er?"

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 sundown. The village lay glittering in the light, that would
be gone in a few minutes; and up on the hill the white church, standing
high, showed all bright in the sunbeams from its sparkling vane at the
top of the spire down to the lowest step at the door. Nettie's home was
in a branch-road, a few steps from the main street of the village that
led up to the church at one end of it. All along that street the
sunlight lay, on the grass and the roadway and the sidewalks and the
tops of a few elm-trees. The street was empty; it was most people's
supper-time. Nettie turned the corner and went down the village. She
went slowly; her little feet were already tired with the work they had
done that day, and back and arms and head all seemed tired too. But
Nettie never thought it hard that her mother did not go instead of
letting her go; she knew her mother could not bear to be seen in the
village in the old shabby gown and shawl she wore; for Mrs. Mathieson
had seen better days. And besides that, she would be busy enough as it
was, and