The Carpenters Daughter | Page 6

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 of 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 the 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 nightgown; 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 place 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," she thought. It nerved her little arm, and
one thought of her invisible protection nerved her heart, which had
sunk at first coming up. Softly she moved and began her operations,
lest her mother down stairs 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, or
turned over and over 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 had from either of them; and the very
thought of them did not come into her head. Mr. Mathieson,