The Carpenters Daughter | Page 3

that happened to be
convenient; also an ink bottle and pens; with chalk and resin and a
medley of unimaginable things beside, that only boys can collect
together and find delight in. If Nettie sighed as all this hurly-burly met
her eye, it was only an internal sigh. She set about patiently bringing
things to order. First made the bed, which it took all her strength to do:
for the coverlets were of a very heavy and coarse manufacture of cotton
and woollen mixed, blue and white; and then gradually found a way to
bestow the various articles in Barry's apartment, so that things looked
neat and comfortable. But perhaps it was a little bit of a sign of Nettie's
feeling, that she began softly to sing to herself,
"'There is rest for the weary.'"
"Hollo!" burst in a rude boy of some fifteen years, opening the door
from the entry,--"who's puttin' my room to rights?"
A very gentle voice said, "I've done it, Barry."
"What have you done with that pine log?"
"Here it is,--in the corner behind the bureau."
"Don't you touch it now, to take it for your fire,--mind, Nettie! Where's
my kite?"
"You wont have time to fly it now, Barry; supper will be ready in two
minutes."
"What you got?"
"The same kind we had last night."

"I don't care for supper." Barry was getting the tail of his kite together.
"But please, Barry, come now; because it will make mother so much
more trouble if you don't. She has the things to clear away after you're
done, you know!"
"Trouble! so much talk about trouble! I don't mind trouble. I don't want
any supper, I tell you."
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. He came to the table and silently sat down as he
took a survey of what was on it.
"Give me a cup of tea! Have you got no bread, Sophia?"
"Nothing but what you see. I hoped you would bring home some
money, Mr. Mathieson. I have neither milk nor bread; it's a mercy
there's sugar. I don't know what you expect a lodger to live on."
"Live on his board,--that'll give you enough. But you want something
to begin with. I'd go out and get one or two things--but I'm so
confounded tired. I can't."
Mrs. Mathieson, without a word, put on a shawl and went to the closet
for her bonnet.
"I'll go, mother! Let me go, please. I want to go," exclaimed Nettie,
eagerly. "I can get it. What shall I get, father?"
Slowly and weariedly the mother laid off her things, as quickly the
child put hers on.

"What shall I get, father?"
"Well, you can go down the street to Jackson's, and get what your
mother wants: some milk and bread; and then you'd better fetch seven
pounds of meal and a quart of treacle. And ask him to give you a nice
piece of pork out of his barrel."
"She can't bring all that!" exclaimed the mother; "you'd better go
yourself, Mr. Mathieson. That would be a great deal more than the
child can carry, or I either."
"Then I'll go twice, mother; it isn't far; I'd like to go. I'll get it. Please
give me the money, father."
He cursed and swore at her, for answer. "Go along, and do as you are
bid, without all this chaffering! Go to Jackson's and tell him you want
the things, and I'll give him the money to-morrow. He knows me."
Nettie knew he did, and stood her ground. Her father was just enough
in liquor to be a little thick-headed and foolish.
"You know I can't go without the money, father," she said, gently; "and
to-morrow is Sunday."
He cursed Sunday and swore again, but finally put his hand in his
pocket and threw some money across the table to her. He was just in a
state not to be careful what he did, and he threw her crown-pieces
where if he had been quite himself he would have given shillings.
Nettie took them without any remark, and her basket, and went out.
It was just