_THE BROWN CLOAK IN NOVEMBER._
"How long, O Lord?"--_Rev._ vi. 10.
November days drew toward an end; December was near. One afternoon Mrs.
Mathieson, wanting Nettie, went to the foot of the garret stairs to call
her.
"Yes, mother. Coming."
"Fetch down your school cloak, child."
She went back to her room, and presently Nettie came in with the cloak,
looking placid as usual, but very pale.
"Somebody's got to go to Mr. Jackson's, but you ain't fit, child; you
ate next to nothing at noon. You can't live on porridge."
"I like it, mother; but I wasn't hungry. What's wanting from
Jackson's?"
Nettie put on her cloak, and took her basket, and went out. It was after
sundown already, and a keen wind swept through the village street, and
swept through Nettie's brown cloak too, tight as she wrapt it about her.
But though she was cold and blue, and the wind seemed to go through
_her_ as well as the cloak, Nettie was thinking of something else. She
knew that her mother had eaten a very scanty, poor sort of dinner, as
well as herself, and that _she_ often looked pale and wan; and Nettie
was almost ready to wish she had not given the last penny of her
shilling on Sunday to the missionary-box.
"What do you want?" said Mr. Jackson, rather curtly, when Nettie's turn
came to be served, and she had told her errand. "What!" he exclaimed,
"seven pounds of meal, and a pound of butter, and two pounds of sugar!
Well, you tell your father that I should like to have my bill settled;
it's all drawn up, you see, and I don't like to open a new account till
it's all square."
He turned away immediately to another customer, and Nettie felt she
had got her answer. She stood a moment, very disappointed, and a little
mortified, and somewhat downhearted. What should they do for supper? and
what a storm there would be when her father heard about all this, and
found nothing but bread and tea on the table! Slowly Nettie turned away,
and slowly made the few steps from the door to the corner. She felt
very blue indeed; coming out of the warm store, the chill wind made her
shiver. Just at the corner somebody stopped her.
"Nettie!" said the voice of the little French baker, "what ails you? you
look not well."
Nettie gave her a grateful smile, and said she was well.
"You look not like it," said Madame Auguste; "you look as if the wind
might carry you off before you get home. Come to my house; I want to see
you in the light."
"I haven't time; I must go home to mother, Mrs. August."
"Yes, I know! You will go home all the faster for coming this way first.
You have not been to see me in these three or four weeks."
She carried Nettie along with her; it was but a step, and Nettie did not
feel capable of resisting anything. The little Frenchwoman put her into
the shop before her, made her sit down, and lighted a candle. The shop
was nice and warm, and full of the savoury smell of fresh baking.
"We have made our own bread lately," said Nettie, in answer to the
charge of not coming there.
"Do you make it good?" said Madame Auguste.
"It isn't like yours, Mrs. August," said Nettie, smiling.
"If you will come and live with me next summer, I will teach you how to
do some things; and you shall not look so blue neither. Have you had
your supper?"
"No; and I am just going home to get supper. I must go, Mrs. August."
"You come in here," said the Frenchwoman; "you are my prisoner. I am all
alone, and I want somebody for company. You take off your cloak, Nettie,
and I shall give you something to keep the wind out. You do what I bid
you!"
Nettie felt too cold and weak to make any ado about complying, unless
duty had forbade; and she thought there was time enough yet. She let
her cloak drop, and took off her hood. The little back room to which
Madame Auguste had brought her was only a trifle bigger than the bit
of a shop; but it was as cozy as it was little. A tiny stove warmed it,
and kept warm, too, a tiny iron pot and tea-kettle, which were steaming
away. The bed was at one end, draped nicely with red curtains; there was
a little looking-glass, and some prints in frames round the walls; there
was Madame's little table covered with a purple cloth, and with her work
and a small clock and various pretty things on it. Madame Auguste had
gone to a cupboard in the wall, and taken out a couple of plates and
little bowls, which she set on a little round stand; and then lifting
the cover of the pot on the stove, she ladled out a bowlful of what was
in it, and gave it to Nettie with one of her nice crisp rolls.
"Eat that!" she said. "I shan't let you go home till you have swallowed
that to keep the cold out. It makes me all freeze to look at you."
So she filled her own bowl, and made good play with her spoon, while
between spoonfuls she looked at Nettie; and the good little woman
smiled in her heart to see how easy it was for Nettie to obey her. The
savoury, simple, comforting broth she had set before her was the best
thing to the child's delicate stomach that she had tasted for many a
day.
"Is it good?" said the Frenchwoman, when Nettie's bowl was half empty.
"It's so good!" said Nettie. "I didn't know I was so hungry."
"Now you will not feel the cold so," said the Frenchwoman, "and you will
go back quicker. Do you like my _riz-au-gras_?"
"_What_ is it, ma'am?" said Nettie.
The Frenchwoman laughed, and made Nettie say it over till she could
pronounce the words.
"Now you like it," she said, "that is a French dish. Do you think Mrs.
Mat'ieson would like it?"
"I am sure she would!" said Nettie. "But I don't know how to make it."
"You shall come here, and I will teach it to you. And now you shall
carry a little home to your mother, and ask her if she will do the
honour to a French dish to approve it. It do not cost anything. I
cannot sell much bread the winters; I live on what cost me nothing."
While saying this, Madame Auguste had filled a little pail with the
_riz-au-gras_, and put a couple of her rolls along with it. "It must
have the French bread," she said; and she gave it to Nettie, who looked
quite cheered up, and very grateful.
"You are a good little girl!" she said. "How keep you always your
face looking so happy? There is always one little streak of sunshine
here"--drawing her finger across above Nettie's eyebrows--"and another
here,"--and her finger passed over the line of Nettie's lips.
"That's because I _am_ happy, Mrs. August."
"_Always?_"
"Yes, always."
"What makes you so happy always? You was just the same in the cold
winter out there, as when you was eating my _riz-au-gras_. Now, me--I
am cross in the cold, and not happy."
But the Frenchwoman saw a deeper light come into Nettie's eyes as she
answered,
"It is because I love the Lord Jesus, Mrs. August, and He makes me
happy."
"_You?_" said Madame. "My child! What do you say, Nettie? I think not I
have heard you right."
"Yes, Mrs. August, I am happy because I love Jesus. I know He loves me,
and He will take me to be with Him."
"Not just yet," said the Frenchwoman, "I hope. Well, I wish I was so
happy as you, Nettie. Good bye!"
Nettie ran home, more comforted by her good supper, and more thankful
to the goodness of God in giving it, and happy in the feeling of His
goodness, than can be told. And very, very glad she was of that little
tin pail in her hand she knew her mother needed. Mrs. Mathieson had time
to eat the rice broth before her husband came in.
"She said she would show me how to make it," said Nettie, "and it don't
cost anything."
"Why, it's just rice and--_what_ is it? I don't see," said Mrs.
Mathieson. "It isn't rice and milk."
Nettie laughed at her mother.
"Mrs. August didn't tell. She called it reeso--I forget what she called
it!"
"It's the best thing I ever saw," said Mrs. Mathieson. "There--put the
pail away. Your father's coming."
He was in a terrible humour, as they expected; and Nettie and her mother
had a sad evening of it. And the same sort of thing lasted for several
days. Mrs. Mathieson hoped that perhaps Mr. Lumber would take into his
head to seek lodgings somewhere else, or, at least, that Mathieson would
have been shamed into paying Jackson's bill; but neither thing happened.
Mr. Lumber found his quarters too comfortable; and Mr. Mathieson spent
too much of his earnings on drink to find the amount necessary to clear
off the scores at the grocer's shop.
From that time, as they could run up no new account, the family were
obliged to live on what they could immediately pay for. That was seldom
a sufficient supply; and so, in dread of the storms that came whenever
their wants touched Mr. Mathieson's own comfort, Nettie and her mother
denied themselves constantly what they very much needed. The old can
sometimes bear this better than the young. Nettie grew more delicate,
more thin, and more feeble every day. It troubled her mother sadly. Mr.
Mathieson could not be made to see it. Indeed, he was little at home
except when he was eating.
"Scarce discerning aught before us,
On our weary way we go;
But one guiding star is o'er us,
Beaming forth the way to show.
"Watch we, pray we, that we sink not,
Journeying on while yet we can;
At a moment when we think not
We shall meet the Son of Man."