Little Nettie; or, Home Sunshine — Reading Notes

This was not said sorrowfully, but with a bright gleam as of some fancied and pleasant possibility. The gleam was so catching, Mrs. Mathieson turned from her porridge-pot, which she was stirring, to give a very heartfelt kiss to Nettie's lips; then she stirred on, and the shadow came over her face again.

"Dear," she said, "just go in Barry's room and straighten it up a little before he comes in--will you? I haven't had a minute to do it, all day; and there won't be a bit of peace if he comes in and it isn't in order."

Nettie turned and opened another door, which let her into a small chamber used as somebody's bed-room. It was all brown like the other, a strip of the same carpet in the middle of the floor, and a small cheap chest of drawers, and a table. The bed had not been made up, and the tossed condition of the bed-clothes spoke for the strength and energy of the person that used them, whoever he was. A pair of coarse shoes were in the middle of the whole; another pair, or rather a pair of half-boots, out at the toes, were in the middle of the floor; stockings,--one under the bed and one under the table. On the table was a heap of confusion; and on the little bureau were to be seen pieces of wood, half-cut and uncut, with shavings, and the knife and saw that had made them. Old newspapers, and school-books, and a slate, and two kites, with no end of tails, were lying over every part of the room that happened to be convenient; also an ink-bottle and pens, with chalk and resin and a medley of unimaginable things beside, that only boys can collect together and find delight in. If Nettie sighed as all this hurly-burly met her eye, it was only an internal sigh. She set about patiently bringing things to order. First she made the bed, which it took all her strength to do, for the coverlets were of a very heavy and coarse manufacture of cotton and woollen mixed, blue and white; and then gradually she found a way to bestow the various articles in Barry's apartment, so that things looked neat and comfortable. But perhaps it was a little bit of a sign of Nettie's feelings, that she began softly to sing to herself,--

"'There is rest for the weary.'"

"Hallo!" burst in a rude boy of some fifteen years, opening the door from the entry,--"who's puttin' my room to rights?"

A very gentle voice said, "I've done it, Barry."

"What have you done with that pine log?"

"Here it is,--in the corner behind the bureau."

"Don't you touch it, now, to take it for your fire,--mind, Nettie! Where's my kite?"

"You won't have time to fly it now, Barry; supper will be ready in two minutes."

"The same kind we had last night."

"_I_ don't care for supper." Barry was getting the tail of his kite together.

"But please, Barry, come now; because it will give mother so much more trouble if you don't. She has the things to clear away after you're done, you know."

"Trouble! so much talk about trouble! _I_ don't mind trouble. I don't want any supper, I tell you."

Nettie knew well enough he would want it by-and-bye, but there was no use in saying anything more, and she said nothing. Barry got his kite together and went off. Then came a heavier step on the stairs, which she knew; and she hastily went into the other room to see that all was ready. The tea was made, and Mrs. Mathieson put the smoking dish of porridge on the table, just as the door opened and a man came in--a tall, burly, strong man, with a face that would have been a good face enough if its expression had been different and if its hue had not been that of a purplish-red flush. He came to the table and silently sat down as he took a survey of what was on it.

"Give me a cup of tea! Have you got no bread, Sophia?"

"Nothing but what you see. I hoped you would bring home some money, Mr. Mathieson. I have neither milk nor bread; it's a mercy there's sugar. I don't know what you expect a lodger to live on."

"Live on his board,--that'll give you enough. But you want something to begin with. I'd go out and get one or two things--but I'm so confoundedly tired, I can't."

Mrs. Mathieson, without a word, put on a shawl and went to the closet for her bonnet.