Read Ebook: La victime by Vand Rem Fernand

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Ebook has 121 lines and 5668 words, and 3 pages

"Live on his board,--that'll give you enough. But you want something to begin with. I'd go out and get one or two things--but I'm so confoundedly tired, I can't."

Mrs. Mathieson, without a word, put on a shawl and went to the closet for her bonnet.

"I'll go, mother! Let me go, please. I want to go," exclaimed Nettie, eagerly. "I can get it. What shall I get, father?"

Slowly and weariedly the mother laid off her things; as quickly the child put hers on.

"What shall I get, father?"

"Well, you can go down the street to Jackson's, and get what your mother wants: some milk and bread; and then you'd better fetch seven pounds of meal and a quart of treacle. And ask him to give you a nice piece of pork out of his barrel."

"She can't bring all that!" exclaimed the mother; "you'd better go yourself, Mr. Mathieson. That would be a great deal more than the child can carry, or I either."

"Then I'll go twice, mother: it isn't far; I'd like to go. I'll get it. Please give me the money, father."

He cursed and swore at her for answer. "Go along, and do as you are bid, without all this chaffering! Go to Jackson's, and tell him you want the things, and I'll give him the money to-morrow. He knows me."

Nettie knew he did, and stood her ground.

Her father was just enough in liquor to be a little thick-headed and foolish.

"You know I can't go without the money, father," she said, gently; "and to-morrow is Sunday."

He cursed Sunday and swore again, but finally put his hand in his pocket and threw some money across the table to her. He was just in a state not to be careful what he did, and he threw her crown-pieces where, if he had been quite himself, he would have given shillings. Nettie took them without any remark, and her basket, and went out.

It was just sundown. The village lay glittering in the light that would be gone in a few minutes; and up on the hill the white church, standing high, showed all bright in the sun-beams, from its sparkling vane at the top of the spire down to the lowest step at the door. Nettie's home was in a branch road, a few steps from the main street of the village, that led up to the church at one end of it. All along that street the sunlight lay, on the grass, and the roadway, and the side-walks, and the tops of a few elm trees. The street was empty; it was most people's supper-time. Nettie turned the corner and went down the village. She went slowly: her little feet were already tired with the work they had done that day, and back and arms and head all seemed tired too. But Nettie never thought it hard that her mother did not go instead of letting her go; she knew her mother could not bear to be seen in the village in the old shabby gown and shawl she wore; for Mrs. Mathieson had seen better days. And besides that, she would be busy enough as it was, and till a late hour, this Saturday night. Nettie's gown was shabby too--yes, very shabby, 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 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.

"Oh, 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."

"Hurrah!" 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."

"Oh, 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."

"I want two loaves of bread, Mrs. August, and a pint of milk, if you please."

"How will you carry them, my child? you cannot take them all at the time."

"Oh yes, I can," said Nettie, cheerfully. "I can manage. They are not heavy."

"No, I hope not," said the Frenchwoman; "it is not heavy, my bread! but two loaves are not one, no more. Is your mother well?"

She then set busily about wrapping the loaves in paper and measuring out the milk. Nettie answered, her mother was well.

"And you?" said the little woman, looking at her sideways. "Somebody is tired this evening."

"Yes," said Nettie, brightly; "but I don't mind. One must be tired sometimes. Thank you, ma'am."

The woman had put the loaves and the milk carefully in her arms and in her hands, so that she could carry them, and looked after her as she went up the street.

"One must be tired sometimes!" said she to herself, with a turn of her capable little head. "I should like to hear her say 'One must be rested sometimes;' but I do not hear that."

So perhaps Nettie thought, as she went homeward. It would have been very natural. Now the sun was down, the bright gleam was off the village; the soft shades of evening were gathering, and lights twinkled in windows. Nettie walked very slowly, her arms full of the bread. Perhaps she wished her Saturday's work was all done, like other people's. All I can tell you is, that as she went along through the quiet deserted street, all alone, she broke out softly singing to herself the words,--

"No need of the sun in that day Which never is followed by night;"

and that when she got home she ran upstairs quite briskly, and came in with a very placid face, and told her mother she had had a pleasant walk--which was perfectly true.

"God bless you, child!" said her mother; "you are the very rose of my heart!"

There was only time for this little dialogue, for which Mr. Mathieson's slumbers had given a chance. But then Barry entered, and noisily claimed Nettie's promise. And without a cloud crossing her sweet brow, she made the cakes, and baked them on the stove, and served Barry until he had enough; nor ever said how weary she was of being on her feet. There were more cakes left, and Mrs. Mathieson saw to it that Nettie sat down and ate them; and then sent her off to bed, without suffering her to do anything more; though Nettie pleaded to be allowed to clear away the dishes. Mrs. Mathieson did that, and then sat down to darns and patches on various articles of clothing, till the old clock of the church on the hill tolled out solemnly the hour of twelve all over the village.

Nettie's room was the only room on that floor besides her mother's and Barry's. It was at the back of the house, with a pleasant look-out over the trees and bushes between it and the spring. Over these the view went to distant hills and fields, that always looked pretty in all sorts of lights, Nettie thought. Besides that, it was a clean, neat little room; bare, to be sure, without even Barry's strip of rag carpet; but on a little black table lay Nettie's Bible and Sunday-school books; and each window had a chair; and a chest of drawers held all her little wardrobe and a great deal of room to spare besides; and the cot-bed in one corner was nicely made up. It was a very comfortable-looking room to Nettie.

"So this is the last night I shall sleep here!" she thought as she went in. "To-morrow I must go up to the attic. Well, I can pray there just the same; and God will be with me there just the same."

It was a comfort; but it was the only one Nettie could think of in connection with her removal. The attic was no room, but only a little garret used as a lumber-place; not boarded up nor plastered at all; nothing but the beams and the side boarding for the walls, and nothing but the rafters and the shingles between it and the sky. Besides which, it was full of lumber of one sort and another. How Nettie was to move up there the next day, being Sunday, she could not imagine; but she was so tired that as soon as her head touched her pillow she fell asleep, and forgot to think about it.

The next thing was the bright morning light rousing her, and the joyful thought that it was Sunday morning. A beautiful day it was. The eastern light was shining over upon Nettie's distant hills with all sorts of fresh, lovely colours, and promise of what the coming hours would bring. Nettie looked at them lovingly, for she was very fond of them, and had a great many thoughts about those hills. "As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round about His people;"--that was one thing they made her think of. She thought of it now as she was dressing, and it gave her the feeling of being surrounded with a mighty and strong protection on every side. It made Nettie's heart curiously glad, and her tongue speak joyful things; for when she knelt down to pray she was full of thanksgiving.

The next thing was that, taking her tin pail, Nettie set off down to the spring to get water to boil her kettle. It was so sweet and pleasant--no other spring could supply nicer water. The dew brushed from the bushes and grass as she went by; and from every green thing there went up a fresh dewy smell, that was reviving. The breath of the summer wind, moving gently, touched her cheek and fluttered her hair, and said God had given a beautiful day to the world; and Nettie thanked Him in her heart, and went on rejoicing. Sunday was Nettie's holiday, and Sunday school and church were her delight. And though she went in all weathers, and nothing would keep her, yet sunshine is sunshine, and she felt so this morning. So she gaily filled her pail at the spring and trudged back with it to the house. The next thing was to tap at her mother's door.

Mrs. Mathieson opened it, in her night-gown; she was just up, and looked as if her night's sleep had been all too short for her.

"Why, Nettie! is it late?" she said, as Nettie and the tin pail came in.

"No, mother; it's just good time. You get dressed, and I'll make the fire ready. It's beautiful out, mother!"

Mrs. Mathieson made no answer, and Nettie went to work with the fire. It was an easy matter to put in some paper and kindle the light wood; and when the kettle was on, Nettie went round the room, softly setting it to rights as well as she could; then glanced at her father, still sleeping.

"I can't set the table yet, mother."

"No, child; go off, and I'll see to the rest.--If I can get folks up, at least," said Mrs. Mathieson, somewhat despondingly.

Sunday morning that was a doubtful business, she and Nettie knew. Nettie went to her own room to carry out a plan she had. If she could manage to get her things conveyed up to the attic without her mother knowing it, just so much labour and trouble would be spared her, and her mother might have a better chance of some rest that day. Little enough, with a lodger coming that evening! To get her things up there,--that was all Nettie would do to-day; but that must be done. The steep stairs to the attic went up from the entry-way, just outside of Nettie's door. She went up the first time to see what room there was to bestow anything.

The little garret was strewn all over with things carelessly thrown in merely to get them out of the way. There was a small shutter window in each gable. One was open, just revealing the utter confusion, but half showing the dust that lay on everything. The other window, the back one, was fairly shut up by a great heap of boxes and barrels piled against it. In no part was there a clear space or a hopeful opening. Nettie stood aghast for some moments, not knowing what to do. "But if I don't, mother will have to do it," she thought. It nerved her little arm, and one thought of her invisible Protector nerved her heart, which had sunk at first coming up. Softly she moved and began her operations, lest her mother downstairs should hear and find out what she was about before it was done. Sunday too! But there was no help for it.

The last thing of all under the window was a great old chest. Nettie could not move it, and she thought it might stay there very conveniently for a seat. All the rest of the pile she cleared away, and then opened the window. There was no sash--nothing but a wooden shutter fastened with a hook. Nettie threw it open. There, to her great joy, behold, she had the very same view of her hills, all shining in the sun now. Only this window was higher than her old one and lifted her up more above the tops of the trees, and gave a better and clearer and wider view of the distant open country she liked so much. Nettie was greatly delighted, and refreshed herself with a good look out and a breath of fresh air before she began her labours again. That gave the dust a little chance to settle too.

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