THE NEW BLANKET.

Nettie had been in Barry's room one evening, putting it to rights; through the busy day it had somehow been neglected. Mrs. Mathieson's heart was so heavy that her work dragged; and when Nettie came out and sat down to her Sunday-school lesson, her mother kept watching her for a long time with a dull, listless face, quite still and idle. The child's face was busy over her Bible, and Mrs. Mathieson did not disturb her, till Nettie lifted her head to glance at the clock. Then the bitterness of her mother's heart broke out.

"He's a ruined man!" she exclaimed, in her despair. "He's a ruined man! he's taking to drinking more and more. It's all over with him—and with us."

"No, mother," said Nettie, gently,—"I hope not. There's better times coming, mother. God never forsakes those that trust in him. He has promised to hear prayer; and I have prayed to him, and I feel sure he will save us."

Mrs. Mathieson was weeping bitterly.

"So don't you cry, mother. Trust! 'Only believe'—don't you remember Jesus said that? Just believe him, mother. I do."

And proving how true she spoke—how steadfast and firm was the faith she professed, with that, as Nettie got up to put away her books, her lips burst forth into song; and never more clear nor more sweet than she sung then, sounded the wild sweet notes that belong to the words—favourites with her. There was no doubt in her voice at all.

Mrs. Mathieson sobbed at first; but there came a great quietness over her; and as the clear beautiful strain came to an end, she rose up, threw her apron over her face, and knelt quietly down by the side of her bed; putting her face in her hands. Nettie stood and looked at her; then turned and went up the stair to her own praying-place; feeling in her heart as if instead of two weary feet she had had "wings as angels," to mount up literally. She knew that part of her prayer was getting its answer. She knew by the manner of her mother, that it was in no bitterness and despair but in the humbleness of a bowed heart that she had knelt down; and Nettie's slow little feet kept company with a most bounding spirit. She went to bed and covered herself up, not to sleep, but because it was too cold to be in the garret a moment uncovered; and lay there broad awake, "making melody in her heart to the Lord."

It was very cold up in Nettie's garret now; the winter had moved on into the latter part of December, and the frosts were very keen; and the winter winds seem to come in at one end of the attic and to just sweep through to the other, bringing all except the snow with them. Even the snow often drifted in through the cracks of the rough wainscot board, or under the shutter, and lay in little white streaks or heaps on the floor, and never melted. To-night there was no wind, and Nettie had left her shutter open that she might see the stars as she lay in bed. It did not make much difference in the feeling of the place, for it was about as cold inside as out; and the stars were great friends of Nettie. To-night she lay and watched them, blinking down at her through her garret window with their quiet eyes; they were always silent witnesses to her of the beauty and purity of heaven, and reminders too of that eye that never sleeps and that hand that planted and upholds all. How bright they looked down to-night! It was very cold, and lying awake made Nettie colder; she shivered sometimes under all her coverings; still she lay looking at the stars in that square patch of sky that her shutter opening gave her to see, and thinking of the golden city. "They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." "There shall be no more curse; but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it, and his servants shall serve him."

"His servants shall serve him"—thought Nettie; "and mother will be there,—and father will be there, and Barry,—and I shall be there! and then I shall be happy. And I am happy now. 'Blessed be the Lord, which hath not turned away my prayer, nor his mercy from me!'"—And if that verse went through Nettie's head once, it did fifty times. So did this one, which the quiet stars seemed to repeat and whisper to her, "The Lord redeemeth the soul of his servants, and none of them that trust in him shall be desolate." And though now and then a shiver passed over Nettie's shoulders, with the cold, she was ready to sing for very gladness and fulness of heart.

But lying awake and shivering did not do Nettie's little body any good; she looked so very white the next day, that it caught even Mr. Mathieson's attention. He reached out his arm and drew Nettie toward him, as she was passing between the cupboard and the table. Then he looked at her, but he did not say how she looked.

"Do you know day after to-morrow is Christmas day?" said he.

"Yes, I know. It's the day when Christ was born," said Nettie.

"Well, I don't know anything about that," said her father; "but what I mean is, that a week after is New Year. What would you like me to give you, Nettie,—hey?"

Nettie stood still for a moment, then her eyes lighted up.

"Will you give it to me, father, if I tell you?"

"I don't know. If it is not extravagant, perhaps I will."

"It will not cost much," said Nettie, earnestly. "Will you give me what I choose, father, if it does not cost too much?"

"I suppose I will. What is it?"

"Father, you wont be displeased?" "Not I!" said Mr. Mathieson, drawing Nettie's little form tighter in his grasp; he thought he had never felt it so slight and thin before.

"Father, I am going to ask you a great thing!—to go to church with me New Year's day."

"To church!" said her father, frowning; but he remembered his promise, and he felt Nettie in his arms yet. "What on earth good will that do you?"

"A great deal of good. It would please me so much, father."

"What do you want me to go to church for?" said Mr. Mathieson, not sure yet what humour he was going to be in.

"To thank God, father, that there was a Christmas; when Jesus came, that we might have a New Year."

"What? what?" said Mr. Mathieson. "What are you talking about?"

"Because, father," said Nettie, trembling, and seizing her chance, "since Jesus loved us and came and died for us, we all may have a New Year of glory. I shall, father; and I want you too. Oh do, father!" and Nettie burst into tears. Mr. Mathieson held her fast, and his face showed a succession of changes for a minute or so. But she presently raised her head from his shoulder, where it had sunk, and kissed him, and said—

"May I have what I want, father?"

"Yes—go along," said Mr. Mathieson. "I should like to know how to refuse you, though. But, Nettie, don't you want me to give you anything else?"

"Nothing else!" she told him, with her face all shining with joy. Mr. Mathieson looked at her and seemed very thoughtful all supper time.

"Can't you strengthen that child up a bit?" he said to his wife afterwards. "She does too much."

"She does as little as I can help," said Mrs. Mathieson; "but she is always at something. I am afraid her room is too cold o' nights. She aint fit to bear it. It's bitter up there."

"Give her another blanket or quilt, then," said her husband. "I should think you would see to that. Does she say she is cold?"

"No,—never except sometimes when I see her looking blue, and ask her."

"And what does she say then?"

"She says sometimes she is a little cold."

"Well, do put something more over her, and have no more of it!" said her husband, violently. "Sit still and let the child be cold, when another covering would make it all right!" And he ended with swearing at her.

Mrs. Mathieson did not dare to tell him that Nettie's food was not of a sufficiently nourishing and relishing kind; she knew what the answer to that would be; and she feared that a word more about Nettie's sleeping-room would be thought an attack upon Mr. Lumber's being in the house. So she was silent.

But there came home something for Nettie in the course of the Christmas week, which comforted her a little, and perhaps quieted Mr. Mathieson too. He brought with him, on coming home to supper one evening, a great thick roll of a bundle, and put it in Nettie's arms, telling her that was for her New Year.

"For me!" said Nettie, the colour starting a little into her cheeks.

"Yes, for you. Open it, and see."

So Nettie did, with some trouble, and there tumbled out upon the floor a great heavy warm blanket, new from the shop. Mr. Mathieson thought the pink in her cheeks was the prettiest thing he had seen in a long while.

"Is this for me, father?"

"I mean it to be so. See if it will go on that bed of yours and keep you warm."

Nettie gave her father some very hearty thanks, which he took in a silent, pleased way; and then she hastened off with her blanket upstairs. How thick and warm it was! and how nicely it would keep her comfortable when she knelt, all wrapped up in it, on that cold floor. For a little while it would; not even a warm blanket would keep her from the cold more than a little while at a time up there. But Nettie tried its powers the first thing she did.

Did Mr. Mathieson mean the blanket to take the place of his promise? Nettie thought of that, but like a wise child she said nothing at all till the Sunday morning came. Then, before she set off for Sunday-school, she came to her father's elbow.

"Father, I'll be home a quarter after ten; will you be ready then?"

"Ready for what?" said Mr. Mathieson.

"For my New Year's," said Nettie. "You know you promised I should go to church with you."

"Did I? And aint you going to take the blanket for your New Year's, and let me off, Nettie?"

"No, father, to be sure not. I'll be home at a quarter past; please don't forget." And Nettie went off to school very thankful and happy, for her father's tone was not unkind. How glad she was New Year's day had come on Sunday.

Mr. Mathieson was as good as his word. He was ready at the time, and they walked to the church together. That was a great day to Nettie. Her father and mother going to church in company with her and with each other. But nobody that saw her sober sweet little face would have guessed how very full her heart was of prayer, even as they walked along the street among the rest of the people. And when they got to church, it seemed as if every word of the prayers and of the reading and of the hymns and of the sermon, struck on all Nettie's nerves of hearing and feeling. Would her father understand any of those sweet words? would he feel them? would they reach him? Nettie little thought that what he felt most, what did reach him, though he did not thoroughly understand it, was the look of her own face; though she never but once dared turn it toward him. There was a little colour in it more than usual; her eye was deep in its earnestness; and the grave set of her little mouth was broken up now and then in a way that Mr. Mathieson wanted to watch better than the straight sides of her sun-bonnet would let him. Once he thought he saw something more. He walked home very soberly, and was a good deal on the silent order during the rest of the day. He did not go to church in the afternoon. But in the evening, as her mother was busy in and out getting supper ready, and Mr. Lumber had not come in, Mr. Mathieson called Nettie to his side.

"What was you crying for in church this forenoon?" he said, low.

"Crying!" said Nettie, surprised. "Was I crying?"

"If it wasn't tears I saw dropping from under your hands on to the floor, it must have been some drops of rain that had got there, and I don't see how they could very well. There warn't no rain outside. What was it for, hey?"

There came a great flush all over Nettie's face, and she did not at once speak.

"Hey?—what was it for?"—repeated Mr. Mathieson.

The flush passed away. Nettie spoke very low and with lips all of a quiver. "I remember. I was thinking, father, how 'all things are ready'—and I couldn't help wishing that you were ready too."

"Ready for what?" said Mr. Mathieson, somewhat roughly. "All things ready for what?"

"Ready for you," said Nettie. "Jesus is ready to love you, and calls you—and the angels are ready to rejoice for you—and I——"

"Go on! What of you?"

Nettie lifted her eyes to him. "I am ready to rejoice too, father." But the time of rejoicing was not yet. Nettie burst into tears.

Mr. Mathieson was not angry, yet he flung away from her with a rude "Pshaw!" and that was all the answer she got. But the truth was, that there was something in Nettie's look, of tenderness, and purity, and trembling hope, that her father's heart could not bear to meet; and what is more, that he was never able to forget.

Nettie went about her evening business helping her mother, and keeping back the tears which were very near again; and Mr. Mathieson began to talk with Mr. Lumber, and everything was to all appearance just as it had been hitherto. And so it went on after that.