Anna Bartlett Warner

“ Tears of gladness and hope slowly gathered [54] 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 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 I am his child, and they are only his beautiful little servants." ”

“ 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 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, timidly, "wasn't Jesus a peacemaker?" ”

“ 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. ”

“ Mathieson, sadly.
"Yes, mother," Nettie said, quietly.
"Mine gets beat out sometimes," said Mrs. Mathieson, drooping her head for an instant on her hands. "Your father's out every night now; and you know where he goes; and he cares less and less about anything else in the world but Jackson's store, and what he gets there, and the company he finds there. And he don't want much of being a ruined man."
"Yes, mother. But the Bible says we must wait on the Lord." ”

“ Now if you will take the promise,—that is all."
"What is the promise, Nettie?"
Nettie waited, gathered breath, for the talk made her heart beat; and then said, "'This is the promise that he hath promised us, even eternal life.'"
"How can a sinful man take such a promise?" said Mr. Mathieson, with suppressed feeling. "That is for people like you, Nettie, not me."
"Oh, Jesus has bought it!" cried Nettie; [139] "it's free. It's without price. You may have it if you'll believe in him and love him, father. I can't talk." ”

“ Nettie knew well enough he would want it by and by, but there was no use in saying anything more, and she said nothing. Barry got his kite together and went off. Then came a heavier step on the stairs, which she knew; and she hastily went into the other room to see that all was ready. The tea was made, and Mrs. Mathieson put the smoking dish of porridge on the table, just as the door opened and a man came in. A tall, burly, strong man, with a face that would have been a good face enough if its expression had been different, and if its hue had not been that of a purplish-red flush. ”

“ 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 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. ”

“ 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 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. ”

“ 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, 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. ”

“ Nettie—I say, give us some of that, will you?" said Barry, finding his porridge poor in taste.
"Barry, there isn't 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." ”

“ Mrs. Mathieson wearily sat down and took her Testament, as Nettie begged her; and Nettie put on the kettle and the pot of potatoes, 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 evening."
"Sunday! well, what about Sunday? What's Sunday good for, except to eat, I should like to know?" ”

“ The woman had put the loaves and the milk carefully in her arms and in her hand, so that she could 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. ”

“ 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 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 [85] the cracks of the rough 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. ”

“ 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 words floated into Nettie's mind again, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall [53] 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 within hearing of that music ”

“ The wild bushes grew in a thick hedge along by the fence, but over the tops of them Nettie could see the new timbers of the frame that the carpenters had been raising that day. She went on till she came to an opening in the hedge and fence as well, and then the new building was close before her. The men were at work yet, finishing their day's business; the sound of hammering rung sharp on all sides of the frame; some were up on ladders, some were below. Nettie walked slowly up and then round the place, searching for her father. ”

“ Nettie had no comfort from her father in all the time between New Year and spring. Except one word.
One morning she went to Barry secretly in his room, and asked him to bring the pail of water from the spring for her. Barry had no mind to the job.
"Why can't mother do it?" he said, "if you can't?"
"Mother is busy and hasn't a minute. I always do it for her." ”

“ 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 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 ”

“ He looked red with anger.
"You take the pail and go get the water!" said he to his son; "and you hear me! don't you let Nettie bring in another pailful when you're at home, or I'll turn you out of the house. You lazy scoundrel! You don't deserve the bread you eat. Would you let her work for you, when you are as strong as sixty?"
Barry's grumbled words in answer were so very unsatisfactory, that Mr. Mathieson in a rage advanced toward him with uplifted fist; but Nettie sprang in between and very nearly caught the blow that was meant for her brother. ”

“ 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 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 cloak, Nettie was thinking of something else. ”

“ 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 without a light somehow."
"But I can't see to find my way," said Nettie, who was secretly trembling with fear.
[51] "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 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. ”

“ But one more thought of the children 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 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 ”

“ Nettie could hardly keep from crying as Mr. 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. A strange minister preached that day, and Nettie could not understand him always; but the words of the hymn and Mr. Folke's [34] words ran in her head then, and she was very happy all church time. ”

“ 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 [81] 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. ”

“ Mathieson lived, after running down a little further from the village, met another road which turned right up the 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 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 ”