carry them, and looked after her as she went up the street.
"One must be tired sometimes!" said she to herself, with a turn of her capable little head. "I should like to hear her say 'One must be rested sometimes;' but I do not hear that."
So perhaps Nettie thought, as she went homeward. It would have been very natural. Now the sun was down, the bright gleam was off the village; the soft shades of evening were gathering, and lights twinkled in windows. Nettie walked very slowly, her arms full of the bread. Perhaps she wished her Saturday's work was all done, like other people's. All I can tell you is, that as she went along through the quiet deserted street, all alone, she broke out softly singing to herself the words,—
"No need of the sun in that day
Which never is followed by night;"
and that when she got home she ran upstairs quite briskly, and came in with a very placid face, and told her mother she had had a pleasant walk—which was perfectly true.
"God bless you, child!" said her mother; "you are the very rose of my heart!"
There was only time for this little dialogue, for which Mr. Mathieson's slumbers had given a chance. But then Barry entered, and noisily claimed Nettie's promise. And without a cloud crossing her sweet brow, she made the cakes, and baked them on the stove, and served Barry until he had enough; nor ever said how weary she was of being on her feet. There were more cakes left, and Mrs. Mathieson saw to it that Nettie sat down and ate them; and then sent her off to bed, without suffering her to do anything more; though Nettie pleaded to be allowed to clear away the dishes. Mrs. Mathieson did that, and then sat down to darns and patches on various articles of clothing, till the old clock of the church on the hill tolled out solemnly the hour of twelve all over the village.
CHAPTER II.
SUNDAY'S REST
"This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it."—Psalm cxviii, 24.
Nettie's room was the only room on that floor besides her mother's and Barry's. It was at the back of the house, with a pleasant look-out over the trees and bushes between it and the spring. Over these the view went to distant hills and fields, that always looked pretty in all sorts of lights, Nettie thought. Besides that, it was a clean, neat little room; bare, to be sure, without even Barry's strip of rag carpet; but on a little black table lay Nettie's Bible and Sunday-school books; and each window had a chair; and a chest of drawers held all her little wardrobe and a great deal of room to spare besides; and the cot-bed in one corner was nicely made up. It was a very comfortable-looking room to Nettie.
"So this is the last night I shall sleep here!" she thought as she went in. "To-morrow I must go up to the attic. Well, I can pray there just the same; and God will be with me there just the same."
It was a comfort; but it was the only one Nettie could think of in connection with her removal. The attic was no room, but only a little garret used as a lumber-place; not boarded up nor plastered at all; nothing but the beams and the side boarding for the walls, and nothing but the rafters and the shingles between it and the sky. Besides which, it was full of lumber of one sort and another. How Nettie was to move up there the next day, being Sunday, she could not imagine; but she was so tired that as soon as her head touched her pillow she fell asleep, and forgot to think about it.
The next thing was the bright morning light rousing her, and the joyful thought that it was Sunday morning. A beautiful day it was. The eastern light was shining over upon Nettie's distant hills with all sorts of fresh, lovely colours, and promise of what the coming hours would bring. Nettie looked at them lovingly, for she was very fond of them, and had a great many thoughts about those hills. "As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round about His people;"—that was one thing they made her think of. She thought of it now as she was dressing, and it gave her the feeling of being surrounded with a mighty and strong protection on every side. It made Nettie's heart curiously glad, and her tongue speak joyful things; for when she knelt down to pray she was full of thanksgiving.
The next thing was that, taking her tin pail, Nettie set off down to the spring to get water to boil her kettle. It was so sweet and pleasant—no other spring could supply nicer water. The dew brushed from the bushes and grass as she went by; and from every green thing there went up a fresh dewy smell, that was reviving. The breath of the summer wind, moving gently, touched her cheek and fluttered her hair, and said God had given a beautiful day to the world; and Nettie thanked Him in her heart, and went on rejoicing. Sunday was Nettie's holiday, and Sunday school and church were her delight. And though she went in all weathers, and nothing would keep her, yet sunshine is sunshine, and she felt so this morning. So she gaily filled her pail at the spring and trudged back with it to the house. The next thing was to tap at her mother's door.
Mrs. Mathieson opened it, in her night-gown; she was just up, and looked as if her night's sleep had been all too short for her.
"Why, Nettie! is it late?" she said, as Nettie and the tin pail came in.
"No, mother; it's just good time. You get dressed, and I'll make the fire ready. It's beautiful out, mother!"
Mrs. Mathieson made no answer, and Nettie went to work with the fire. It was an easy matter to put in some paper and kindle the light wood; and when the kettle was on, Nettie went round the room, softly setting it to rights as well as she could; then glanced at her father, still sleeping.
"I can't set the table yet, mother."
"No, child; go off, and I'll see to the rest.—If I can get folks up, at least," said Mrs. Mathieson, somewhat despondingly.
Sunday morning that was a doubtful business, she and Nettie knew. Nettie went to her own room to carry out a plan she had. If she could manage to get her things conveyed up to the attic without her mother knowing it, just so much labour and trouble would be spared her, and her mother might have a better chance of some rest that day. Little enough, with a lodger coming that evening! To get her things up there,—that was all Nettie would do to-day; but that must be done. The steep stairs to the attic went up from the entry-way, just outside of Nettie's door. She went up the first time to see what room there was to bestow anything.
The little garret was strewn all over with things carelessly thrown in merely to get them out of the way. There was a small shutter window in each gable. One was open, just revealing the utter confusion, but half showing the dust that lay on everything. The other window, the back one, was fairly shut up by a great heap of boxes and barrels piled against it. In no part was there a clear space or a hopeful opening. Nettie stood aghast for some moments, not knowing what to do. "But if I don't, mother will have to do it," she thought. It nerved her little arm, and one thought of her invisible Protector nerved her heart, which had sunk at first coming up. Softly she moved and began her operations, lest her mother downstairs should hear and find out what she was about before it was done. Sunday too! But there was no help for it.
Notwithstanding the pile of boxes, she resolved to begin at the end with the closed window; for near the other there were things she could not move: an old stove, a wheelbarrow, a box of heavy iron tools, and some bags of charcoal, and other matters. By a little pushing and coaxing, Nettie made a place for the boxes, and then began her task of removing them. One by one, painfully, for some were unwieldy and some were weighty, they travelled across in Nettie's arms, or were shoved and turned over and across the floor, from the window to a snug position under the eaves, where she stowed them. Barry would have been a good hand at this business, not to speak of his father; but Nettie knew there was no help to be expected from either of them, and the very thought of them did not come into her head. Mr. Mathieson, provided he worked at his trade, thought the "women folks" might look after the house; Barry considered that when he had got through the heavy labours of school, he had done his part of the world's work. So Nettie toiled on with her boxes and barrels. They scratched her arms; they covered her clean face with dust; they tried her strength; but every effort saved one to her mother, and Nettie never stopped except to gather breath and rest.
The last thing of all under the window was a great old chest. Nettie could not move it, and she thought