"God knows everything, Nettie."
With that Mrs. Mathieson cast down her book and burst into such a passion of weeping that Nettie was frightened. It was like the breaking up of an icy winter. She flung her apron over her head and sobbed aloud; till, hearing the steps of the men upon the staircase, she rushed off to Barry's room, and presently got quiet, for she came out to supper as if nothing had happened.
From that time there was a gentler mood upon her mother; Nettie saw, though she looked weary and careworn as ever, there was now not often the hard, dogged look which had been wont to be there for months past. Nettie had no difficulty to get her to read the Testament; and of all things, what she liked was to get a quiet hour of an evening alone with Nettie, and hear her sing hymns. But both Nettie and she had a great deal, as Mrs. Mathieson said, "to put up with."
As weeks went on, the father of the family was more and more out at nights, and less and less agreeable when he was at home. He and his friend Lumber helped each other in mischief. The lodger's rent and board had been at first given for the household daily expenses; but then Mr. Mathieson began to pay over a smaller sum, saying that it was all that was due; and Mrs. Mathieson began to suspect that the rest had been paid away already for brandy. Then Mr. Mathieson told her to trade at Jackson's on account, and he would settle the bill. Mrs. Mathieson held off from this as long as it was possible. She and Nettie did their very best to make the little that was given them go a good way: they wasted not a crumb nor a penny. By degrees it came to be very customary for Mrs. Mathieson and Nettie to make their meal of porridge and bread, after all the more savoury food had been devoured by the others; and many a weary patch and darn filled the night hours because they had not money to buy a cheap dress or two. Nettie bore it very patiently. Mrs. Mathieson was sometimes impatient.
"This won't last me through the week, to get the things you want," she said one Saturday to her husband, when he gave her what he said was Lumber's payment to him.
"You'll have to make it last," said he gruffly.
"Will you tell me how I'm going to do that? Here isn't more than half what you gave me at first."
"Send to Jackson's for what you want!" he roared at her; "didn't I tell you so? and don't come bothering me with your noise."
"When will you pay Jackson?"
"I'll pay 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.