till a late hour, this Saturday night. Nettie's gown was shabby
too; yes, very, compared with that almost every other child in the
village wore; yet somehow Nettie was not ashamed. She did not think of
it now, as her slow steps took her down the village street; she was
thinking what she should do about the money. Her father had given her
two or three times as much, she knew, as he meant her to spend; he was a
good workman, and had just got in his week's wages. What should Nettie
do? Might she keep and give to her mother what was over? it was, and
would be, so much wanted! and from her father they could never get it
again. He had his own ways of disposing of what he earned, and very
little of it indeed went to the wants of his wife and daughter. What
might Nettie do? She pondered, swinging her basket in her hand, till she
reached a corner where the village street turned off again, and where
the store of Mr. Jackson stood. There she found Barry bargaining for
some things he at least had money for.

"O Barry, how good!" exclaimed Nettie; "you can help me carry my things
home."

"I'll know the reason first, though," answered Barry. "What are you
going to get?"

"Father wants a bag of corn meal and a piece of pork and some treacle;
and you know I can't carry them all, Barry. I've got to get bread and
milk besides."

"Hurra!" said Barry, "now we'll have fried cakes! I'll tell you what
I'll do, Nettie--I'll take home the treacle, if you'll make me some
to-night for supper."

"O I can't, Barry! I've got so much else to do, and it's Saturday
night."

"Very good--get your things home yourself then."

Barry turned away, and Nettie made her bargains. He still stood by
however and watched her. When the pork and the meal and the treacle were
bestowed in the basket, it was so heavy she could not manage to carry
it. How many journeys to and fro would it cost her?

"Barry," she said, "you take this home for me, and if mother says so,
I'll make you the cakes."

"Be quick then," said her brother, shouldering the basket, "for I'm
getting hungry."

Nettie went a few steps further on the main road of the village, which
was little besides one long street and not very long either; and went in
at the door of a very little dwelling, neat and tidy like all the rest.
It admitted her to the tiniest morsel of a shop--at least there was a
long table there which seemed to do duty as a counter; and before, not
behind, it sat a spruce lit