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.