Little Nettie; or, Home Sunshine

"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 it might stay there very conveniently for a seat. All the rest of the pile she cleared away, and then opened the window. There was no sash—nothing but a wooden shutter fastened with a hook. Nettie threw it open. There, to her great joy, behold, she had the very same view of her hills, all shining in the sun now. Only this window was higher than her old one and lifted her up more above the tops of the trees, and gave a better and clearer and wider view of the distant open country she liked so much. Nettie was greatly delighted, and refreshed herself with a good look out and a breath of fresh air before she began her labours again. That gave the dust a little chance to settle too.

There was a good deal to do yet before she could have a place clear for her bed, not to speak of anything more. However, it was done at last, the floor brushed up, all ready, and the top of the chest wiped clean; and next Nettie set about bringing all her things up the stairs and setting them here, where she could. Her clothes, her little bit of a looking-glass, her Bible and books and slate, even her little washstand, she managed to lug up to the attic, with many a journey and much pains. But it was about done before her mother called her to breakfast. The two lagging members of the family had been roused at last, and were seated at the table.

"Why, what have you been doing, child? how you look!" said Mrs. Mathieson.

"How do I look?" said Nettie.

"Queer enough," said her father.

Nettie laughed, and hastened to another subject: she knew if they got upon this there would be some disagreeable words before it was over. She had made up her mind what to do, and now handed her father the money remaining from her purchases.

"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.

"You're an honest little girl," he said. "There! you may have that for yourself." And he tossed her a shilling.

You could see, by a little streak of pink colour down each of Nettie's cheeks, that some great thought of pleasure had started into her mind. "For myself, father?" she repeated.

"All for yourself," said Mr. Mathieson, buttoning up his money with a very satisfied air.

Nettie said no more, only ate her breakfast a little quicker after that. It was time, too; for the late hours of some of the family always made her in a hurry about getting to Sunday school; and the minute Nettie had done, she got her bonnet—her Sunday bonnet—the best she had to wear—and set off. Mrs. Mathieson never let her wait for anything at home that morning.

This was Nettie's happy time. It never troubled her that she had nothing but a sun-bonnet of white muslin, nicely starched and ironed, while almost all the other girls that came to the school had little straw bonnets trimmed with blue and pink, and yellow and green ribbons; and some of them wore silk bonnets. Nettie did not even think of it; she loved her Sunday lesson, and her Bible, and her teacher, so much; and it was such a pleasant time when she went to enjoy them all together. It was only a little way she had to go, for the road where Mrs. Mathieson lived, after running down a little farther 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, for which they had to look out texts during the week. This week the question was, "Who are happy?" and Nettie was very eager to know what answers the other girls would bring. She was in good time, and sat resting and watching the boys and girls and teachers as they came in, before the school began. She was first there of all her class; and she watched so eagerly to see those who were coming, that she did not know Mr. Folke was near till he spoke to her. Nettie started and turned.

"How do you do?" said her teacher, kindly. "Are you quite well, Nettie, this morning?" For he thought she looked pale and tired. But her face coloured with pleasure, and a smile shone all over it, as she told him she was very well.

"Have you found out who are the happy people, Nettie?"

"Yes, Mr. Folke; I have found a verse. But I knew before."

"I thought you did. Who are they, Nettie?"

"Those who love Jesus, sir."

"Ay. In the Christian armour, you know, the feet are 'shod with the preparation of the Gospel of peace.' With the love of Jesus in our hearts, our feet can go over rough ways and hardly feel that they are rough. Do you find it so?"

"Oh yes, sir!"

He said no more, for others of the class now came up; and Nettie wondered how he knew, or if he knew, that she had a rough way to go over. But his words were a help and comfort to her. So was the whole lesson that day. The verses about the happy people were beautiful. The seven girls who sat on one side of Nettie repeated the blessings told of in the fifth chapter of St. Matthew, about the poor in spirit, the mourners, the meek, those that hunger and thirst after righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, and the peacemakers. Then came Nettie's verse. It was this:

"Happy is he that hath the God of Jacob for his help, whose hope is in the Lord his God."

The next girl gave the words of Jesus, "If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them."

The last gave "Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered."

Then came Mr. Folke's verse, and Netty thought it was the most beautiful of all.

"Blessed are they that do His commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the city."

Then Mr. Folke talked about that city—its streets of gold, and the gates of pearl, through which nothing that defileth can by any means enter. He told how Jesus will make His people happy there; how they will be with Him, and all their tears wiped away. And Jesus will be their Shepherd; His sheep will not wander from Him any more; "and they shall see His face, and His name shall be in their foreheads."

From school they went to church, of course. A strange clergyman preached that day, and Nettie could not understand him always; but the words of the hymn and Mr. Folke's words ran in her head then, and she was very happy all church-time. And as she was walking home, still the tune and the words ran in her ears,—

"Jesus all the day long
Is my joy and my song;
O that all His salvation might see!"

So, thinking busily, Nettie got home and ran upstairs. What a change! It looked like a place very, very far from those gates of pearl.