Little Nettie; or, Home Sunshine

CHAPTER IV.
THE BROWN CLOAK IN NOVEMBER

"How long, O Lord?"—Rev. vi. 10.

November days drew toward an end; December was near. One afternoon Mrs. Mathieson, wanting Nettie, went to the foot of the garret stairs to call her.

"Yes, mother. Coming."

"Fetch down your school cloak, child."

She went back to her room, and presently Nettie came in with the cloak, looking placid as usual, but very pale.

"Somebody's got to go to Mr. Jackson's, but you ain't fit, child; you ate next to nothing at noon. You can't live on porridge."

"I like it, mother; but I wasn't hungry. What's wanting from Jackson's?"

Nettie put on her cloak, and took her basket, and went out. It was after sundown already, and a keen wind swept through the village street, and swept through Nettie's brown cloak too, tight as she wrapt it about her. But though she was cold and blue, and the wind seemed to go through her as well as the cloak, Nettie was thinking of something else. She knew that her mother had eaten a very scanty, poor sort of dinner, as well as herself, and that she often looked pale and wan; and Nettie was almost ready to wish she had not given the last penny of her shilling on Sunday to the missionary-box.

"What do you want?" said Mr. Jackson, rather curtly, when Nettie's turn came to be served, and she had told her errand. "What!" he exclaimed, "seven pounds of meal, and a pound of butter, and two pounds of sugar! Well, you tell your father that I should like to have my bill settled; it's all drawn up, you see, and I don't like to open a new account till it's all square."

He turned away immediately to another customer, and Nettie felt she had got her answer. She stood a moment, very disappointed, and a little mortified, and somewhat downhearted. What should they do for supper? and what a storm there would be when her father heard about all this, and found nothing but bread and tea on the table! Slowly Nettie turned away, and slowly made the few steps from the door to the corner. She felt very blue indeed; coming out of the warm store, the chill wind made her shiver. Just at the corner somebody stopped her.

"Nettie!" said the voice of the little French baker, "what ails you? you look not well."

Nettie gave her a grateful smile, and said she was well.

"You look not like it," said Madame Auguste; "you look as if the wind might carry you off before you get home. Come to my house; I want to see you in the light."

"I haven't time; I must go home to mother, Mrs. August."

"Yes, I know! You will go home all the faster for coming this way first. You have not been to see me in these three or four weeks."

She carried Nettie along with her; it was but a step, and Nettie did not feel capable of resisting anything. The little Frenchwoman put her into the shop before her, made her sit down, and lighted a candle. The shop was nice and warm, and full of the savoury smell of fresh baking.

"We have made our own bread lately," said Nettie, in answer to the charge of not coming there.

"Do you make it good?" said Madame Auguste.

"It isn't like yours, Mrs. August," said Nettie, smiling.

"If you will come and live with me next summer, I will teach you how to do some things; and you shall not look so blue neither. Have you had your supper?"

"No; and I am just going home to get supper. I must go, Mrs. August."

"You come in here," said the Frenchwoman; "you are my prisoner. I am all alone, and I want somebody for company. You take off your cloak, Nettie, and I shall give you something to keep the wind out. You do what I bid you!"

Nettie felt too cold and weak to make any ado about complying, unless duty had forbade; and she thought there was time enough yet. She let her cloak drop, and took off her hood. The little back room to which Madame Auguste had brought her was only a trifle bigger than the bit of a shop; but it was as cozy as it was little. A tiny stove warmed it, and kept warm, too, a tiny iron pot and tea-kettle, which were steaming away. The bed was at one end, draped nicely with red curtains; there was a little looking-glass, and some prints in frames round the walls; there was Madame's little table covered with a purple cloth, and with her work and a small clock and various pretty things on it. Madame Auguste had gone to a cupboard in the wall, and taken out a couple of plates and little bowls, which she set on a little round stand; and then lifting the cover of the pot on the stove, she ladled out a bowlful of what was in it, and gave it to Nettie with one of her nice crisp rolls.

"Eat that!" she said. "I shan't let you go home till you have swallowed that to keep the cold out. It makes me all freeze to look at you."

So she filled her own bowl, and made good play with her spoon, while between spoonfuls she looked at Nettie; and the good little woman smiled in her heart to see how easy it was for Nettie to obey her. The savoury, simple, comforting broth she had set before her was the best thing to the child's delicate stomach that she had tasted for many a day.

"Is it good?" said the Frenchwoman, when Nettie's bowl was half empty.

"It's so good!" said Nettie. "I didn't know I was so hungry."

"Now you will not feel the cold so," said the Frenchwoman, "and you will go back quicker. Do you like my riz-au-gras?"

"What is it, ma'am?" said Nettie.

The Frenchwoman laughed, and made Nettie say it over till she could pronounce the words.

"Now you like it," she said, "that is a French dish. Do you think Mrs. Mat'ieson would like it?"

"I am sure she would!" said Nettie. "But I don't know how to make it."

"You shall come here, and I will teach it to you. And now you shall carry a little home to your mother, and ask her if she will do the honour to a French dish to approve it. It do not cost anything. I cannot sell much bread the winters; I live on what cost me nothing."

While saying this, Madame Auguste had filled a little pail with the riz-au-gras, and put a couple of her rolls along with it. "It must have the French bread," she said; and she gave it to Nettie, who looked quite cheered up, and very grateful.

"You are a good little girl!" she said. "How keep you always your face looking so happy? There is always one little streak of sunshine here"—drawing her finger across above Nettie's eyebrows—"and another here,"—and her finger passed over the line of Nettie's lips.

"That's because I am happy, Mrs. August."

"Always?"

"Yes, always."

"What makes you so happy always? You was just the same in the cold winter out there, as when you was eating my riz-au-gras. Now, me—I am cross in the cold, and not happy."

But the Frenchwoman saw a deeper light come into Nettie's eyes as she answered,

"It is because I love the Lord Jesus, Mrs. August, and He makes me happy."

"You?" said Madame. "My child! What do you say, Nettie? I think not I have heard you right."

"Yes, Mrs. August, I am happy because I love Jesus. I know He loves me, and He will take me to be with Him."

"Not just yet," said the Frenchwoman, "I hope. Well, I wish I was so happy as you, Nettie. Good bye!"

Nettie ran home, more comforted by her good supper, and more thankful to the goodness of God in giving it, and happy in the feeling of His goodness, than can be told. And very, very glad she was of that little tin pail in her hand she knew her mother needed. Mrs. Mathieson had time to eat the rice broth before her husband came in.

"She said she would show me how to make it," said Nettie, "and it don't cost anything."

"Why, it's just rice and—what is it? I don't see," said Mrs. Mathieson. "It isn't rice and milk."

Nettie laughed at her mother.

"Mrs. August didn't tell. She called it reeso—I forget what she called it!"

"It's the best thing I ever saw," said Mrs. Mathieson. "There—put the pail away. Your father's coming."

He was in a terrible humour, as they expected; and Nettie and her mother had a sad evening of it. And the same sort of thing lasted for several days. Mrs. Mathieson hoped that perhaps Mr. Lumber would take into his head to seek lodgings somewhere else, or, at least, that Mathieson would have been shamed into paying Jackson's bill; but neither thing happened. Mr. Lumber found his quarters too comfortable; and Mr. Mathieson spent too much of his earnings on drink to find the amount necessary to clear off the scores at the grocer's shop.

From that time, as they could run up no new account, the family were obliged to live on what they could immediately pay for. That was seldom a sufficient supply; and so, in dread of the storms that came whenever their wants touched Mr. Mathieson's own comfort, Nettie and her mother denied themselves constantly what they very much needed. The old can sometimes bear this better than the young. Nettie grew more delicate, more thin, and more feeble every day. It troubled her mother sadly. Mr. Mathieson could not be made to see it. Indeed, he was little at home except when he was eating.

 
"Scarce discerning aught before us,
On our weary way we go;
But one guiding star is o'er us,
Beaming forth the way to show.
 
 
"Watch we, pray we, that we sink not,
Journeying on while yet we can;
At a moment when we think not
We shall meet the Son of Man."
 

CHAPTER V.
THE NEW BLANKET

"Lift up your hands in the sanctuary, and bless the Lord."

 

Ps. cxxxiv. 2.

It was very cold up in Nettie's garret now; the winter had moved on into the latter part of December, and the frosts were very keen; and the winter winds seemed to come in at one end of the attic and to just sweep through to the other, bringing all except the snow with them. Even the snow often drifted in through the cracks of the rough wainscoat board, or under the shutter, and lay in little white streaks or heaps on the floor, and never melted. To-night there was no wind, and Nettie had left her shutter open, that she might see the stars as she lay in bed. It did not make much difference in the feeling of the place, for it was about as cold inside as out; and the stars were great friends of Nettie's. How bright they looked down to-night! It was very cold, and lying awake made Nettie colder: she shivered sometimes under all her coverings; still she lay looking at the stars in that square patch of sky that her shutter-opening gave her to see, and thinking of the Golden City. "They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters; and God shall wipe all tears from their eyes."

"His servants shall serve Him,"—thought Nettie; "and mother will be there, and Barry—and I shall be there! and then I shall be happy. And I am happy now. 'Blessed be the Lord, which hath not turned away my prayer, nor His mercy from me!'" And if that verse went through Nettie's head once, it did fifty times: so did this one, which the quiet stars seemed to repeat and whisper to her, "The Lord redeemeth the soul of His servants, and none of them that trust in Him shall be desolate." And though now and then a shiver passed over Nettie's shoulders with the cold, she was ready to sing for very gladness and fulness of heart.

But lying awake and shivering did not do Nettie's little body any good; she looked so very white the next day that it caught even Mr. Mathieson's attention. He reached out his arm and drew Nettie toward him, as she was passing between the cupboard and the table. Then he looked at her, but he did not say how she looked.

"Do you know the day after to-morrow is Christmas Day?" said he.

"Yes, I know. It's the day when Christ was born," said Nettie.

"Well, I don't know anything about that," said her father; "but what I mean is, that a week after is New Year. What would you like me to give you, Nettie,—hey?"

Nettie stood still for a moment, then her eyes lighted up.

"Will you give it to me, father, if I tell you?"

"I don't know. If it is not extravagant, perhaps I will."

"It will not cost much," said Nettie, earnestly. "Will you give me what I choose, father, if it does not cost too much?"

"I suppose I will. What is it?"

"Father, you won't be displeased?"

"Not I!" said Mr. Mathieson, drawing Nettie's little form tighter in his grasp: he thought he had never felt it so slight and thin before.

"Father, I am going to ask you a great thing!—to go to church with me New Year's Day."

"To church!" said her father, frowning; but he remembered his promise, and he felt Nettie in his arms yet. "What on earth good will that do you?"

"A great deal of good. It would please me so much, father."

"What do you want me to go to church for?" said Mr. Mathieson, not sure yet what humour he was going to be in.

"To thank God, father, that there was a Christmas, when Jesus came, that we might have a New Year."

"What—what!" said Mr. Mathieson. "What are you talking about?"

"Because, father," said Nettie, trembling, and seizing her chance, "since Jesus loved us, and came and died for us, we all may have a New Year of glory. I shall, father; and I want you too. Oh do, father!" and Nettie burst into tears.

Mr. Mathieson held her fast, and his face showed a succession of changes for a minute or so. But she presently raised her head and kissed him, and said,

"May I have what I want, father?"

"Yes—go along," said Mr. Mathieson. "I should like to know how to refuse you, though. But, Nettie, don't you want me to give you anything else?"

"Nothing else!" she told him, with her face all shining with joy.

Mr. Mathieson looked at her, and seemed very thoughtful all supper-time.

"Can't you strengthen that child up a bit?" he said to his wife afterwards. "She does too much."

"She does as little as I can help," said Mrs. Mathieson, "but she is always at something. I am afraid her room is too cold o' nights. She ain't fit to bear it. It's bitter up there."

"Give her another blanket or quilt, then," said her husband. "I should think you would see to that. Does she say she is cold?"

"No,—never, except sometimes when I see her looking blue, and ask her."

"And what does she say then?"

"She says sometimes she is a little cold," said Mrs. Mathieson.

"Well, do put something more over her, and have no more of it!" said her husband, violently. "Sit still and let the child be cold, when another covering would make it all right!"—and he ended with swearing at her.

Mrs. Mathieson did not dare to tell him that Nettie's food was not of a sufficiently nourishing kind: she knew what the answer to that would be; and she feared that a word more about Nettie's sleeping-room would be thought an attack upon Mr. Lumber's being in the house. So she was silent.

But there came home something for Nettie in the course of the Christmas week, which comforted her a little, and perhaps quieted Mr. Mathieson too. He brought with him, on coming home to supper one evening, a great thick roll of a bundle, and put it in Nettie's arms, telling her that was for her New Year.

"For me?" said Nettie, the colour starting a little into her cheeks.

"Yes, for you. Open it, and see."

So Nettie did, with some trouble, and there tumbled out upon the floor a great heavy warm blanket, new from the shop. Mr. Mathieson thought the pink in her cheeks was the prettiest thing he had seen in a long while.

"Is this for me, father?"

"I mean it to be so. See if it will go on that bed of yours, and keep you warm."

Nettie gave her father some very hearty thanks, which he took in a silent, pleased way; and then she hastened off with her blanket upstairs. How thick and warm it was! and how nicely it would keep her comfortable when she knelt all wrapped up in it on that cold floor! For a little while it would; not even a warm blanket would keep her from the cold more than a little while at a time up there. But Nettie tried its powers the first thing she did.

Did Mr. Mathieson mean the blanket to take the place of his promise? Nettie thought of that, but like a wise child she said nothing at all till the Sunday morning came. Then, before she set off for Sunday school, she came to her father's elbow.

"Father, I'll be home at a quarter after ten; will you be ready then?"

"Ready for what?" said Mr. Mathieson.

"For my New Year's gift," said Nettie. "You know you promised I should go to church with you."

"Did I? And ain't you going to take the blanket for your New Year's gift, and let me off, Nettie?"

"No, father, to be sure not. I'll be home at a quarter past; please don't forget." And Nettie went off to school very thankful and happy, for her father's tone was not unkind. How glad she was New Year's Day had come on Sunday!

Mr. Mathieson was as good as his word. He was ready at the time, and they walked to the church together. That was a great day to Nettie. Her father and mother going to church in company with her and with each other! And when they got to church, it seemed as if every word of the prayers, and of the reading, and of the hymns, and of the sermon, struck on all Nettie's nerves of hearing and feeling. Would her father understand any of those sweet words? would he feel them? would they reach him? Nettie little thought that what he felt most, what did reach him, though he did not thoroughly understand it, was the look of her own face, though she never but once dared turn it toward him. There was a little colour in it more than usual; her eye was deep in its earnestness; and the grave set of her little mouth was broken up now and then in a way that Mr. Mathieson wanted to watch better than the straight sides of her sun-bonnet would let him. Once he thought he saw something more.

He walked home very soberly, and was a good deal on the silent order during the rest of the day. He did not go to church in the afternoon. But in the evening, as her mother was busy in and out getting supper ready, and Mr. Lumber had not come in, Mr. Mathieson called Nettie to his side.

"What were you crying for in church this forenoon?" he said low.

"Crying!" said Nettie, surprised. "Was I crying?"

"If it wasn't tears I saw dropping from under your hands on to the floor, it must have been some drops of rain that had got there, and I don't see how they could very well. There warn't no rain outside. What was it for, hey?"

There came a great flush all over Nettie's face, and she did not at once speak.

"Hey?—what was it for?"—repeated Mr. Mathieson.

The flush passed away. Nettie spoke very low, and with lips all of a quiver. "I remember. I was thinking, father, how 'all things are ready'—and I couldn't help wishing that you were ready too."

"Ready for what?" said Mr. Mathieson, somewhat roughly. "All things ready for what?"

"Ready for you," said Nettie. "Jesus is ready to love you, and calls you—and the angels are ready to rejoice for you—and I–"

"Go on. What of you?"

Nettie lifted her eyes to him. "I am ready to rejoice too, father."

But the time of rejoicing was not yet. Nettie burst into tears.

Mr. Mathieson was not angry, yet he flung away from her with a rude "Pshaw!" and that was all the answer she got. But the truth was, that there was something in Nettie's look of tenderness, and purity, and trembling hope, that her father's heart could not bear to meet; and, what is more, that he was never able to forget.

Nettie went about her evening business, helping her mother, and keeping back the tears which were very near again; and Mr. Mathieson began to talk with Mr. Lumber, and everything was to all appearance just as it had been hitherto. And so it went on after that.

 
"Well I know thy troubles,
O My servant true!
Thou art very weary—
I was weary too:
But that toil shall make thee
Some day all Mine own;
And the end of sorrow
Shall be near My throne!"