mrs. Mathieson said. \"But I forgot,\nchild, we ought to have cinnamon and white sugar to eat on them. It was\nso that your father used to admire them; they won't be waffles without\nsugar and cinnamon. I'm afraid he'll think----but I don't believe you'll\nget him home to think anything about them.\"\n\nMrs. Mathieson ended with a sigh. Nettie said nothing; she went round\nthe room, putting it in particularly nice order, then set the table.\nWhen all that was right, she went up to her garret, and knelt down and\nprayed that God would take care of her and bless her errand. She put the\nwhole matter in the Lord's hands; then she dressed herself in her hood\nand cloak, and went down to her mother. Mr. Mathieson had not come\nhome to dinner, being busy with the house-raising; so they had had no\nopportunity to invite him, and Nettie was now on her way to do it.\n\n\"It's turned a bad afternoon; I'm afraid it ain't fit for you to go,\nNettie.\"\n\n\"I don't mind,\" said Nettie. \"Maybe I'll get some sugar and cinnamon,\nmother, before I come back.\"\n\n\"Well, you know where the raising is; it's out on the Shallonway road,\non beyond Mrs. August's a good bit.\"\n\nNettie nodded and went out; and as the door closed on her grave, sweet\nlittle face, her mother felt a great strain on her heart. She would have\nbeen glad to relieve herself by tears, but it was a dry pain that would\nnot be relieved so. She went to the window and looked out at the\nweather.\n\n \"Lord, Thy children guide and keep,\n As with feeble steps they press\n On the pathway rough and steep,\n Through this weary wilderness.\n Holy JESU, day by day\n Lead us in the narrow way.\n\n \"There are stony ways to tread;\n Give the strength we sorely lack.\n There are tangled paths to thread;\n Light us, lest we miss the track.\n Holy JESU, day by day\n Lead us in the narrow way.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n_THE WAFFLES._\n\n \"My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways\n my ways,\" saith the Lord.--_Isaiah_ lv. 8.\n\n\nThe early part of the day had been brilliant and beautiful; then,\nMarch-like, it had changed about, gathered up a whole skyful of clouds,\nand turned at last to snowing. The large feathery flakes were falling\nnow fast; melting as fast as they fell; making everything wet and\nchill, in the air and under the foot. Nettie had no overshoes: she was\naccustomed to get her feet wet very often, so that was nothing new. She\nhugged herself in her brown cloak, on which the beautiful snow-flakes\nrested white a moment and then melted away, gradually wetting the\ncovering of her arms and shoulders in a way that would reach through\nby-and-bye. Nettie thought little of it. What was she thinking of? She\nwas comforting herself with the thought of that strong and blessed\nFriend who has promised to be always with His servants, and remembering\nHis promise, \"They shall not be ashamed that wait for me.\" What did\nthe snow and the wet matter to Nettie? Yet she looked too much like a\nsnow-flake herself when she reached Mr. Jackson's store and went in.\nThe white frost had lodged all round her old black silk hood, and even\nedged the shoulders of her brown cloak; and the white little face within\nlooked just as pure.\n\nMr. Jackson looked at her with more than usual attention; and when\nNettie asked him if he would let her have a shilling's-worth of fine\nwhite sugar and cinnamon, and trust her till the next week for the\nmoney, he made not the slightest difficulty, but measured or weighed it\nout for her directly, and even said he would trust her for more than\nthat. So Nettie thanked him, and went on to the less easy part of her\nerrand. Her heart began to beat a little bit now.\n\nThe feathery snowflakes fell thicker, and made everything wetter than\never; it was very raw and chill, and few people were abroad. Nettie went\non, past the little bake-woman's house, and past all the thickly built\npart of the village. Then came houses more scattered--large handsome\nhouses, with beautiful gardens and grounds, and handsome palings along\nthe road-side. Past one or two of these, and then there was a space\nof wild ground; and here Mr. Jackson was putting up a new house for\nhimself, and meant to have a fine place. The wild bushes grew in a thick\nhedge along by the fence, but over the tops of them Nettie could see the\nnew timbers of the frame that the carpenters had been raising that day.\nShe went on till she came to an opening in the hedge and fence as well,\nand then the new building was close before her. The men were at work\nyet, finishing their day's business; the sound of hammering rang sharp\non all sides of the frame; some were up on the ladders, some were below.\nNettie walked slowly up and then round the place, searching for her\nfather. At last she found him. He and Barry, who was learning his\nfather's trade, were on the ground at one side of the frame, busy as\nbees. Talking was going on roundly too, as well as hammering, and Nettie\ndrew near and stood a few minutes without any one noticing her. She was\nnot in a hurry to interrupt the work nor to tell her errand: she\nwaited.\n\nBarry saw her first, but ungraciously would not speak to her nor for\nher. If she was there for anything, he said to himself, it was for some\nspoil-sport; and one pail of water a day was enough for him. Mr.\nMathieson was looking the other way.\n\n\"I say, Mathieson,\" called one of the men from the inside of the frame,\n\"I s'pose 'tain't worth carrying any of this stuff--Jackson'll have\nenough without it?\"\n\nThe words were explained, to Nettie's horror, by a jug in the man's\nhands, which he lifted to his lips.\n\n\"Jackson will do something handsome in that way to-night,\" said Nettie's\nfather; \"or he'll not do as he's done by, such a wet evening. But I've\nstood to my word, and I expect he'll stand to his'n.\"\n\n\"He gave his word there was to be oysters, warn't it?\" called another\nman, from the top of the ladder.\n\n\"Punch and oysters,\" said Mathieson, hammering away, \"or I've raised the\nlast frame I ever _will_ raise for him. I expect he'll stand it.\"\n\n\"Oysters ain't much 'count,\" said another speaker. \"I'd rather have a\nslice of good sweet pork any day.\"\n\n\"Father,\" said Nettie. She had come close up to him, but she trembled.\nWhat possible chance could she have?\n\n\"Holloa!\" said Mr. Mathieson, turning suddenly. \"Nettie!--what's the\nmatter, girl?\"\n\nHe spoke roughly, and Nettie saw that his face was red. She trembled all\nover, but spoke as bravely as she could.\n\n\"Father, I am come to invite you home to supper to-night. Mother and I\nhave a particular reason to want to see you. Will you come?\"\n\n\"Come where?\" said Mr. Mathieson, but half understanding her.\n\n\"Come home to tea, father. I came to ask you. Mother has made something\nyou like.\"\n\n\"I'm busy, child. Go home. I'm going to supper at Jackson's. Go home.\"\n\nHe turned to his hammering again. But Nettie stood still in the snow and\nwaited.\n\n\"Father,\" she said, after a minute, coming yet closer and speaking more\nlow.\n\n\"What! ain't you gone?\" exclaimed Mr. Mathieson.\n\n\"Father,\" said Nettie, softly, \"mother has made waffles for you; and you\nused to like them so much, she says; and they are light and beautiful,\nand just ready to bake. Won't you come and have them with us? Mother\nsays they'll be very nice.\"\n\n\"Why didn't she make 'em another time,\" grumbled Barry, \"when we weren't\ngoing to punch and oysters? That's a better game.\"\n\nIf Mathieson had not been drinking, he might have been touched by the\nsight of Nettie; so very white and delicate her little face looked,\ntrembling and eager, within that border of her black hood, on which\nthe snow crystals lay, a very doubtful and unwholesome embroidery. She\nlooked as if she was going to melt and disappear like one of them; and\nperhaps Mr. Mathieson did feel the effect of her presence, but he felt\nit only to be vexed and irritated; and Barry's suggestion fell into\nready ground.\n\n\"I tell you, go home!\" he said, roughly. \"What are you doing here? I\ntell you I'm _not_ coming home--I'm engaged to supper to-night, and I'm\nnot going to miss it for any fool's nonsense. Go home!\"\n\nNettie's lip trembled, but that was all the outward show of the\nagitation within. She would not have delayed to obey if her father had\nbeen quite himself; but in his present condition she thought perhaps\nthe next word might undo the last; she could not go without another\ntrial. She waited an instant, and again said softly and pleadingly,\n\"Father, I've been and got cinnamon and sugar for you,--all ready.\"\n\n\"Cinnamon and sugar--\" he cursed with a great oath; and turning, gave\nNettie a violent push from him, which was half a blow. \"Go home!\" he\nrepeated--\"go home and mind your own business, and don't take it upon\nyou to mind mine.\"\n\nNettie reeled, staggered, and coming blindly against one or two timbers\nthat lay on the ground, she fell heavily over them. Nobody saw her; but\nthat her father should have laid a rough hand on her hurt her sorely;\nit hurt her bitterly. He had never done so before; and the cause why he\ncame to do it now rather made it more sorrowful than less so to Nettie's\nmind.\n\nShe could not help a few salt tears from falling; and for a moment\nNettie's faith trembled. Feeling weak, and broken, and miserable, the\nthought came coldly across her mind, _would_ the Lord not hear her,\nafter all? It was but a moment of faith-trembling, but it made her\nill. There was more to do that: the push and fall over the timbers had\njarred her more than she knew at the moment. Nettie walked slowly back\non her road till she neared the shop of Madame Auguste, then she felt\nherself growing very ill, and just reached the Frenchwoman's door to\nfaint away on her steps.\n\nShe did not remain there two seconds. Madame Auguste had seen her go by\nan hour before, and now sat at her window looking out to amuse herself,\nbut with a special intent to see and waylay that pale child on her\nrepassing the house. She saw the little black hood reappear, and started\nto open the door, just in time to see Nettie fall down at her threshold.\nAs instantly, two willing arms were put under her, and lifted up the\nchild and bore her into the house. Then Madame took off her hood, touched\nher lips with brandy, and her brow with Cologne water, and chafed her\nhands. She had laid Nettie on the floor of the inner room, and put a\npillow under her head; the strength which had brought her so far having\nfailed there, and proved unequal to lift her again and put her on the\nbed. Nettie presently came to, opened her eyes, and looked at her nurse.\n\n\"Why, my Nettie,\" said the little woman, \"what is this, my child? what\nis the matter with you?\"\n\n\"I don't know. But I must go home!\" said Nettie, trying to raise\nherself. \"Mother will want me--she'll want me.\"\n\n\"You will lie still, like a good child,\" said her friend, gently\nputting her back on her pillow; \"and I will find some person to carry\nyou home--or some person what will bring your mother here. I will go\nsee if I can find some one now. You lie still, Nettie.\"\n\nNettie lay still, feeling weak after that exertion of trying to raise\nherself. She was quite restored now, and her first thoughts were of\ngrief that she had for a moment failed to trust fully the Lord's\npromises. She fully trusted them now. Let her father do what he would,\nlet things look as dark as they might, Nettie felt sure that \"the\nrewarder of them that diligently seek Him\" had a blessing in store for\nher. Bible words, sweet and long loved and rested on, came to her mind,\nand Nettie rested on them with perfect rest. \"For He hath not despised\nnor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted; neither hath He hid His\nface from him; but when he cried unto Him, _He heard_.\" \"Our heart shall\nrejoice in Him, _because we have trusted in His holy name_.\" Prayer for\nforgiveness, and a thanksgiving of great peace, filled Nettie's heart\nall the while the Frenchwoman was gone.\n\nMeanwhile Madame Auguste had been looking into the street, and seeing\nnobody out in the wet snow, she rushed back to Nettie. Nettie was like\nherself now, only very pale.\n\n\"I must have cut my lip somehow,\" she said; \"there's blood on my\nhandkerchief. How did I come in here?\"\n\n\"Blood!\" said the Frenchwoman; \"where did you cut yourself, Nettie? Let\nme look!\"\n\nWhich she did, with a face so anxious and eager that Nettie smiled at\nher. Her own brow was as quiet and placid as ever it was.\n\n\"How did I get in here, Mrs. August?\"\n\nThe Frenchwoman, however, did not answer her. Instead of which she went\nto her cupboard and got a cup and spoon, and then from a little saucepan\non the stove dipped out some _riz-au-gras_ again.\n\n\"What did you have for dinner, Nettie? you did not tell me.\"\n\n\"Not much--I wasn't hungry,\" said Nettie. \"Oh, I must get up and go home\nto mother.\"\n\n\"You shall eat something first,\" said her friend; and she raised\nNettie's head upon another pillow, and began to feed her with the\nspoon. \"It is good for you. You must take it. Where is your father?\nDon't talk, but tell me. I will do everything right.\"\n\n\"He is at work on Mr. Jackson's new house.\"\n\n\"Is he there to-day?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nMadame Auguste gave her all the \"broth\" in the cup, then bade her\nkeep still, and went to the shop window. It was time for the men to be\nquitting work, she knew; she watched for the carpenters to come,--if\nthey were not gone by already!--how should she know? Even as she thought\nthis, a sound of rude steps and men's voices came from down the road;\nand the Frenchwoman went to her door and opened it. The men came along,\na scattered group of four or five.\n\n\"Is Mr. Mat'ieson there?\" she said. Madame Auguste hardly knew him by\nsight. \"Men, I say! is Mr. Mat'ieson there?\"\n\n\"George, that's you; you're wanted,\" said one of the group, looking\nback; and a fine-looking tall man paused at Madame's threshold.\n\n\"Are you Mr. Mat'ieson?\" said the Frenchwoman.\n\n\"Yes, ma'am. That's my name.\"\n\n\"Will you come in? I have something to speak to you. Your little\ndaughter Nettie is very ill.\"\n\n\"Ill!\" exclaimed the man. \"Nettie!--Where is she?\"\n\n\"She is here. Hush! you must not say nothing to her, but she is very\nill. She is come fainting at my door, and I have got her in here; but\nshe wants to go home, and I think you had better tell her she will not\ngo home, but she will stay here with me to-night.\"\n\n\"Where is she?\" said Mr. Mathieson; and he stepped in with so little\nceremony that the mistress of the house gave way before him. He looked\nround the shop.\n\n\"She is not here--you shall see her--but you must not tell her she is\nill,\" said the Frenchwoman, anxiously.\n\n\"Where is she?\" repeated Mr. Mathieson, with a tone and look which made\nMadame Auguste afraid he would burst the doors if she did not open them.\nShe opened the inner door without further preparation, and Mr. Mathieson\nwalked in. By the fading light he saw Nettie lying on the floor at his\nfeet. He was thoroughly himself now; sobered in more ways than one. He\nstood still when he had got there, and spoke not a word.\n\n\"Father,\" said Nettie, softly.\n\nHe stooped down over her. \"What do you want, Nettie?\"\n\n\"Can't I go home?\"\n\n\"She must better not go home to-night,\" began Madame Auguste, earnestly,\n\"it is so wet and cold! She will stay here with me to-night, Mr.\nMat'ieson. You will tell her that it is best.\"\n\nBut Nettie said, \"_Please_ let me go home! mother will be so troubled.\"\nShe spoke little, for she felt weak; but her father saw her very eager\nin the request. He stooped and put his strong arms under her, and lifted\nher up.\n\n\"Have you got anything to put over her?\" he said, looking round the\nroom. \"I'll fetch it back.\"\n\nSeeing that the matter was quite taken out of her hands, the kind little\nFrenchwoman was very quick in her arrangements. She put on Nettie's head\na warm hood of her own; then round her and over her she wrapped a thick\nwoollen counterpane, that to be sure would have let no snow through if\nthe distance to be travelled had been twice as far. As she folded and\narranged the thick stuff round Nettie's head, so as to shield even her\nface from the outer air, she said, half whispering,\n\n\"I would not tell nothing to mother about your lip; it is not much. I\nwish I could keep you. Now she is ready, Mr. Mat'ieson.\"\n\nAnd Mr. Mathieson stalked out of the house and strode along the road\nwith firm, swift steps, till, past Jackson's, and past the turning, he\ncame to his own door, and carried Nettie upstairs. He never said a word\nthe whole way. Nettie was too muffled up and too feeble to speak; so the\nfirst word was when he had come in and sat down in a chair, which he\ndid with Nettie still in his arms. Mrs. Mathieson, standing white and\nsilent, waited to see what was the matter; she had no power to ask a\nquestion. Her husband unfolded the counterpane that was wrapped round\nNettie's head; and there she was, looking very like her usual self,\nonly exceedingly pale. As soon as she caught sight of her mother's\nface, Nettie would have risen and stood up, but her father's arms held\nher fast. \"What do you want, Nettie?\" he asked. It was the first word.\n\n\"Nothing, father,\" said Nettie, \"only lay me on the bed, please; and\nthen you and mother have supper.\"\n\nMr. Mathieson took her to the bed and laid her gently down, removing the\nwet counterpane which was round her.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" faltered Mrs. Mathieson.\n\n\"Nothing much, mother,\" said Nettie, quietly; \"only I was a little ill.\nWon't you bake the waffles and have supper?\"\n\n\"What will _you_ have?\" said her father.\n\n\"Nothing--I've had something. I feel nicely now,\" said Nettie. \"Mother,\nwon't you have supper, and let me see you?\"\n\nMrs. Mathieson's strength had well-nigh deserted her; but Nettie's\ndesire was urgent, and seeing that her husband had seated himself by the\nbed-side, and seemed to have no idea of being anywhere but at home that\nevening, she at length gathered up her faculties to do what was the best\nthing to be done, and went about preparing the supper. Nettie's eyes\nwatched her, and Mr. Mathieson, when he thought himself safe, watched\n_her_. He did not look like the same man, so changed and sobered was\nthe expression of his face. Mrs. Mathieson was devoured by fear, even\nin observing this; but Nettie was exceedingly happy. She did not feel\nanything but weakness; and she lay on her pillow watching the waffles\nbaked and sugared, and then watching them eaten, wondering and rejoicing\nwithin herself at the way in which her father had been brought to eat\nhis supper there at home after all. She was the only one that enjoyed\nanything, though her father and mother ate to please her. Mrs. Mathieson\nhad asked an account of Nettie's illness, and got a very unsatisfactory\none. She had been faint, her husband said; he had found her at Mrs.\nAuguste's, and brought her home; that was about all.\n\nAfter supper he came and sat by Nettie again, and said she was to sleep\nthere, and he would go up and take Nettie's place in the attic. Nettie\nin vain said she was well enough to go upstairs; her father cut the\nquestion short, and bade Mrs. Mathieson go up and get anything Nettie\nwanted. When she had left the room he stooped his head down to Nettie\nand said low,\n\n\"What was that about your lip?\"\n\nNettie started: she thought he would fancy it had it been done, if done\nat all, when he gave her the push at the frame-house. But she did not,\ndare not, answer. She said it was only that she had found a little blood\non her handkerchief, and supposed she might have cut her lip when she\nfell on Mrs. Auguste's threshold, when she had fainted.\n\n\"Show me your handkerchief,\" said her father. Nettie obeyed. He looked\nat it, and looked close at her lips, to find where they might have been\nwounded; and Nettie was sorry to see how much he felt, for he even\nlooked pale himself as he turned away from her. But he was as gentle and\nkind as he could be! Nettie had never seen him so; and when he went off\nup to bed, and Nettie was drawn into her mother's arms to go to sleep,\nshe was very, very happy. But she did not tell her hopes or her joys to\nher mother; she only told her thanks to the Lord; and that she did till\nshe fell asleep.\n\nThe next morning Nettie was well enough to get up and dress herself.\nThat was all she was suffered to do by father or mother. Mr. Mathieson\nsent Barry for water and wood, and himself looked after the fire while\nMrs. Mathieson was busy; all the rest he did was to take Nettie in his\narms and sit holding her till breakfast was ready. He did not talk, and\nhe kept Barry quiet: he was like a different man. Nettie, feeling indeed\nvery weak, could only sit with her head on her father's shoulder, and\nwonder, and think, and repeat quiet prayers in her heart. She was very\npale yet, and it distressed Mr. Mathieson to see that she could not eat.\nSo he laid her on the bed when he was going to his work, and told her\nshe was to stay there and be still, and he would bring her something\ngood when he came home.\n\nHe was as good as his word, and at night brought home some oysters, to\ntempt Nettie's appetite; but it was much more to her that he stayed\nquietly at home, and never made a move towards going out. Eating was not\nin Nettie's line just now; the kind little Frenchwoman had been to see\nher in the course of the day, and brought some delicious rolls and a jug\nof _riz-au-gras_, which was what seemed to suit Nettie's appetite best\nof all.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n_THE GOLDEN CITY._\n\n \"Blessed are the peacemakers.\"--_Matt._ v. 9.\n\n\nSeveral days went on. She did not feel ill, and she was a little\nstronger; but appetite and colour were wanting. Her father would not\nlet her do anything; he would not let her go up to her garret to sleep,\nthough Nettie pleaded for it, fearing he must be uncomfortable. He said\nit was fitter for him than for her, though he made faces about it. He\nalways came home and stayed at home now, and especially attended to\nNettie; his wages came home too, and he brought every day something to\ntry to tempt her to eat; and he was quiet and grave and kind--not the\nsame person.\n\nMrs. Mathieson, in the midst of all her distress about Nettie, began\nto draw some free breaths. But her husband thought only of his\nchild--unless, perhaps, of himself--and drew none. Regularly after\nsupper he would draw Nettie to his arms, and sit with her head upon\nhis shoulder; silent generally, only he would sometimes ask her what\nshe would like. The first time he put this inquiry when Mr. Lumber\nwas out of the way, Nettie answered by asking him to read to her. Mr.\nMathieson hesitated a little, not unkindly, and then read--a chapter\nin the Bible, of course, for Nettie wished to hear nothing else. And\nafter that he often read to her; for Mr. Lumber kept up his old habits\nand preferred livelier company, and so was always out in the evenings.\n\nSo several days passed; and when Saturday came, Mr. Mathieson lost half\na day's work, and took a long walk to a farm where the people kept\npigeons, and brought home one for Nettie's supper. However, she could\nfancy but little of it.\n\n\"What shall I do for you?\" said her father. \"You go round like a shadow,\nand you don't eat much more. What shall I do that you would like?\"\n\nThis time there was nobody in the room. Nettie lifted her head from his\nshoulders and met his eyes,\n\n\"If you would come to Jesus, father!\"\n\n\"What does that mean, Nettie? You know I don't know.\"\n\n\"It means, father, that Jesus is holding out His hand with a promise to\nyou. Now, if you will take the promise,--that is all.\"\n\n\"What is the promise, Nettie?\"\n\nNettie waited, gathered breath, for the talk made her heart beat, and\nthen said, \"'This is the promise that He hath promised us, even eternal\nlife.'\"\n\n\"How can a sinful man take such a promise?\" said Mr. Mathieson, with\nsuppressed feeling. \"That is for people like you, Nettie, not me.\"\n\n\"Oh, Jesus, has bought it!\" cried Nettie; \"it's free. It's without\nprice. You may have it if you'll believe in Him and love Him, father.--I\ncan't talk.\"\n\nShe had talked too much, or the excitement had been too strong for her.\nHer words were broken off by coughing, and she remarked that her lip\nmust have bled again. Her father laid her on the bed, and from that time\nfor a number of days she was kept as quiet as possible; for her strength\nhad failed anew, and yet more than at first.\n\nFor two weeks she hardly moved from the bed. But except that she was so\nvery pale, she did not look very ill; her face wore just its own patient\nand happy expression. Her father would not now let her talk to him; but\nhe did everything she asked. He read to her in the Bible; Nettie would\nturn over the leaves to the place she wanted, and then point it out to\nhim with a look of life, and love, and pleasure, that were like a whole\nsermon; and her father read first that sermon and then the chapter. He\nwent to church as she asked him; and without her asking him, after the\nfirst Sunday. Nettie stayed at home on the bed, and sang psalms in her\nheart.\n\nAfter those two weeks there was a change for the better. Nettie felt\nstronger, looked more as she used to look, and got up and even went\nabout a little. The weather was changing too, now. April days were\ngrowing soft and green; trees budding and grass freshening up, and\nbirds all alive in the branches; and above all, the air and the light,\nthe wonderful soft breath of spring, and sunshine of spring, made\npeople forget that winter had ever been harsh or severe.\n\nNettie went out and took little walks in the sun which seemed to do her\ngood; and she begged so hard to be allowed to go to her garret again,\nthat her father took pity on her, sent Mr. Lumber away, and gave her\nher old nice little room on the same floor with the others. Her mother\ncleaned it and put it in order, and Nettie felt too happy when she found\nherself mistress of it again, and possessed of a quiet place where she\ncould read and pray alone. With windows open, how sweetly the spring\nwalked in there, and made it warm, and bright, and fragrant too!\n\nNettie wished she could sing, for she had often seen singing comfort\nher mother; but she had not the power to-day. She gave her the best she\ncould. Her words, however, constantly carried hurt and healing together\nto her mother's mind. But when Nettie went on to repeat softly the verse\nof a hymn that follows, she was soothed, notwithstanding the hinted\nmeaning in the words. So sweet was the trust of the hymn, so unruffled\nthe trust of the speaker. The words were from a little bit of a book of\ntranslations of German hymns which Mr. Folke, her Sunday-school teacher,\nhad brought her, and which was never out of Nettie's hand.\n\n \"As GOD leads me, so my heart\n In faith shall rest.\n No grief nor fear my soul shall part\n From JESUS' breast.\n\n \"In sweet belief I know\n What way my life doth go;\n Since GOD permitteth so,\n That must be best.\"\n\nSlowly she said the words, with her usual sober, placid face; and Mrs.\nMathieson was mute.\n\nFor some weeks, as the spring breathed warmer and warmer, Nettie\nrevived; so much that her mother at times felt encouraged about her. Mr.\nMathieson was never deceived. Whether his former neglect of his child\nhad given him particular keenness of vision in all that concerned her\nnow, or for whatever reason, _he_ saw well enough, and saw constantly,\nthat Nettie was going to leave him. There was never a wish of hers\nuncared for now; there was not a straw suffered to lie in her path,\nthat he could take out of it. He went to church, and he read at home;\nhe changed his behaviour to her mother as well as to herself, and he\nbrought Barry to his bearings. What more did Nettie want?\n\nOne Sunday, late in May, her father came into her room to see her. He\nkissed her, and said a few words, and then went to the window and stood\nthere looking out. Both were silent for some time, while the birds sang\non.\n\n\"Father,\" said Nettie.\n\nHe turned instantly, and asked her what she wanted.\n\n\"Father,\" said Nettie, \"the streets of the heavenly city are all of\ngold.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said he, meeting her grave eyes, \"and what then, Nettie?\"\n\n\"Only I was thinking, if the _streets_ are gold, how clean must the feet\nbe that walk on them!\"\n\nHe knew what her intent eyes meant, and he sat down by her bed-side and\nlaid his face in his hands. \"I am a sinful man, Nettie!\" he said.\n\n\"Father, 'this is a faithful saying, that Jesus Christ came into the\nworld to save sinners.'\"\n\n\"I don't deserve He should save me, Nettie.\"\n\n\"Well, father, ask Him to save you, _because_ you don't deserve it.\"\n\n\"What sort of a prayer would that be?\"\n\n\"The right one, father; for Jesus does deserve it, and for His sake\nis the only way. If you deserved it, you wouldn't want Jesus; but\nnow '_He_ is our peace.' Oh, father, listen, listen to what the Bible\nsays.\" She had been turning the leaves of her Bible, and read low and\nearnestly, \"'Now we are ambassadors for God, as though God did beseech\nyou by us; we pray you, in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God.'\nOh, father, aren't you willing to be reconciled to Him?\"\n\n\"God knows I am willing!\" said Mr. Mathieson.\n\n\"_He_ is willing, I am sure,\" said Nettie.\n\nThere was a long silence. Mr. Mathieson never stirred. Nor Nettie\nhardly. The words were true of her,--\"He that believeth shall not make\nhaste.\" She waited, looking at him. Then he said, \"What must I do,\nNettie?\"\n\n\"Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ.\"\n\n\"How, child?\"\n\n\"Father, the best way is to ask Him, and He will tell you how. If you\nare only willing to be His servant, if you are willing to give yourself\nto the Lord Jesus--are you willing, father?\"\n\n\"I am willing--anything!--if He will have me,\" said Mr. Mathieson.\n\n\"Then go, father!\" said Nettie, eagerly, \"go and ask Him, and He will\nteach you how; He will! He has promised. Go, father, and ask the\nLord--will you? Go now.\"\n\nHer father remained still a moment--then he rose up and went out of\nthe room, and she heard his steps going up to the unused attic. Nettie\ncrossed her hands upon her breast, and smiled. She was too much\nexhausted to pray otherwise than with a thought.\n\nThen slumber stole over her, and she slept sweetly and quietly while the\nhours of the summer afternoon rolled away. Her mother watched beside her\nfor a long while before she awoke, and during that time read surely in\nNettie's delicate cheek and too delicate colour what was the sentence\nof separation. She read it, and smothered the cry of her heart, for\nNettie's sake.\n\nThe sun was descending toward the western hill country, and long level\nrays of light were playing in the tree-tops, when Nettie awoke.\n\n\"Are you there, mother?\" she said--\"and is the Sunday so near over? How\nI have slept!\"\n\n\"How do you feel, dear?\"\n\n\"Why, I feel well,\" said Nettie. \"It has been a good day. The gold is\nall in the air here--not in the streets.\" She had half raised herself,\nand was sitting looking out of the window.\n\n\"Do you think of that city all the time?\" inquired Mrs. Mathieson, half\njealously.\n\n\"Mother,\" said Nettie, slowly, still looking out at the sunlight, \"would\nyou be very sorry, and very much surprised, if I were to go there before\nlong?\"\n\n\"I should not be very much surprised, Nettie,\" answered her mother, in a\ntone that told all the rest. Her child's eye turned to her sorrowfully\nand understandingly.\n\n\"You'll not be very long before you'll be there too,\" she said. \"Now\nkiss me, mother.\"\n\nCould Mrs. Mathieson help it? She took Nettie in her arms, but instead\nof the required kiss, there came a burst of passion that bowed her head\nin convulsive grief against her child's breast.\n\nAshamed of her giving way, Mrs. Mathieson checked herself and dried her\ntears. Nettie lay down wearily.\n\n\"I will stay here, mother,\" she said, \"till tea is ready; and then I\nwill come.\"\n\nMrs. Mathieson went to attend to it.\n\nWhen Nettie went into the other room, her father was sitting there. She\nsaid nothing, however, and even for some time did not look in his face\nto see what he might have to say to her. She took a cup of tea and a\nbiscuit, and ate an egg that her mother had boiled for her. It was when\nsupper was over, and they had moved from the table, and Mrs. Mathieson\nwas busy about, that Nettie turned her eyes once more upon her father,\nwith their soft, full inquiry. He looked grave, subdued, tender--she\nhad heard that in his voice already; not as she had ever seen him look\nbefore. He met her eyes and answered them.\n\n\"I understand it now, Nettie,\" he said; then drew her close within his\narms; and without one word Nettie sat there, till for very happiness and\nweariness she fell asleep, and he carried her to her room.\n\nThere was a great calm fell upon the family for a little time thereafter.\nIt was like one of those spring days that were past--full of misty\nlight, and peace, and hope, and promise. It was a breath of rest.\n\nBut they knew it would end--for a time; and one summer day the end came.\nIt was a Sunday again, and again Nettie was lying on her bed, enjoying\nin her weakness the loveliness of the air and beauty without. Her mother\nwas with her, and knew that she had been failing very fast for some\ndays. Nettie knew it too.\n\n\"How soon do you think father will be home?\" she said.\n\n\"Not before another hour, I think,\" said Mrs. Mathieson. \"Why, what of\nit, Nettie?\"\n\n\"Nothing----\" said Nettie, doubtfully. \"I'd like him to come.\"\n\n\"It won't be long,\" said her mother.\n\n\"Mother, I am going to give you my little dear hymn-book,\" said Nettie\npresently; \"and I want to read you a hymn now, and then you will think\nof me when you read it. May I?\"\n\n\"Read,\" said Mrs. Mathieson; and she put up her hand to hide her face\nfrom Nettie. Nettie did not look, however; her eyes were on her hymn,\nand she read it, low and sweetly--very sweetly--through. There was no\ntremor in her voice, but now and then a little accent of joy or a shade\nof tenderness.\n\nMrs. Mathieson's head bowed as the hymn went on, but she dared not give\nway to tears, and Nettie's manner half awed and half charmed her into\nquietness. When the reading ceased, and Mrs. Mathieson felt that she\ncould look toward Nettie again, she saw that the book had fallen from\nher hand, and that she was almost fainting. Alarmed, instantly she\ncalled for help, and got one of the inmates of the house to go after\nMr. Mathieson. But Nettie sank so fast, they were afraid he would not\ncome in time. The messenger came back without having been able to find\nhim; for after the close of the services in the church Mr. Mathieson had\ngone out of his way on an errand of kindness. Nettie herself was too low\nto ask for him, if indeed she was conscious he was not there. They could\nnot tell; she lay without taking any notice.\n\nBut just as the last rays of the sun were bright in the leaves of the\ntrees and on the hills in the distance, Mr. Mathieson's step was heard.\nOne of the neighbours met him and told him what he must expect; and\nhe came straight to Nettie's room. And when he bent down over her and\nspoke, Nettie knew his voice, and opened her eyes, and once more smiled.\nIt was like a smile from another country. Her eyes were fixed on him.\nMr. Mathieson bent yet nearer and put his lips to hers; then he tried to\nspeak.\n\n\"My little peacemaker, what shall I do without you?\"\n\nNettie drew a long, long breath. \"Peace--is--made!\" she slowly said.\n\nAnd the peacemaker was gone.\n\n \"There's a rest for little children.\n Above the bright blue sky,\n Who love the blessed Saviour,\n And to His Father cry,\n A rest from every trouble,\n From sin and danger free,\n There every little pilgrim\n Shall rest eternally.\n\n \"There's a home for little children,\n Above the bright blue sky,\n Where JESUS reigns in glory,\n A home of peace and joy;\n No home on earth is like it,\n Nor can with it compare,\n For every one is happy,\n Nor can be happier there.\n\n \"There are crowns for little children,\n Above the bright blue sky;\n And all who look to JESUS\n Shall wear them by-and-bye,\n Yea, crowns of brightest glory,\n Which He shall sure bestow\n On all who love the Saviour\n And walk with Him below.\"\n\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBER'S NOTE\n\nHyphenation is inconsistent, and some of the punctuation is non-standard.\nThe helpful French lady appears as Madame Auguste in the narrative,\nbut as Mrs. August when she is addressed in English. One instance of\nMathison was changed to match all the Mathiesons.\n\nOne additional change was made to the text:\n\n \"That would make the fire worse,\" said one of girls.\n now reads:\n \"That would make the fire worse,\" said one of the girls.\n\n\n\n\n\n
","title":"Little Nettie; or, Home Sunshine","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":23575}