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The gold is all in the air here not in the streets." She had half raised herself and was sitting looking out of the window. "Do you think of that city all the time?" inquired Mrs. Mathieson, half jealously. "Mother," said Nettie, slowly, still looking out at the sunlight, "would you be very sorry, and very much surprised, if I were to go there before long?"
"'He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities, the chastisement of our peace was upon him. He has made peace; he is the Prince of Peace; he will give it to you, father." There was a long silence. Mr. Mathieson never stirred. Nor Nettie, hardly. The words were true of her, "He that believeth shall not make haste." She waited, looking at him.
"I should not be very much surprised, Nettie," answered her mother, in a tone that told all the rest. Her child's eye turned to her sorrowfully and understandingly. "You'll not be very long before you'll be there too," she said. "Now kiss me, mother." Could Mrs. Mathieson help it?
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 patiently. Mrs. Mathieson was sometimes impatient.
"Well, you know where the raising is? it's out on the Shallonway road, on beyond Mrs. August's, a good bit." Nettie nodded, and went out; and as the door closed on her grave, sweet little face, Mrs. Mathieson felt a great strain on her heart. She would have been glad to relieve herself by tears, but it was a dry pain that would not be relieved so.
"I expect there'll be nothing else but heaven good enough for you after it!" said Mrs. Mathieson, with a sort of half sob. "I see you wasting away before my very eyes." "Mother," said Nettie, cheerfully, "how can you talk so? I feel well except now and then." "If your father could only be made to see it! but he can't see anything, nor hear anything.
"Mother's very tired to-day, father," she whispered; "she'll feel better by and by if she has a little rest. 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?"
"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. 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.
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?
"You gave me too much, father, last night," she said, simply; "here is the rest." Mr. Mathieson took it and looked at it. "Did I give you all this?" "Yes, father." "Did you pay for what you got, besides?" "Yes." He muttered something which was very like an oath in his throat, and looked at his little daughter, who was quietly eating her breakfast. Something touched him unwontedly.
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