The Carpenters Daughter | Page 7

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 concluded 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 good time when she went to enjoy them all together.
There was only a little way she had to go; for the road where Mrs.
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