Nettie laughed at her mother.
"Mrs. August didn't tell. She called it reeso—I forget what she called it!"
"It's the best thing I ever saw," said Mrs. Mathieson. "There—put the pail away. Your father's coming."
He was in a terrible humour, as they expected; and Nettie and her mother had a sad evening of it. And the same sort of thing lasted for several days. Mrs. Mathieson hoped that perhaps Mr. Lumber would take into his head to seek lodgings somewhere else, or, at least, that Mathieson would have been shamed into paying Jackson's bill; but neither thing happened. Mr. Lumber found his quarters too comfortable; and Mr. Mathieson spent too much of his earnings on drink to find the amount necessary to clear off the scores at the grocer's shop.
From that time, as they could run up no new account, the family were obliged to live on what they could immediately pay for. That was seldom a sufficient supply; and so, in dread of the storms that came whenever their wants touched Mr. Mathieson's own comfort, Nettie and her mother denied themselves constantly what they very much needed. The old can sometimes bear this better than the young. Nettie grew more delicate, more thin, and more feeble every day. It troubled her mother sadly. Mr. Mathieson could not be made to see it. Indeed, he was little at home except when he was eating.
| "Scarce discerning aught before us, |
| On our weary way we go; |
| But one guiding star is o'er us, |
| Beaming forth the way to show. |
| "Watch we, pray we, that we sink not, |
| Journeying on while yet we can; |
| At a moment when we think not |
| We shall meet the Son of Man." |