"Show me your handkerchief," said her father. Nettie obeyed. He looked at it, and looked close at her lips, to find where they might have been wounded; and Nettie was sorry to see how much he felt, for he even looked pale himself as he turned away from her. But he was as gentle and kind as he could be; Nettie had never seen him so; and when he went off up to bed and Nettie was drawn into her mother's arms to go to sleep, she was very, very happy. But she did not tell her hopes or her joys to her mother; she only told her thanks to the Lord; and that she did till she fell asleep.
The next morning Nettie was well enough to get up and dress herself. That was all she was suffered to do by father or mother. Mr. Mathieson sent Barry for water and wood, and himself looked after the fire while Mrs. Mathieson was busy; all the rest he did was to take Nettie in his arms and sit holding her till breakfast was ready. He did not talk, and he kept Barry quiet; he was like a different man. Nettie, feeling indeed very weak, could only sit with her head on her father's shoulder, and wonder, and think, and repeat quiet prayers in her heart. She was very pale yet, and it distressed Mr. Mathieson to see that she could not eat. So he laid her on the bed, when he was going to his work, and told her she was to stay there and be still, and he would bring her something good when he came home.
The day was strangely long and quiet to Nettie. Instead of going to school and flying about at home doing all sorts of things, she lay on the bed and followed her mother with her eyes as she moved about the room at her work. The eyes often met Mrs. Mathieson's eyes; and once Nettie called her mother to her bedside.
"Mother, what is the matter with you?"
Mrs. Mathieson stood still, and had some trouble to speak. At last she told Nettie she was sorry to see her lying there and not able to be up and around.
"Mother," said Nettie, expressively,—"'There is rest for the weary.'"
"O Nettie," said her mother, beginning to cry,—"you are all I have got!—my blessed one!"
"Hush, mother," said Nettie; "I am not your blessed one,—you forget; and I am not all you have got. Where is Jesus, mother? O mother, 'rest in the Lord!'"
"I don't deserve to," said Mrs. Mathieson, trying to stop her tears.
"I feel very well," Nettie went on; "only weak, but I shall be well directly. And I am so happy, mother. Wont you go on and get dinner? and mother, just do that;—'rest in the Lord.'"