you first!" he said, with an oath, and very violently. It was
a ruder word than he had ever said to her before, and Mrs. Mathieson was
staggered for a moment by it; but there was another word she was
determined to say.

"You may do what you like to me," she said, doggedly; "but I should
think you would see for yourself that Nettie has too much to get along
with. She is getting just as thin and pale as she can be."

"That's just your fool's nonsense!" said Mr. Mathieson; but he spoke it
more quietly. Nettie just then entered the room.

"Here, Nettie, what ails you? Come here. Let's look at you. Aint you as
strong as ever you was? Here's your mother says you're getting puny."

Nettie's smile and answer were so placid and untroubled, and the little
colour that rose in her cheeks at her father's question made her look so
fresh and well, that he was quieted. He drew her to his arms, for his
gentle dutiful little daughter had a place in his respect and affection
both, though he did not often show it very broadly; but now he kissed
her.

"There!" said he; "don't you go to growing thin and weak without telling
me, for I don't like such doings. You tell me when you want anything."
But with that, Mr. Mathieson got up and went off, out of the house; and
Nettie had small chance to tell him if she wanted anything. However,
this little word and kiss were a great comfort and pleasure to her. It
was the last she had from him in a good while.

Nettie, however, was not working for praise or kisses, and very little
of either she got. Generally her father was rough, imperious,
impatient, speaking fast enough if anything went wrong, but very sparing
in expressions of pleasure. Sometimes a blessing did come upon her from
the very depth of Mrs. Mathieson's heart, and went straight to Nettie's;
but it was for another blessing she laboured, and prayed, and waited.

So weeks went by. So her patient little feet went up and down the stairs
with pails of water from the spring; and her hands made bread and baked
cakes, and set rooms in order; and it was Nettie always who went to Mr.
Jackson's for meal and treacle, and to Mrs. Auguste's, the little
Frenchwoman's, as she was called, for a loaf when they were now and then
out of bread. And with her mornings spent at school, Nettie's days were
very busy ones; and the feet that at night mounted the steps to her
attic room were aching and tired enough. All the more that now Nettie
and her mother l