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was given them go a good way; they wasted not a crumb nor a penny, and did not spend on themselves what they really wanted; that they might not have the fearful storm of anger which was sure to come if the dinner was not plentiful and the supper did not please the taste of Mr. Mathieson and his lodger.
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By degrees it came to be very customary for Mrs. Mathieson and Nettie to make their meal of porridge and bread, after all the more savoury food had been devoured by the others; and many a weary patch and darn filled the night hours because they had not money to buy a cheap dress or two. Nettie bore it very
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patiently. Mrs. Mathieson was sometimes impatient. "This wont last me through the week, to get the things you want," she said one Saturday to her husband, when he gave her what he said was Lumber's payment to him. "You'll have to make it last," said he, gruffly. "Will you tell me how I'm going to do that? Here isn't more
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than half what you gave me at first." "Send to Jackson's for what you want!" he roared at her; "didn't I tell you so? and don't come bothering me with your noise." "When will you pay Jackson?" "I'll pay you first!" he said, with an oath, and very violently. It was a ruder word than he had ever said to
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her before, and Mrs. Mathieson was staggered for a moment by it; but there was another word she was determined to say. "You may do what you like to me," she said, doggedly; "but I should think you would see for yourself that Nettie has too much to get along with. She is getting just as thin and pale as
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she can be." "That's just your fool's nonsense!" said Mr. Mathieson; but he spoke it more quietly. Nettie just then entered the room. "Here, Nettie, what ails you? Come here. Let's look at you. Aint you as strong as ever you was? Here's your mother says you're getting puny." Nettie's smile and answer were so placid and untroubled, and the
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little colour that rose in her cheeks at her father's question made her look so fresh and well, that he was quieted. He drew her to his arms, for his gentle dutiful little daughter had a place in his respect and affection both, though he did not often show it very broadly; but now he kissed her. "There!" said he;
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"don't you go to growing thin and weak without telling me, for I don't like such doings. You tell me when you want anything." But with that, Mr. Mathieson got up and went off, out of the house; and Nettie had small chance to tell him if she wanted anything. However, this little word and kiss were a great comfort
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and pleasure to her. It was the last she had from him in a good while. Nettie, however, was not working for praise or kisses, and very little of either she got. Generally her father was rough, imperious, impatient, speaking fast enough if anything went wrong, but very sparing in expressions of pleasure. Sometimes a blessing did come upon her
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from the very depth of Mrs. Mathieson's heart, and went straight to Nettie's; but it was for another blessing she laboured, and prayed, and waited. So weeks went by. So her patient little feet went up and down the stairs with pails of water from the spring; and her hands made bread and baked cakes, and set rooms in order;
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and it was Nettie always who went to Mr. Jackson's for meal and treacle, and to Mrs. Auguste's, the little Frenchwoman's, as she was called, for a loaf when they were now and then out of bread. And with her mornings spent at school, Nettie's days were very busy ones; and the feet that at night mounted the steps to
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her attic room were aching and tired enough. All the more that now Nettie and her mother lived half the time on porridge; all the provision they dared make of other things being quite consumed by the three hearty appetites that were before them at the meal. And Nettie's appetite was not at all hearty, and sometimes she could hardly
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eat at all. As the summer passed away it began to grow cold, too, up in her garret. Nettie had never thought of that. As long as the summer sun warmed the roof well in the day, and only the soft summer wind played in and out of her window at night, it was all very well; and Nettie thought
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her sleeping-chamber was the best in the whole house, for it was nearest the sky. But August departed with its sunny days, and September grew cool at evening; and October brought still sunny days, it is true, but the nights had a clear sharp frost in them; and Nettie was obliged to cover herself up warm in bed and look
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at the moonlight and the stars as she could see them through the little square opening left by the shutter. The stars looked very lovely to Nettie, when they peeped at her so, in her bed, out of their high heaven; and she was very content. Then came November; and the winds began to come into the garret, not only
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through the open window, but through every crack between two boards. The whole garret was filled with the winds, Nettie thought. It was hard managing then. Shutting the shutter would bar out the stars, but not the wind, she found; and to keep from being quite chilled through at her times of prayer morning and evening, Nettie used to take
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the blanket and coverlets from the bed and wrap herself in them. It was all she could do. Still, she forgot the inconveniences; and her little garret chamber seemed to Nettie very near heaven, as well as near the sky. But all this way of life did not make her grow strong, nor rosy; and though Nettie never told her
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father that she wanted anything, her mother's heart measured the times when it ought to be told. . THE BROWN CLOAK IN NOVEMBER. 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, and stopped, hearing Nettie's voice singing. It was a clear, bird-like
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voice, and Mrs. Mathieson listened; at first she could not distinguish the words, but then came a refrain which was plain enough. "Glory, glory, glory, glory, Glory be to God on high, Glory, glory, glory, glory, Sing his praises through the sky; Glory, glory, glory, glory, Glory to the Father give, Glory, glory, glory, glory, Sing his praises all that
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live." Mrs. Mathieson's heart gave way. She sat down on the lowest step and cried, for very soreness of heart. But work must be done; and when the song had ceased, for it went on some time, Mrs. Mathieson wiped her tears with her apron and called, "Nettie!" "Yes, mother. Coming." "Fetch down your school-cloak, child." She went back to
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her room, and presently Nettie came in with the cloak, looking placid as usual, but very pale. "Are you singing up there to keep yourself warm, child?" "Well, mother, I don't know but it does," Nettie answered, smiling. "My garret did seem to me full of glory just now; and it often does, mother." "The Lord save us!" exclaimed Mrs.
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Mathieson, bursting into tears again. "I believe you're in a way to be going above, before my face!" "Now, mother, what sort of a way is that of talking?" said Nettie, looking troubled. "You know I can't die till Jesus bids me; and I don't think he is going to take me now. What did you want me to do?"
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"Nothing. You aint fit. I must go and do it myself." "Yes I am fit. I like to do it," said Nettie. "What is it, mother?" "Somebody's got to go to Mr. Jackson's--but you aint fit, child; you eat next to none at noon. You can't live on porridge." "I like it, mother; but I wasn't hungry. What's wanting from
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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 wrapped it about her. But though she was cold and blue, and the wind seemed to go through _her_ as well as the
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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. When her father had given
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her the coin, she had meant then to keep it to buy something now and then for her mother; but it was not immediately needed, and one by one the pennies had gone to buy tracts, or as a mite to the fund for sending Bibles or missionaries to those who did not know how to sing Nettie's song of
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"glory." She wondered to herself now if she had done quite right; she could not help thinking that if she had one penny she could buy a smoked herring, which, with a bit of bread and tea, would make a comfortable supper for her mother, which she could relish. Had she done right? But one more thought of the children
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and grown people who have not the Bible,--who know nothing of the golden city with its gates of pearl, and are nowise fit to enter by those pure entrances where "nothing that defileth" can go in,--and Nettie wished no more for a penny back that she had given to bring them there. She hugged herself in her cloak, and as
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she went quick along the darkening ways, the light from that city seemed to shine in her heart and make warmth through the cold. She was almost sorry to go to Mr. Jackson's shop; it had grown rather a disagreeable place to her lately. It was half full of people, as usual at that hour. "What do you want?" said
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Mr. Jackson, rather curtly, when Nettie's turn came 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
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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
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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
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her a grateful smile, and said she was well. "You look not like it," said Mme. 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
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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
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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 Mme. Auguste. "It isn't like yours, Mrs. August," said Nettie, smiling. "If you will come and live with me next summer, I
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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
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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
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Mme. 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,
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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. Mme. 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;
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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 own 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
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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
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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?"
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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
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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, Mme. Auguste had filled a little pail with the
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_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
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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
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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 the Lord Jesus. I
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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was little at home except when he was eating. . THE NEW BLANKET. Nettie had been in Barry's room one evening, putting it to rights; through the busy day it had somehow been neglected. Mrs. Mathieson's heart was so heavy that her work dragged; and when Nettie came out and sat down to her Sunday-school lesson, her mother kept watching
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her for a long time with a dull, listless face, quite still and idle. The child's face was busy over her Bible, and Mrs. Mathieson did not disturb her, till Nettie lifted her head to glance at the clock. Then the bitterness of her mother's heart broke out. "He's a ruined man!" she exclaimed, in her despair. "He's a ruined
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man! he's taking to drinking more and more. It's all over with him--and with us." "No, mother," said Nettie, gently,--"I hope not. There's better times coming, mother. God _never_ forsakes those that trust in him. He has promised to hear prayer; and I have prayed to him, and I feel sure he will save us." Mrs. Mathieson was weeping bitterly.
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"So don't you cry, mother. Trust! 'Only believe'--don't you remember Jesus said that? Just believe him, mother. I do." And proving how true she spoke--how steadfast and firm was the faith she professed, with that, as Nettie got up to put away her books, her lips burst forth into song; and never more clear nor more sweet than she sung
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then, sounded the wild sweet notes that belong to the words--favourites with her. There was no doubt in her voice at all. "Great spoils I shall win, from death, hell, and sin, 'Midst outward afflictions shall feel Christ within; And when I'm to die, Receive me, I'll cry; For Jesus hath loved me, I cannot tell why." Mrs. Mathieson sobbed
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at first; but there came a great quietness over her; and as the clear beautiful strain came to an end, she rose up, threw her apron over her face, and knelt quietly down by the side of her bed; putting her face in her hands. Nettie stood and looked at her; then turned and went up the stair to her
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own praying-place; feeling in her heart as if instead of two weary feet she had had "wings as angels," to mount up literally. She knew that part of her prayer was getting its answer. She knew by the manner of her mother, that it was in no bitterness and despair but in the humbleness of a bowed heart that she
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had knelt down; and Nettie's slow little feet kept company with a most bounding spirit. She went to bed and covered herself up, not to sleep, but because it was too cold to be in the garret a moment uncovered; and lay there broad awake, "making melody in her heart to the Lord." It was very cold up in Nettie's
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garret now; the winter had moved on into the latter part of December, and the frosts were very keen; and the winter winds seem 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
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wainscot 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
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cold inside as out; and the stars were great friends of Nettie. To-night she lay and watched them, blinking down at her through her garret window with their quiet eyes; they were always silent witnesses to her of the beauty and purity of heaven, and reminders too of that eye that never sleeps and that hand that planted and upholds
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all. 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;
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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 away all tears from their eyes." "There shall be no more curse; but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be
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in it, and his servants shall serve him." "His servants shall serve him"--thought Nettie; "and mother will be there,--and father 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
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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
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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
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her, but he did not say how she looked. "Do you know 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
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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
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suppose I will. What is it?" "Father, you wont 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;
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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,
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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
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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 from his shoulder, where it had sunk, and kissed him, and said-- "May I have what I want, father?" "Yes--go along," said Mr. Mathieson. "I should
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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
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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 aint 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
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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." "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
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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 and relishing 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
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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.
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"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.
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"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
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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
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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 a quarter after ten; will you be ready then?" "Ready for what?" said Mr. Mathieson. "For my New
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Year's," said Nettie. "You know you promised I should go to church with you." "Did I? And aint you going to take the blanket for your New Year's, 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
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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.
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But nobody that saw her sober sweet little face would have guessed how very full her heart was of prayer, even as they walked along the street among the rest of the people. 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,
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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
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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.
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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 was
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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
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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."
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"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
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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,
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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. . THE HOUSE-RAISING.[] [] A festival
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common in America on the completion of a house. It grew colder and colder in Nettie's garret--or else she grew thinner and felt it more. She certainly thought it was colder. The snow came, and piled a thick covering on the roof and stopped up some of the chinks in the clapboarding with its white caulking; and that made the
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place a little better; then the winds from off the snow-covered country were keen and bitter. Nettie's whole day was so busy that she had little time to think, except when she went upstairs at night; covered up there under her blankets and quilts, and looking up at the stars, she used to feel sadly that things were in a
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very bad way. Her father was out constantly o' nights, and they knew too surely where he spent them. He was not a confirmed drunkard yet; but how long would it take, at this rate? And that man Lumber leading him on, with a thicker head himself, and Barry following after! No seeming thought nor care for his wife and
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daughter and their comfort; it was with great difficulty they could get from him enough money for their daily needs; and to make that do, Nettie and her mother pinched and starved themselves. Often and often Nettie went to bed with an empty stomach, because she was not hearty enough to eat porridge or pork, and the men had not
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left enough of other viands for herself and her mother. And neither of them would pretend to want that little there was, for fear the other wanted it more. Her mother was patient and quiet now; not despairing, as a few months ago; and that was such joy to Nettie that she felt often much more like giving thanks than
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