"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." |