etched work!" he exclaimed, under his breath, for his father was
in the next room. "It's as slippery as the plague, going down that path
to the water--it's no use to have legs, for you can't hold up. I'm all
froze stiff with the water I've spilled on me!"

"I know it's very slippery," said Nettie.

"And then you can't get at the water when you're there, without stepping
into it--it's filled chuck full of snow and ice all over the edge. It's
the most wretched work!"

"I know it, Barry," said Nettie. "I am sorry you have to do it."

"What did you make me do it for, then?" said he, angrily. "You got it
your own way this time, but never mind,--I'll be up with you for it."

"Barry," said his sister, "please do it just a little while for me, till
I get stronger, and don't mind; and as soon as ever I can I'll do it
again. But you don't know how it made me ache all through, bringing the
pail up that path."

"Stuff!" said Barry. And from that time, though he did not fail to bring
the water in the morning, yet Nettie saw he owed her a grudge for it all
the day afterward. He was almost always away with his father, and she
had little chance to win him to better feeling.

So the winter slowly passed and the spring came. Spring months came, at
least; and now and then to be sure a sweet spring day, when all nature
softened; the sun shone mildly, the birds sang, the air smelled sweet
with the opening buds. Those days were lovely, and Nettie enjoyed them
no one can tell how much. On her walk to school, it was so pleasant to
be able to step slowly and not hasten to be out of the cold; and
Nettie's feet did not feel ready for quick work now-a-days. It was so
pleasant to hear the sparrows and other small birds, and to see them,
with their cheery voices and sonsy little heads, busy and happy. And the
soft air was very reviving too.

Then at home the work was easier, a great deal; and in Nettie's garret
the change was wonderful. There came hours when she could sit on the
great chest under her window and look out, or kneel there and pray,
without danger of catching her death of cold; and instead of that, the
balmy perfumed spring breeze coming into her window, and the trees
budding, and the grass on the fields and hills beginning to look green,
and the sunlight soft and vapoury. Such an hour--or quarter of an
hour--to Nettie was worth a great deal. Her weary little frame seemed to
rest in it, and her mind rested too. For those days we