The Carpenter's Daughter Part 12

"She is here. Hus.h.!.+ you must not say nothing to her, but she is very sick. She is come fainting at my door, and I have got her in here; but she wants to go home, and I think you had better tell her she will not go home, but she will stay here with me to-night."

"Where is she?" said Mr. Mathieson; and he stepped in with so little ceremony that the mistress of the house gave way before him. He looked round the shop.

"She is not here--you shall see her--but you must not tell her she is sick," said the Frenchwoman, anxiously.

"Where is she?" repeated Mr. Mathieson, with a tone and look which made Mme. Auguste afraid he would burst the doors if she did not open them.

She opened the inner door without further preparation, and Mr. Mathieson walked in. By the fading light he saw Nettie lying on the floor at his feet. He was thoroughly himself now; sobered in more ways than one. He stood still when he had got there, and spoke not a word.

"Father," said Nettie, softly.

He stooped down over her. "What do you want, Nettie?"

"Can't I go home?"

"She must better not go home to-night!" began Mme. Auguste, earnestly.

"It is so wet and cold! She will stay here with me to-night, Mr.

Mat'ieson. You will tell her that it is best."

But Nettie said, "_Please_ let me go home! mother will be so troubled."

She spoke little, for she felt weak; but her father saw her very eager in the request. He stooped and put his strong arms under her, and lifted her up.

"Have you got anything you can put over her?" he said, looking round the room. "I'll fetch it back."

Seeing that the matter was quite taken out of her hands, the kind little Frenchwoman was very quick in her arrangements. She put on Nettie's head a warm hood of her own; then round her and over her she wrapped a thick woollen counterpane, that to be sure would have let no snow through if the distance to be travelled had been twice as far. As she folded and arranged the thick stuff round Nettie's head, so as to s.h.i.+eld even her face from the outer air, she said, half whispering--

"I would not tell nothing to mother about your lip; it is not much. I wish I could keep you. Now she is ready, Mr. Mat'ieson."

And Mr. Mathieson stalked out of the house, and strode along the road with firm, swift steps, till, past Jackson's, and past the turning, he came to his own door, and carried Nettie upstairs. He never said a word the whole way. Nettie was too m.u.f.fled up, and too feeble to speak; so the first word was when he had come in and sat down in a chair, which he did with Nettie still in his arms. Mrs. Mathieson, standing white and silent, waited to see what was the matter; she had no power to ask a question. Her husband unfolded the counterpane that was wrapped round Nettie's head; and there she was, looking very like her usual self, only exceedingly pale. As soon as she caught sight of her mother's face, Nettie would have risen and stood up, but her father's arms held her fast. "What do you want, Nettie?" he asked. It was the first word.

"Nothing, father," said Nettie, "only lay me on the bed, please; and then you and mother have supper."

Mr. Mathieson took her to the bed and laid her gently down, removing the snow-wet counterpane which was round her.

"What is the matter?" faltered Mrs. Mathieson.

"Nothing much, mother," said Nettie, quietly; "only I was a little sick.

Wont you bake the waffles and have supper?"

"What will _you_ have?" said her father.

"Nothing--I've had something. I feel nicely now," said Nettie. "Mother, wont you have supper, and let me see you?"

Mrs. Mathieson's strength had well-nigh deserted her; but Nettie's desire was urgent, and seeing that her husband had seated himself by the bedside, and seemed to have no idea of being anywhere but at home that evening, she at length gathered up her faculties to do what was the best thing to be done, and went about preparing the supper. Nettie's eyes watched her, and Mr. Mathieson when he thought himself safe watched _her_. He did not look like the same man, so changed and sobered was the expression of his face. Mrs. Mathieson was devoured by fear, even in observing this; but Nettie was exceedingly happy. She did not feel anything but weakness: and she lay on her pillow watching the waffles baked and sugared, and then watching them eaten, wondering and rejoicing within herself at the way in which her father had been brought to eat his supper there at home after all. She was the only one that enjoyed anything, though her father and mother ate to please her. Mrs.

Mathieson had asked an account of Nettie's illness, and got a very unsatisfactory one. She had been faint, her husband said; he had found her at Mrs. August's and brought her home; that was about all. After supper he came and sat by Nettie again; and said she was to sleep there, and he would go up and take Nettie's place in the attic. Nettie in vain said she was well enough to go upstairs; her father cut the question short, and bade Mrs. Mathieson go up and get anything Nettie wanted.

When she had left the room, he stooped his head down to Nettie and said low--

"What was that about your lip?"

Nettie started; she thought he would fancy it had been done, if done at all, when he gave her the push at the frame-house. But she did not, dare not, answer. She said it was only that she had found a little blood on her handkerchief, and supposed she might have cut her lip when she fell on Mrs. August's threshold, when she had fainted.

"Show me your handkerchief," said her father. Nettie obeyed. He looked at it, and looked close at her lips, to find where they might have been wounded; and Nettie was sorry to see how much he felt, for he even looked pale himself as he turned away from her. But he was as gentle and kind as he could be; Nettie had never seen him so; and when he went off up to bed and Nettie was drawn into her mother's arms to go to sleep, she was very, very happy. But she did not tell her hopes or her joys to her mother; she only told her thanks to the Lord; and that she did till she fell asleep.

The next morning Nettie was well enough to get up and dress herself.

That was all she was suffered to do by father or mother. Mr. Mathieson sent Barry for water and wood, and himself looked after the fire while Mrs. Mathieson was busy; all the rest he did was to take Nettie in his arms and sit holding her till breakfast was ready. He did not talk, and he kept Barry quiet; he was like a different man. Nettie, feeling indeed very weak, could only sit with her head on her father's shoulder, and wonder, and think, and repeat quiet prayers in her heart. She was very pale yet, and it distressed Mr. Mathieson to see that she could not eat.

So he laid her on the bed, when he was going to his work, and told her she was to stay there and be still, and he would bring her something good when he came home.

The day was strangely long and quiet to Nettie. Instead of going to school and flying about at home doing all sorts of things, she lay on the bed and followed her mother with her eyes as she moved about the room at her work. The eyes often met Mrs. Mathieson's eyes; and once Nettie called her mother to her bedside.

"Mother, what is the matter with you?"

Mrs. Mathieson stood still, and had some trouble to speak. At last she told Nettie she was sorry to see her lying there and not able to be up and around.

"Mother," said Nettie, expressively,--"'There is rest for the weary.'"

"O Nettie," said her mother, beginning to cry,--"you are all I have got!--my blessed one!"

"Hush, mother," said Nettie; "_I_ am not your blessed one,--you forget; and I am not all you have got. Where is Jesus, mother? O mother, 'rest in the Lord!'"

"I don't deserve to," said Mrs. Mathieson, trying to stop her tears.

"I feel very well," Nettie went on; "only weak, but I shall be well directly. And I am so happy, mother. Wont you go on and get dinner? and mother, just do that;--'rest in the Lord.'"

Nettie was not able to talk much, and Mrs. Mathieson checked herself and went on with her work, as she begged. When her father came home at night he was as good as his word, and brought home some fresh oysters, that he thought would tempt Nettie's appet.i.te; but it was much more to her that he stayed quietly at home and never made a move toward going out. Eating was not in Nettie's line just now; the little kind Frenchwoman had been to see her in the course of the day and brought some delicious rolls and a jug of _riz-au-gras_, which was what seemed to suit Nettie's appet.i.te best of all.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE GOLDEN CITY.

Several days went on; she did not feel sick, and she was a little stronger; but appet.i.te and colour were wanting. Her father would not let her do anything; he would not let her go up to her garret to sleep, though Nettie pleaded for it, fearing he must be uncomfortable. He said it was fitter for him than for her, though he made faces about it. He always came home and stayed at home now, and especially attended to Nettie; his wages came home too, and he brought every day something to try to tempt her to eat; and he was quiet and grave and kind--not the same person.

Mrs. Mathieson in the midst of all her distress about Nettie began to draw some free breaths. But her husband thought only of his child; unless, perhaps, of himself; and drew none. Regularly after supper he would draw Nettie to his arms and sit with her head on his shoulder; silent generally, only he would sometimes ask her what she would like.

The first time he put this inquiry when Mr. Lumber was out of the way, Nettie answered by asking him to read to her. Mr. Mathieson hesitated a little, not unkindly, and then read; a chapter in the Bible, of course, for Nettie wished to hear nothing else. And after that he often read to her; for Mr. Lumber kept up his old habits and preferred livelier company, and so was always out in the evenings.

So several days pa.s.sed; and when Sat.u.r.day came, Mr. Mathieson lost half a day's work and took a long walk to a farm where the people kept pigeons; and brought home one for Nettie's supper. However, she could fancy but very little of it.

"What shall I do for you?" said her father. "You go round like a shadow, and you don't eat much more. What shall I do that you would like?"

This time there was n.o.body in the room. Nettie lifted her head from his shoulder and met his eyes.

"If you would come to Jesus, father!"

"What?" said Mr. Mathieson.--"I don't know anything about that, Nettie.

I aint fit."

"Jesus will take you anyhow, father, if you will come."