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hill to the church; or Nettie could take the other way, to the main village street, and straight up that. Generally she chose the forked way, because it was the emptiest. Nettie's class in the Sunday-school was of ten little girls about her own age; and their teacher was a very pleasant and kind gentleman, named Mr. Folke. Nettie loved
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him dearly; she would do anything that Mr. Folke told her to do. Their teacher was very apt to give the children a question to answer from the Bible; for which they had to look out texts during the week. This week the question was, "Who are happy?" and Nettie was very eager to know what answers the other girls
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would bring. She was in good time, and sat resting and watching the boys and girls and teachers as they came in, before the school began. She was first there of all her class; and watching so eagerly to see those who were coming, that she did not know Mr. Folke was near till he spoke to her. Nettie started
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and turned. "How do you do?" said her teacher, kindly. "Are you quite well, Nettie, this morning?" For he thought she looked pale and tired. But her face coloured with pleasure and a smile shone all over it, as she told him she was very well. "Have you found out who are the happy people, Nettie?" "Yes, Mr. Folke; I
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have found a verse. But I knew before." "I thought you did. Who are they, Nettie?" "Those that love Jesus, sir." "Ay. In the Christian armour, you know, the feet are 'shod with the preparation of the Gospel of peace.' With the love of Jesus in our hearts, our feet can go over very rough ways and hardly feel that
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they are rough. Do you find it so?" "O yes, sir!" He said no more, for others of the class now came up; and Nettie wondered how he knew, or if he knew, that she had a rough way to go over. But his words were a help and comfort to her. So was the whole lesson that day. The
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verses about the happy people were beautiful. The seven girls who sat on one side of Nettie repeated the blessings told of in the fifth chapter of Matthew, about the poor in spirit, the mourners, the meek, those that hunger and thirst after righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, and the peacemakers. Then came Nettie's verse. It was this:
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"Happy is he that hath the God of Jacob for his help, whose hope is in the Lord his God." The next girl gave the words of Jesus, "If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them." The last gave, "Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered." Then came Mr. Folke's verse, and
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Nettie thought it was the most beautiful of all. "Blessed are they that do his commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the city." Then Mr. Folke talked about that city; its streets of gold, and the gates of pearl, through which nothing that defileth can by any
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means enter. He told how Jesus will make his people happy there; how they will be with him, and all their tears wiped away. And Jesus will be their Shepherd; his sheep will not wander from him anymore; "and they shall see his face, and his name shall be in their foreheads." Nettie could hardly keep from crying as Mr.
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Folke went on; she felt as if she was half in heaven already, and it seemed very odd to cry for gladness; but she could not help it. Then the school closed with singing the hymn, "O how happy are they Who the Saviour obey, And have laid up their treasures above." From school they went to church, of course.
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A strange minister preached that day, and Nettie could not understand him always; but the words of the hymn and Mr. Folke's words ran in her head then, and she was very happy all church time. And as she was walking home, still the tune and the words ran in her ears, "Jesus all the day long Is my joy
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and my song; O that all his salvation might see!" So, thinking busily, Nettie got home and ran up stairs. What a change! It looked like a place very, very far from those gates of pearl. Her mother sat on one side of the stove, not dressed for church, and leaning her head on her hand. Mr. Mathieson was on
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the other side, talking and angry. Barry stood back, playing ball by himself by throwing it up and catching it again. The talk stopped at Nettie's entrance. She threw off her bonnet and began to set the table, hoping that would bring peace. "Your father don't want any dinner," said Mrs. Mathieson. "Yes I do!"--thundered her husband; "but I tell
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you I'll take anything now; so leave your cooking till supper--when Lumber will be here. Go on, child! and get your work done." There were no preparations for dinner, and Nettie was at a loss; and did not like to say anything for fear of bringing on a storm. Her mother looked both weary and out of temper. The kettle
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was boiling,--the only thing about the room that had a pleasant seeming. "Will you have a cup of tea, father?" said Nettie. "Anything you like--yes, a cup of tea will do; and hark'ye, child, I want a good stout supper got this afternoon. Your mother don't choose to hear me. Mr. Lumber is coming, and I want a good supper
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to make him think he's got to the right place. Do you hear, Nettie?" "Yes, father." Nettie went on to do the best she could. She warmed the remains of last night's porridge and gave it to Barry with treacle, to keep him quiet. Meanwhile she had made the tea, and toasted a slice of bread very nicely, though with
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great pains, for the fire wasn't good; and the toast and a cup of tea she gave to her father. He eat it with an eagerness which let Nettie know she must make another slice as fast as possible. "Hollo! Nettie--I say, give us some of that, will you?" said Barry, finding his porridge poor in taste. "Barry, there isn't
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bread enough--I can't," whispered Nettie. "We've got to keep a loaf for supper." "Eat what you've got, or let it alone!" thundered Mr. Mathieson, in the way he had when he was out of patience, and which always tried Nettie exceedingly. "She's got more," said Barry. "She's toasting two pieces this minute. I want one." "I'll knock you over, if
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you say another word," said his father. Nettie was frightened, for she saw he meant to have the whole, and she had destined a bit for her mother. However, when she gave her father his second slice, she ventured, and took the other with a cup of tea to the forlorn figure on the other side of the stove. Mrs.
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Mathieson took only the tea. But Mr. Mathieson's ire was roused afresh. Perhaps toast and tea didn't agree with him. "Have you got all ready for Mr. Lumber?" he said, in a tone of voice very unwilling to be pleased. "No," said his wife,--"I have had no chance. I have been cooking and clearing up all the morning. His room
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isn't ready." "Well, you had better get it ready pretty quick. What's to do?" "Everything's to do," said Mrs. Mathieson. He swore at her. "Why can't you answer a plain question? I say, _what's_ to do?" "There's all Nettie's things in the room at present. They are all to move up stairs, and the red bedstead to bring down." "No,
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mother," said Nettie, gently,--"all my things are up stairs already;--there's only the cot and the bed, that I couldn't move." Mrs. Mathieson gave no outward sign of the mixed feeling of pain and pleasure that shot through her heart. Pleasure at her child's thoughtful love, pain that she should have to show it in such a way. "When did you
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do it, Nettie?" "This morning before breakfast, mother. It's all ready, father, if you or Barry would take up my cot and the bed, and bring down the other bedstead. It's too heavy for me." "That's what I call doing business and having some spirit," said her father. "Not sitting and letting your work come to you. Here, Nettie--I'll do
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the rest for you." Nettie ran with him to show him what was wanted; and Mr. Mathieson's strong arms had it all done very quickly. Nettie eagerly thanked him; and then seeing him in good-humour with her, she ventured something more. "Mother's very tired to-day, father," she whispered; "she'll feel better by and by if she has a little rest.
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Do you think you would mind helping me put up this bedstead?" "Well, here goes!" said Mr. Mathieson. "Which piece belongs here, to begin with?" Nettie did not know much better than he; but putting not only her whole mind but also her whole heart into it, she managed to find out and direct him successfully. Her part was hard
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work; she had to stand holding up the heavy end of the bedstead while her father fitted in the long pieces; and then she helped him to lace the cords, which had to be drawn very tight; and precious time was running away fast, and Nettie had had no dinner. But she stood patiently, with a thought in her heart
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which kept her in peace all the while. When it was done, Mr. Mathieson went out; and Nettie returned to her mother. She was sitting where she had left her. Barry was gone. "Mother, wont you have something to eat?" "I can't eat, child. Have you had anything yourself?" Nettie had seized a remnant of her father's toast, and was
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munching it hastily. "Mother, wont you put on your gown and come to church this afternoon? Do! It will rest you. Do, mother!" "You forget I've got to get supper, child. Your father doesn't think it necessary that anybody should rest, or go to church, or do anything except work. What he is thinking of, I am sure I don't
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know. There is no place to eat in but this room, and he is going to bring a stranger into it; and if I was dying I should have to get up for every meal that is wanted. I never thought I should come to live so! And I cannot dress myself, or prepare the victuals, or have a moment
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to myself, but I have the chance of Mr. Lumber and your father in here to look on! It is worse than a dog's life!" It looked pretty bad, Nettie thought. She did not know what to say. She began clearing away the things on the table. "And what sort of a man this Mr. Lumber is, I don't know.
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I dare say he is like his name--one of your father's cronies--a drinker and a swearer. And Mr. Mathieson will bring him here, to be on my hands! It will kill me before spring, if it lasts." "Couldn't there be a bed made somewhere else for Barry, mother? and then we could eat in there." "Where would you make it?
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I could curtain off a corner of this room, but Barry wouldn't have it, nor your father; and they'd all want to be close to the fire the minute the weather grows the least bit cool. No--there is nothing for me, but to live on till Death calls for me!" "Mother--Jesus said, 'He that liveth and believeth in me shall
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never die.'" "O yes!" said Mrs. Mathieson, with a kind of long-drawn groan, "I don't know how it will be about that! I get so put about, now in these times, that it seems to me I don't know my own soul!" "Mother, come to church this afternoon." "I can't, child. I've got to put up that man's bed and
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make it." "That is all done, mother, and the floor brushed up. Do come!" "Why, who put it up?" "Father and I." "Well! you do beat all, Nettie. But I can't, child; I haven't time." "Yes, mother, plenty. There's all the hour of Sunday-school before church begins. Now do, mother!" "Well--you go off to school; and if I can, maybe
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I will. You go right off, Nettie." Nettie went, feeling weary and empty by dint of hard work and a dinner of a small bit of dry toast. But she thought little about that. She wanted to ask Mr. Folke a question. The lesson that afternoon was upon the peacemakers; and Mr. Folke asked the children what ways they knew
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of being a peacemaker? The answer somehow was not very ready. "Isn't it to stop people from quarrelling?" one child asked. "How can you do that, Kizzy?" Kizzy seemed doubtful. "I could ask them to stop," she said. "Well, suppose you did. Would angry people mind your asking?" "I don't know, sir. If they were very angry, I suppose they
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wouldn't." "Perhaps not. One thing is certain, Kizzy; you must have peace in your own heart, to give you the least chance." "How, Mr. Folke?" "If you want to put out a fire, you must not stick into it something that will catch?" "That would make the fire worse," said one of the girls. "Certainly. So if you want to
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touch quarrelsome spirits with the least hope of softening them, you must be so full of the love of Jesus yourself that nothing but love can come out of your own spirit. You see it means a good deal, to be a peacemaker." "I always thought that must be one of the easiest things of the whole lot," said one
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of the class. "You wont find it so, I think; or rather you will find they are all parts of the same character, and the blessing is one. But there are more ways of being a peacemaker. What do you do when the hinge of a door creaks?" One said "she didn't know;" another said "Nothing." "I stop my ears,"
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said a third. Mr. Folke laughed. "_That_ would not do for a peacemaker," he said. "Don't you know what makes machinery work smoothly?" "Oil!" cried Kizzy. "Oil to be sure. One little drop of oil will stop ever so much creaking and groaning and complaining, of hinges and wheels and all sorts of machines. Now, peoples' tempers are like wheels
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and hinges--but what sort of oil shall we use?" The girls looked at each other, and then one of them said, "Kindness." "To be sure! A gentle word, a look of love, a little bit of kindness, will smooth down a roughened temper or a wry face, and soften a hard piece of work, and make all go easily. And
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so of reproving sinners. The Psalmist says, 'Let the righteous smite me; it shall be a kindness: and let him reprove me; it shall be an excellent oil, which shall not break my head.' But you see the peacemaker must be righteous himself, or he hasn't the oil. Love is the oil; the love of Jesus." "Mr. Folke," said Nettie,
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timidly, "wasn't Jesus a peacemaker?" "The greatest that ever lived!" said Mr. Folke, his eyes lighting up with pleasure at her question. "He made all the peace there is in the world, for he bought it, when he died on the cross to reconcile man with God. All our drops of oil were bought with drops of blood." "And," said
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Nettie, hesitatingly, "Mr. Folke, isn't that one way of being a peacemaker?" "What?" "I mean, to persuade people to be at peace with him?" "That is the way above all others, my child; that is truly to be the 'children of God.' Jesus came and preached peace; and that is what his servants are doing, and will do, till he
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comes. And 'they shall be called the children of God.' 'Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought also to love one another.'" Mr. Folke paused, with a face so full of thought, of eagerness, and of love, that none of the children spoke and some of them wondered. And before Mr. Folke spoke again the superintendent's little bell rang;
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and they all stood up to sing. But Nettie Mathieson hardly could sing; it seemed to her so glorious a thing to be _that_ sort of a peacemaker. Could she be one? But the Lord blessed the peacemakers; then it must be his will that all his children should be such; then he would enable her to be one! It
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was a great thought. Nettie's heart swelled, with hope and joy and prayer. She knew whose peace she longed for, first of all. Her mother had now come to church; so Nettie enjoyed all the services with nothing to hinder. Then they walked home together, not speaking much to each other, but every step of the way pleasant in the
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Sunday afternoon light, till they got to their own door. Nettie knew what her mother's sigh meant, as they mounted the stairs. Happily, nobody was at home yet but themselves. "Now, mother," said Nettie, when she had changed her dress and come to the common room,--"what's to be for supper? I'll get it. You sit still and read, if you
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want to, while it's quiet. What must we have?" "There is not a great deal to do," said Mrs. Mathieson. "I boiled the pork this morning, and that was what set your father up so; that's ready; and he says there must be cakes. The potatoes are all ready to put down--I was going to boil 'em this morning, and
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he stopped me." Nettie looked grave about the cakes. "However, mother," she said, "I don't believe that little loaf of bread would last, even if you and I didn't touch it; it is not very big." Mrs. Mathieson wearily sat down and took her Testament, as Nettie begged her; and Nettie put on the kettle and the pot of potatoes,
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and made the cakes ready to bake. The table was set, and the treacle and everything on it, except the hot things, when Barry burst in. "Hollo, cakes!--hollo, treacle!" he shouted. "Pork and treacle--that's the right sort of thing. Now we're going to live something like." "Hush, Barry, don't make such a noise," said his sister. "You know it's Sunday
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evening." "Sunday! well, what about Sunday? What's Sunday good for, except to eat, I should like to know?" "O Barry!" "O Barry!" said he, mimicking her. "Come, shut up, and fry your cake. Father and Lumber will be here just now." Nettie hushed, as she was bade; and as soon as her father's step was heard below, she went to
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frying cakes with all her might. She just turned her head to give one look at Mr. Lumber as he came in. He appeared to her very like her father, but without the recommendation which her affection gave to Mr. Mathieson. A big, strong, burly fellow, with the same tinges of red about his face, that the summer sun had
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never brought there. Nettie did not want to look again. She had a good specimen this evening of what they might expect in future. Mrs. Mathieson poured out the tea, and Nettie baked the cakes; and perhaps because she was almost faint for want of something to eat, she thought no three people ever ate so many griddle cakes before
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at one meal. In vain plateful after plateful went upon the board, and Nettie baked them as fast as she could; they were eaten just as fast; and when finally the chairs were pushed back, and the men went down stairs, Nettie and her mother looked at each other. "There's only one left, mother," said Nettie. "And he has eaten
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certainly half the piece of pork," said Mrs. Mathieson. "Come, child, take something yourself; you're ready to drop. I'll clear away." But it is beyond the power of any disturbance to take away the gladness of a heart where Jesus is. Nettie's bread was sweet to her, even that evening. Before she had well finished her supper, her father and
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his lodger came back. They sat down on either side the fire and began to talk,--of politics, and of their work on which they were then engaged, with their employers and their fellow-workmen; of the state of business in the village, and profits and losses, and the success of particular men in making money. They talked loudly and eagerly; and
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Nettie had to go round and round them, to get to the fire for hot water and back to the table to wash up the cups and plates. Her mother was helping at the table, but to get round Mr. Lumber to the pot of hot water on the fire every now and then, fell to Nettie's share. It was
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not a very nice ending of her sweet Sabbath day, she thought. The dishes were done and put away, and still the talk went on as hard as ever. It was sometimes a pleasure to Nettie's father to hear her sing hymns of a Sunday evening. Nettie watched for a chance, and the first time there was a lull of
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the voices of the two men, she asked, softly, "Shall I sing, father?" Mr. Mathieson hesitated, and then answered, "No, better not, Nettie; Mr. Lumber might not find it amusing;" and the talk began again. Nettie waited a little longer, feeling exceedingly tired; then she rose and lit a candle. "What are you doing, Nettie?" her mother said. "I am
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going to bed, mother." "You can't take a candle up there, child! the attic's all full of things, and you'd certainly set us on fire." "I'll take great care, mother." "But you can't, child! The wind might blow the snuff of your candle right into something that would be all a flame by the time you're asleep. You must manage
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without a light somehow." "But I can't see to find my way," said Nettie, who was secretly trembling with fear. "I'll light you then, for once, and you'll soon learn the way. Give me the candle." Nettie hushed the words that came crowding into her mouth, and clambered up the steep stairs to the attic. Mrs. Mathieson followed her with
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the candle till she got to the top, and there she held it till Nettie had found her way to the other end where her bed was. Then she said good-night and went down. The little square shutter of the window was open, and a ray of moonlight streamed in upon the bed. It was nicely made up; Nettie saw
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that her mother had been there and had done that for her and wrought a little more space and order among the things around the bed. But the moonlight did not get in far enough to show much more. Just a little of this thing and of that could be seen; a corner of a chest, or a gleam on
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the side of a meal bag; the half light showed nothing clearly except the confused fulness of the little attic. Nettie had given her head a blow against a piece of timber as she came through it; and she sat down upon her little bed, feeling rather miserable. Her fear was that the rats might visit her up there. She
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did not certainly know that there were rats in the attic, but she had been fearing to think of them and did not dare to ask; as well as unwilling to give trouble to her mother; for if they _did_ come there, Nettie did not see how the matter could be mended. She sat down on her little bed, so
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much frightened that she forgot how tired she was. Her ears were as sharp as needles, listening to hear the scrape of a rat's tooth upon a timber or the patter of his feet over the floor. For a few minutes Nettie almost thought she could not sleep up there alone, and must go down and implore her mother to
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let her spread her bed in a corner of her room. But what a bustle that would make. Her mother would be troubled, and her father would be angry, and the lodger would be disturbed, and there was no telling how much harm would come of it. No; the peacemaker of the family must not do that. And then the
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words floated into Nettie's mind again, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God." Like a strain of the sweetest music it floated in; and if an angel had come and brought the words straight to Nettie, she could not have been more comforted. She felt the rats could not hurt her while she was
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within hearing of that music; and she got up and kneeled down upon the chest under the little window and looked out. It was like the day that had passed; not like the evening. So purely and softly the moonbeams lay on all the fields and trees and hills, there was no sign of anything but peace and purity to
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be seen. No noise of men's work or voices; no clangour of the iron foundry which on weekdays might be heard; no sight of anything unlovely; but the wide beauty which God had made, and the still peace and light which he had spread over it. Every little flapping leaf seemed to Nettie to tell of its Maker; and the
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music of those words seemed to be all through the still air--"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God." Tears of gladness and hope slowly gathered in Nettie's eyes. The children of God will enter in, by and by, through those pearly gates, into that city of gold,--"where they need no candle, neither light of
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the sun, for the Lord God giveth them light." "So he can give me light here--or what's better than light," thought Nettie. "God isn't only out there, in all that beautiful moonlight world--he is here in my poor little attic too; and he will take just as good care of me as he does of the birds, and better, for
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I am his child, and they are only his beautiful little servants." Nettie's fear was gone. She prayed her evening prayer; she trusted herself to the Lord Jesus to take care of her; and then she undressed herself and lay down and went to sleep, just as quietly as any sparrow of them all with its head under its wing.
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. NETTIE'S GARRET. Nettie's attic grew to be a good place to her. She never heard the least sound of rats; and it was so nicely out of the way. Barry never came up there, and there she could not even hear the voices of her father and Mr. Lumber. She had a tired time of it down stairs. That
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first afternoon was a good specimen of the way things went on. Nettie's mornings were always spent at school; Mrs. Mathieson would have that, as she said, whether she could get along without Nettie or no. From the time Nettie got home till she went to bed, she was as busy as she could be. There was so much bread
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to make, and so much beef and pork to boil, and so much washing of pots and kettles; and at meal times there were very often cakes to fry, besides all the other preparations. Mr. Mathieson seemed to have made up his mind that his lodger's rent should all go to the table and be eaten up immediately; but the
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difficulty was to make as much as he expected of it in that line; for now he brought none of his own earnings home, and Mrs. Mathieson had more than a sad guess where they went. By degrees he came to be very little at home in the evenings, and he carried off Barry with him. Nettie saw her mother
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burdened with a great outward and inward care at once, and stood in the breach all she could. She worked to the extent of her strength, and beyond it, in the endless getting and clearing away of meals; and watching every chance, when the men were out of the way, she would coax her mother to sit down and read
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a n her Testament. "It will rest you so, mother," Nettie would say; "and I will make the bread just as soon as I get the dishes done. Do let me! I like to do it." Sometimes Mrs. Mathieson could not be persuaded; sometimes she would yield, in a despondent kind of way, and sit down with her Testament and
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look at it as if neither there nor anywhere else in the universe could she find rest or comfort any more. "It don't signify, child," she said, one afternoon when Nettie had been urging her to sit down and read. "I haven't the heart to do anything. We're all driving to rack and ruin just as fast as we can
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go." "Oh no, mother!" said Nettie. "I don't think we are." "I am sure of it. I see it coming every day. Every day it is a little worse; and Barry is going along with your father; and they are destroying me among them, body and soul too." "No, mother," said Nettie, "I don't think that. I have prayed the
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Lord Jesus, and you know he has promised to hear prayer; and I know we are not going to ruin." "_You_ are not, child, I believe; but you are the only one of us that isn't. I wish I was dead, to be out of my misery!" "Sit down, mother, and read a little bit; and don't talk so. Do,
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mother! It will be an hour and more yet to supper, and I'll get it ready. You sit down and read, and I'll make the shortcakes. Do, mother! and you'll feel better." It was half despair and half persuasion that made her do it; but Mrs. Mathieson did sit down by the open window and take her Testament; and Nettie
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flew quietly about, making her shortcakes and making up the fire and setting the table, and through it all casting many a loving glance over to the open n her mother's hand and the weary, stony face that was bent over it. Nettie had not said how her own back was aching, and she forgot it almost in her business
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and her thoughts; though by the time her work was done her head was aching wearily too. But cakes and table and fire and everything else were in readiness; and Nettie stole up behind her mother and leaned over her shoulder; leaned a little heavily. [] "Don't that omfort you, mother?" she whispered. [] See Frontispiece. "No. It don't seem
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to me as I've got any feeling left," said Mrs. Mathieson. It was the fourth chapter of John at which they were both looking. "Don't it comfort you to read of Jesus being wearied?" Nettie went on, her head lying on her mother's shoulder. "Why should it, child?" "I like to read it," said Nettie. "Then I know he knows
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how I feel sometimes." "God knows everything, Nettie." "Yes, mother; but then Jesus _felt_ it. 'He took our infirmities.' And oh, mother, don't you love that tenth verse?--and the thirteenth and fourteenth?" Mrs. Mathieson looked at it, silently; then she said, "I don't rightly understand it, Nettie. I suppose I ought to do so,--but I don't." "Why, mother! I understand
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it. It means, that if Jesus makes you happy, you'll never be unhappy again. 'Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him, _shall never thirst_,'--don't you see, mother? 'Shall never thirst,'--he will have enough, and be satisfied." "How do you know it, Nettie?" her mother asked, in a puzzled kind of way. "I know it, mother, because Jesus
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has given that living water to me." "He never gave it to me," said Mrs. Mathieson, in the same tone. "But he _will_, mother. Look up there--oh, how I love that tenth verse!--'If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would
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have given thee living water.' See, mother,--he will give, if we ask." "And do you feel so, Nettie?--that you have enough, and are satisfied with your life every day?" "Yes, mother," Nettie said, quietly; "I am very happy. I am happy all the time; because I think that Jesus is with me everywhere; when I'm upstairs, and when I'm busy
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here, and when I'm at school, and when I go to the spring; and all times. And that makes me very happy." "And don't you wish for anything you haven't got?" said her mother. "Yes, one thing," said Nettie. "I just wish that you and father and Barry may be so happy too; and I believe that's coming; for I've
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prayed the Lord, and I believe he will give it to me. I want it for other people too. I often think, when I am looking at somebody, of those words--'If thou knewest the gift of God, thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water.'" With that, Mrs. Mathieson cast down her book and
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burst into such a passion of weeping that Nettie was frightened. It was like the breaking up of an icy winter. She flung her apron over her head and sobbed aloud; till hearing the steps of the men upon the staircase she rushed off to Barry's room, and presently got quiet, for she came out to supper as if nothing
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had happened. From that time there was a gentler mood upon her mother, Nettie saw; though she looked weary and careworn as ever, there was not now often the hard, dogged look which had been wont to be there for months past. Nettie had no difficulty to get her to read the Testament; and of all things, what she liked
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was to get a quiet hour of an evening alone with Nettie and hear her sing hymns. But both Nettie and she had a great deal, as Mrs. Mathieson said, "to put up with." As weeks went on, the father of the family was more and more out at nights, and less and less agreeable when he was at home.
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He and his friend Lumber helped each other in mischief: they went together to Jackson's shop and spent time in lounging and gossiping and talking politics there; and what was worse, they made the time and the politics go down with draughts of liquor. Less and less money came to Mrs. Mathieson's hand; but her husband always required what he
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called a good meal to be ready for him and his lodger whenever he came home, and made no difference in his expectations whether he had provided the means or not. The lodger's rent and board had been at first given for the household daily expenses; but then Mr. Mathieson began to pay over a smaller sum, saying that it
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was all that was due; and Mrs. Mathieson suspected that the rest had been paid away already for brandy. Then Mr. Mathieson told her to trade at Jackson's on account, and he would settle the bill. Mrs. Mathieson held off from this as long as it was possible. She and Nettie did their very best to make the little that
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