"Fetch down your school-cloak, child."
She went back to her room, and presently Nettie came in with the cloak, looking placid as usual, but very pale.
"Are you singing up there to keep yourself warm, child?"
"Well, mother, I don't know but it does," Nettie answered, smiling. "My garret did seem to me full of glory just now; and it often does, mother."
"The Lord save us!" exclaimed Mrs. Mathieson, bursting into tears again. "I believe you're in a way to be going above, before my face!"
"Now, mother, what sort of a way is that of talking?" said Nettie, looking troubled. "You know I can't die till Jesus bids me; and I don't think he is going to take me now. What did you want me to do?"
"Nothing. You aint fit. I must go and do it myself."
"Yes I am fit. I like to do it," said Nettie. "What is it, mother?"
"Somebody's got to go to Mr. Jackson's—but you aint fit, child; you eat next to none at noon. You can't live on porridge."
"I like it, mother; but I wasn't hungry. What's wanting from Jackson's?"