_THE GOLDEN CITY._
"Blessed are the peacemakers."--_Matt._ v. 9.
Several days went on. She did not feel ill, and she was a little
stronger; but appetite and colour were wanting. Her father would not
let her do anything; he would not let her go up to her garret to sleep,
though Nettie pleaded for it, fearing he must be uncomfortable. He said
it was fitter for him than for her, though he made faces about it. He
always came home and stayed at home now, and especially attended to
Nettie; his wages came home too, and he brought every day something to
try to tempt her to eat; and he was quiet and grave and kind--not the
same person.
Mrs. Mathieson, in the midst of all her distress about Nettie, began
to draw some free breaths. But her husband thought only of his
child--unless, perhaps, of himself--and drew none. Regularly after
supper he would draw Nettie to his arms, and sit with her head upon
his shoulder; silent generally, only he would sometimes ask her what
she would like. The first time he put this inquiry when Mr. Lumber
was out of the way, Nettie answered by asking him to read to her. Mr.
Mathieson hesitated a little, not unkindly, and then read--a chapter
in the Bible, of course, for Nettie wished to hear nothing else. And
after that he often read to her; for Mr. Lumber kept up his old habits
and preferred livelier company, and so was always out in the evenings.
So several days passed; and when Saturday came, Mr. Mathieson lost half
a day's work, and took a long walk to a farm where the people kept
pigeons, and brought home one for Nettie's supper. However, she could
fancy but little of it.
"What shall I do for you?" said her father. "You go round like a shadow,
and you don't eat much more. What shall I do that you would like?"
This time there was nobody in the room. Nettie lifted her head from his
shoulders and met his eyes,
"If you would come to Jesus, father!"
"What does that mean, Nettie? You know I don't know."
"It means, father, that Jesus is holding out His hand with a promise to
you. Now, if you will take the promise,--that is all."
"What is the promise, Nettie?"
Nettie waited, gathered breath, for the talk made her heart beat, and
then said, "'This is the promise that He hath promised us, even eternal
life.'"
"How can a sinful man take such a promise?" said Mr. Mathieson, with
suppressed feeling. "That is for people like you, Nettie, not me."
"Oh, Jesus, has bought it!" cried Nettie; "it's free. It's without
price. You may have it if you'll believe in Him and love Him, father.--I
can't talk."
She had talked too much, or the excitement had been too strong for her.
Her words were broken off by coughing, and she remarked that her lip
must have bled again. Her father laid her on the bed, and from that time
for a number of days she was kept as quiet as possible; for her strength
had failed anew, and yet more than at first.
For two weeks she hardly moved from the bed. But except that she was so
very pale, she did not look very ill; her face wore just its own patient
and happy expression. Her father would not now let her talk to him; but
he did everything she asked. He read to her in the Bible; Nettie would
turn over the leaves to the place she wanted, and then point it out to
him with a look of life, and love, and pleasure, that were like a whole
sermon; and her father read first that sermon and then the chapter. He
went to church as she asked him; and without her asking him, after the
first Sunday. Nettie stayed at home on the bed, and sang psalms in her
heart.
After those two weeks there was a change for the better. Nettie felt
stronger, looked more as she used to look, and got up and even went
about a little. The weather was changing too, now. April days were
growing soft and green; trees budding and grass freshening up, and
birds all alive in the branches; and above all, the air and the light,
the wonderful soft breath of spring, and sunshine of spring, made
people forget that winter had ever been harsh or severe.
Nettie went out and took little walks in the sun which seemed to do her
good; and she begged so hard to be allowed to go to her garret again,
that her father took pity on her, sent Mr. Lumber away, and gave her
her old nice little room on the same floor with the others. Her mother
cleaned it and put it in order, and Nettie felt too happy when she found
herself mistress of it again, and possessed of a quiet place where she
could read and pray alone. With windows open, how sweetly the spring
walked in there, and made it warm, and bright, and fragrant too!
Nettie wished she could sing, for she had often seen singing comfort
her mother; but she had not the power to-day. She gave her the best she
could. Her words, however, constantly carried hurt and healing together
to her mother's mind. But when Nettie went on to repeat softly the verse
of a hymn that follows, she was soothed, notwithstanding the hinted
meaning in the words. So sweet was the trust of the hymn, so unruffled
the trust of the speaker. The words were from a little bit of a book of
translations of German hymns which Mr. Folke, her Sunday-school teacher,
had brought her, and which was never out of Nettie's hand.
"As GOD leads me, so my heart
In faith shall rest.
No grief nor fear my soul shall part
From JESUS' breast.
"In sweet belief I know
What way my life doth go;
Since GOD permitteth so,
That must be best."
Slowly she said the words, with her usual sober, placid face; and Mrs.
Mathieson was mute.
For some weeks, as the spring breathed warmer and warmer, Nettie
revived; so much that her mother at times felt encouraged about her. Mr.
Mathieson was never deceived. Whether his former neglect of his child
had given him particular keenness of vision in all that concerned her
now, or for whatever reason, _he_ saw well enough, and saw constantly,
that Nettie was going to leave him. There was never a wish of hers
uncared for now; there was not a straw suffered to lie in her path,
that he could take out of it. He went to church, and he read at home;
he changed his behaviour to her mother as well as to herself, and he
brought Barry to his bearings. What more did Nettie want?
One Sunday, late in May, her father came into her room to see her. He
kissed her, and said a few words, and then went to the window and stood
there looking out. Both were silent for some time, while the birds sang
on.
"Father," said Nettie.
He turned instantly, and asked her what she wanted.
"Father," said Nettie, "the streets of the heavenly city are all of
gold."
"Well," said he, meeting her grave eyes, "and what then, Nettie?"
"Only I was thinking, if the _streets_ are gold, how clean must the feet
be that walk on them!"
He knew what her intent eyes meant, and he sat down by her bed-side and
laid his face in his hands. "I am a sinful man, Nettie!" he said.
"Father, 'this is a faithful saying, that Jesus Christ came into the
world to save sinners.'"
"I don't deserve He should save me, Nettie."
"Well, father, ask Him to save you, _because_ you don't deserve it."
"What sort of a prayer would that be?"
"The right one, father; for Jesus does deserve it, and for His sake
is the only way. If you deserved it, you wouldn't want Jesus; but
now '_He_ is our peace.' Oh, father, listen, listen to what the Bible
says." She had been turning the leaves of her Bible, and read low and
earnestly, "'Now we are ambassadors for God, as though God did beseech
you by us; we pray you, in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God.'
Oh, father, aren't you willing to be reconciled to Him?"
"God knows I am willing!" said Mr. Mathieson.
"_He_ is willing, I am sure," said Nettie.
There was a long silence. Mr. Mathieson never stirred. Nor Nettie
hardly. The words were true of her,--"He that believeth shall not make
haste." She waited, looking at him. Then he said, "What must I do,
Nettie?"
"Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ."
"How, child?"
"Father, the best way is to ask Him, and He will tell you how. If you
are only willing to be His servant, if you are willing to give yourself
to the Lord Jesus--are you willing, father?"
"I am willing--anything!--if He will have me," said Mr. Mathieson.
"Then go, father!" said Nettie, eagerly, "go and ask Him, and He will
teach you how; He will! He has promised. Go, father, and ask the
Lord--will you? Go now."
Her father remained still a moment--then he rose up and went out of
the room, and she heard his steps going up to the unused attic. Nettie
crossed her hands upon her breast, and smiled. She was too much
exhausted to pray otherwise than with a thought.
Then slumber stole over her, and she slept sweetly and quietly while the
hours of the summer afternoon rolled away. Her mother watched beside her
for a long while before she awoke, and during that time read surely in
Nettie's delicate cheek and too delicate colour what was the sentence
of separation. She read it, and smothered the cry of her heart, for
Nettie's sake.
The sun was descending toward the western hill country, and long level
rays of light were playing in the tree-tops, when Nettie awoke.
"Are you there, mother?" she said--"and is the Sunday so near over? How
I have slept!"
"How do you feel, dear?"
"Why, I feel well," said Nettie. "It has been a good day. The gold is
all in the air here--not in the streets." She had half raised herself,
and was sitting looking out of the window.
"Do you think of that city all the time?" inquired Mrs. Mathieson, half
jealously.
"Mother," said Nettie, slowly, still looking out at the sunlight, "would
you be very sorry, and very much surprised, if I were to go there before
long?"
"I should not be very much surprised, Nettie," answered her mother, in a
tone that told all the rest. Her child's eye turned to her sorrowfully
and understandingly.
"You'll not be very long before you'll be there too," she said. "Now
kiss me, mother."
Could Mrs. Mathieson help it? She took Nettie in her arms, but instead
of the required kiss, there came a burst of passion that bowed her head
in convulsive grief against her child's breast.
Ashamed of her giving way, Mrs. Mathieson checked herself and dried her
tears. Nettie lay down wearily.
"I will stay here, mother," she said, "till tea is ready; and then I
will come."
Mrs. Mathieson went to attend to it.
When Nettie went into the other room, her father was sitting there. She
said nothing, however, and even for some time did not look in his face
to see what he might have to say to her. She took a cup of tea and a
biscuit, and ate an egg that her mother had boiled for her. It was when
supper was over, and they had moved from the table, and Mrs. Mathieson
was busy about, that Nettie turned her eyes once more upon her father,
with their soft, full inquiry. He looked grave, subdued, tender--she
had heard that in his voice already; not as she had ever seen him look
before. He met her eyes and answered them.
"I understand it now, Nettie," he said; then drew her close within his
arms; and without one word Nettie sat there, till for very happiness and
weariness she fell asleep, and he carried her to her room.
There was a great calm fell upon the family for a little time thereafter.
It was like one of those spring days that were past--full of misty
light, and peace, and hope, and promise. It was a breath of rest.
But they knew it would end--for a time; and one summer day the end came.
It was a Sunday again, and again Nettie was lying on her bed, enjoying
in her weakness the loveliness of the air and beauty without. Her mother
was with her, and knew that she had been failing very fast for some
days. Nettie knew it too.
"How soon do you think father will be home?" she said.
"Not before another hour, I think," said Mrs. Mathieson. "Why, what of
it, Nettie?"
"Nothing----" said Nettie, doubtfully. "I'd like him to come."
"It won't be long," said her mother.
"Mother, I am going to give you my little dear hymn-book," said Nettie
presently; "and I want to read you a hymn now, and then you will think
of me when you read it. May I?"
"Read," said Mrs. Mathieson; and she put up her hand to hide her face
from Nettie. Nettie did not look, however; her eyes were on her hymn,
and she read it, low and sweetly--very sweetly--through. There was no
tremor in her voice, but now and then a little accent of joy or a shade
of tenderness.
Mrs. Mathieson's head bowed as the hymn went on, but she dared not give
way to tears, and Nettie's manner half awed and half charmed her into
quietness. When the reading ceased, and Mrs. Mathieson felt that she
could look toward Nettie again, she saw that the book had fallen from
her hand, and that she was almost fainting. Alarmed, instantly she
called for help, and got one of the inmates of the house to go after
Mr. Mathieson. But Nettie sank so fast, they were afraid he would not
come in time. The messenger came back without having been able to find
him; for after the close of the services in the church Mr. Mathieson had
gone out of his way on an errand of kindness. Nettie herself was too low
to ask for him, if indeed she was conscious he was not there. They could
not tell; she lay without taking any notice.
But just as the last rays of the sun were bright in the leaves of the
trees and on the hills in the distance, Mr. Mathieson's step was heard.
One of the neighbours met him and told him what he must expect; and
he came straight to Nettie's room. And when he bent down over her and
spoke, Nettie knew his voice, and opened her eyes, and once more smiled.
It was like a smile from another country. Her eyes were fixed on him.
Mr. Mathieson bent yet nearer and put his lips to hers; then he tried to
speak.
"My little peacemaker, what shall I do without you?"
Nettie drew a long, long breath. "Peace--is--made!" she slowly said.
And the peacemaker was gone.
"There's a rest for little children.
Above the bright blue sky,
Who love the blessed Saviour,
And to His Father cry,
A rest from every trouble,
From sin and danger free,
There every little pilgrim
Shall rest eternally.
"There's a home for little children,
Above the bright blue sky,
Where JESUS reigns in glory,
A home of peace and joy;
No home on earth is like it,
Nor can with it compare,
For every one is happy,
Nor can be happier there.
"There are crowns for little children,
Above the bright blue sky;
And all who look to JESUS
Shall wear them by-and-bye,
Yea, crowns of brightest glory,
Which He shall sure bestow
On all who love the Saviour
And walk with Him below."
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Hyphenation is inconsistent, and some of the punctuation is non-standard.
The helpful French lady appears as Madame Auguste in the narrative,
but as Mrs. August when she is addressed in English. One instance of
Mathison was changed to match all the Mathiesons.
One additional change was made to the text:
"That would make the fire worse," said one of girls.
now reads:
"That would make the fire worse," said one of the girls.