_THE NEW BLANKET._
"Lift up your hands in the sanctuary, and bless the Lord."
_Ps._ cxxxiv. 2.
It was very cold up in Nettie's garret now; the winter had moved on
into the latter part of December, and the frosts were very keen; and the
winter winds seemed to come in at one end of the attic and to just sweep
through to the other, bringing all except the snow with them. Even the
snow often drifted in through the cracks of the rough wainscoat board,
or under the shutter, and lay in little white streaks or heaps on the
floor, and never melted. To-night there was no wind, and Nettie had left
her shutter open, that she might see the stars as she lay in bed. It did
not make much difference in the feeling of the place, for it was about
as cold inside as out; and the stars were great friends of Nettie's.
How bright they looked down to-night! It was very cold, and lying awake
made Nettie colder: she shivered sometimes under all her coverings;
still she lay looking at the stars in that square patch of sky that her
shutter-opening gave her to see, and thinking of the Golden City. "They
shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun
light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the
throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of
waters; and God shall wipe all tears from their eyes."
"His servants shall serve Him,"--thought Nettie; "and mother will be
there, and Barry--and I shall be there! and then I shall be happy. And
I am happy now. 'Blessed be the Lord, which hath not turned away my
prayer, nor His mercy from me!'" And if that verse went through Nettie's
head once, it did fifty times: so did this one, which the quiet stars
seemed to repeat and whisper to her, "The Lord redeemeth the soul of His
servants, and none of them that trust in Him shall be desolate." And
though now and then a shiver passed over Nettie's shoulders with the
cold, she was ready to sing for very gladness and fulness of heart.
But lying awake and shivering did not do Nettie's little body any
good; she looked so very white the next day that it caught even Mr.
Mathieson's attention. He reached out his arm and drew Nettie toward
him, as she was passing between the cupboard and the table. Then he
looked at her, but he did not say how she looked.
"Do you know the day after to-morrow is Christmas Day?" said he.
"Yes, I know. It's the day when Christ was born," said Nettie.
"Well, I don't know anything about that," said her father; "but what I
mean is, that a week after is New Year. What would you like me to give
you, Nettie,--hey?"
Nettie stood still for a moment, then her eyes lighted up.
"Will you give it to me, father, if I tell you?"
"I don't know. If it is not extravagant, perhaps I will."
"It will not cost much," said Nettie, earnestly. "Will you give me what
I choose, father, if it does not cost too much?"
"I suppose I will. What is it?"
"Father, you won't be displeased?"
"Not I!" said Mr. Mathieson, drawing Nettie's little form tighter in his
grasp: he thought he had never felt it so slight and thin before.
"Father, I am going to ask you a great thing!--to go to church with me
New Year's Day."
"To church!" said her father, frowning; but he remembered his promise,
and he felt Nettie in his arms yet. "What on earth good will that do
you?"
"A great deal of good. It would please me so much, father."
"What do you want me to go to church for?" said Mr. Mathieson, not sure
yet what humour he was going to be in.
"To thank God, father, that there was a Christmas, when Jesus came, that
we might have a New Year."
"What--what!" said Mr. Mathieson. "What are you talking about?"
"Because, father," said Nettie, trembling, and seizing her chance,
"since Jesus loved us, and came and died for us, we all may have a New
Year of glory. I shall, father; and I want you too. Oh do, father!" and
Nettie burst into tears.
Mr. Mathieson held her fast, and his face showed a succession of changes
for a minute or so. But she presently raised her head and kissed him,
and said,
"May I have what I want, father?"
"Yes--go along," said Mr. Mathieson. "I should like to know how to
refuse you, though. But, Nettie, don't you want me to give you anything
else?"
"Nothing else!" she told him, with her face all shining with joy.
Mr. Mathieson looked at her, and seemed very thoughtful all supper-time.
"Can't you strengthen that child up a bit?" he said to his wife
afterwards. "She does too much."
"She does as little as I can help," said Mrs. Mathieson, "but she is
always at something. I am afraid her room is too cold o' nights. She
ain't fit to bear it. It's bitter up there."
"Give her another blanket or quilt, then," said her husband. "I should
think you would see to that. Does she say she is cold?"
"No,--never, except sometimes when I see her looking blue, and ask her."
"And what does she say then?"
"She says sometimes she is a little cold," said Mrs. Mathieson.
"Well, do put something more over her, and have no more of it!" said her
husband, violently. "Sit still and let the child be cold, when another
covering would make it all right!"--and he ended with swearing at her.
Mrs. Mathieson did not dare to tell him that Nettie's food was not of a
sufficiently nourishing kind: she knew what the answer to that would be;
and she feared that a word more about Nettie's sleeping-room would be
thought an attack upon Mr. Lumber's being in the house. So she was
silent.
But there came home something for Nettie in the course of the Christmas
week, which comforted her a little, and perhaps quieted Mr. Mathieson
too. He brought with him, on coming home to supper one evening, a great
thick roll of a bundle, and put it in Nettie's arms, telling her that
was for her New Year.
"For me?" said Nettie, the colour starting a little into her cheeks.
"Yes, for you. Open it, and see."
So Nettie did, with some trouble, and there tumbled out upon the floor a
great heavy warm blanket, new from the shop. Mr. Mathieson thought the
pink in her cheeks was the prettiest thing he had seen in a long while.
"Is this for _me_, father?"
"I mean it to be so. See if it will go on that bed of yours, and keep
you warm."
Nettie gave her father some very hearty thanks, which he took in a
silent, pleased way; and then she hastened off with her blanket
upstairs. How thick and warm it was! and how nicely it would keep her
comfortable when she knelt all wrapped up in it on that cold floor! For
a little while it would; not even a warm blanket would keep her from the
cold more than a little while at a time up there. But Nettie tried its
powers the first thing she did.
Did Mr. Mathieson mean the blanket to take the place of his promise?
Nettie thought of that, but like a wise child she said nothing at all
till the Sunday morning came. Then, before she set off for Sunday
school, she came to her father's elbow.
"Father, I'll be home at a quarter after ten; will you be ready then?"
"Ready for what?" said Mr. Mathieson.
"For my New Year's gift," said Nettie. "You know you promised I should
go to church with you."
"Did I? And ain't you going to take the blanket for your New Year's
gift, and let me off, Nettie?"
"No, father, to be sure not. I'll be home at a quarter past; please
don't forget." And Nettie went off to school very thankful and happy,
for her father's tone was not unkind. How glad she was New Year's Day
had come on Sunday!
Mr. Mathieson was as good as his word. He was ready at the time, and
they walked to the church together. That was a great day to Nettie.
Her father and mother going to church in company with her and with
each other! And when they got to church, it seemed as if every word of
the prayers, and of the reading, and of the hymns, and of the sermon,
struck on all Nettie's nerves of hearing and feeling. Would her father
understand any of those sweet words? would he feel them? would they
reach him? Nettie little thought that what he felt most, what _did_
reach him, though he did not thoroughly understand it, was the look
of her own face, though she never but once dared turn it toward him.
There was a little colour in it more than usual; her eye was deep in
its earnestness; and the grave set of her little mouth was broken up
now and then in a way that Mr. Mathieson wanted to watch better than
the straight sides of her sun-bonnet would let him. Once he thought
he saw something more.
He walked home very soberly, and was a good deal on the silent order
during the rest of the day. He did not go to church in the afternoon.
But in the evening, as her mother was busy in and out getting supper
ready, and Mr. Lumber had not come in, Mr. Mathieson called Nettie to
his side.
"What were you crying for in church this forenoon?" he said low.
"Crying!" said Nettie, surprised. "Was I crying?"
"If it wasn't tears I saw dropping from under your hands on to the
floor, it must have been some drops of rain that had got there, and I
don't see how they could very well. There warn't no rain outside. What
was it for, hey?"
There came a great flush all over Nettie's face, and she did not at once
speak.
"Hey?--what was it for?"--repeated Mr. Mathieson.
The flush passed away. Nettie spoke very low, and with lips all of
a quiver. "I remember. I was thinking, father, how 'all things are
ready'--and I couldn't help wishing that you were ready too."
"Ready for what?" said Mr. Mathieson, somewhat roughly. "All things
ready for what?"
"Ready for you," said Nettie. "Jesus is ready to love you, and calls
you--and the angels are ready to rejoice for you--and I----"
"Go on. What of you?"
Nettie lifted her eyes to him. "I am ready to rejoice too, father."
But the time of rejoicing was not yet. Nettie burst into tears.
Mr. Mathieson was not angry, yet he flung away from her with a rude
"Pshaw!" and that was all the answer she got. But the truth was, that
there was something in Nettie's look of tenderness, and purity, and
trembling hope, that her father's heart could not bear to meet; and,
what is more, that he was never able to forget.
Nettie went about her evening business, helping her mother, and keeping
back the tears which were very near again; and Mr. Mathieson began to
talk with Mr. Lumber, and everything was to all appearance just as it
had been hitherto. And so it went on after that.
"Well I know thy troubles,
O My servant true!
Thou art very weary--
I was weary too:
But that toil shall make thee
Some day all Mine own;
And the end of sorrow
Shall be near My throne!"