She sang two verses, clear, glad, and sweet, as Nettie always sang; then she paused and looked at her mother.
"Do you keep up hope yet, Nettie?" said Mrs. Mathieson, sadly.
"Yes, mother," Nettie said, quietly.
"Mine gets beat out sometimes," said Mrs. Mathieson, drooping her head for an instant on her hands. "Your father's out every night now; and you know where he goes; and he cares less and less about anything else in the world but Jackson's store, and what he gets there, and the company he finds there. And he don't want much of being a ruined man."
"Yes, mother. But the Bible says we must wait on the Lord."
"Wait! yes, and I've waited; and I see you growing as thin as a shadow and as weak as a mouse; and your father don't see it; and he's let you sleep in that cold place up there all winter just to accommodate that Lumber!—I am sure he is well named."
"O mother, my garret is nice now,—on the warm days. You can't think how pretty it is out of my window—prettier than any window in the house."
"Outside, I dare say. It isn't a place fit for a cat to sleep on!"
"Mother, it's a good place to me. I don't want a better place. I don't think anybody else has a place that seems so good to me; for mother, Jesus is always there."
"I expect there'll be nothing else but heaven good enough for you after it!" said Mrs. Mathieson, with a sort of half sob. "I see you wasting away before my very eyes."