ill. There was more to do that: the push and fall over the timbers had

jarred her more than she knew at the moment. Nettie walked slowly back on her road till she neared the shop of Madame Auguste, then she felt herself growing very ill, and just reached the Frenchwoman's door to faint away on her steps.

She did not remain there two seconds. Madame Auguste had seen her go by an hour before, and now sat at her window looking out to amuse herself, but with a special intent to see and waylay that pale child on her repassing the house. She saw the little black hood reappear, and started to open the door, just in time to see Nettie fall down at her threshold. As instantly, two willing arms were put under her, and lifted up the child and bore her into the house. Then Madame took off her hood, touched her lips with brandy, and her brow with Cologne water, and chafed her hands. She had laid Nettie on the floor of the inner room, and put a pillow under her head; the strength which had brought her so far having failed there, and proved unequal to lift her again and put her on the bed. Nettie presently came to, opened her eyes, and looked at her nurse.

"Why, my Nettie," said the little woman, "what is this, my child? what is the matter with you?"

"I don't know. But I must go home!" said Nettie, trying to raise herself. "Mother will want me--she'll want me."

"You will lie still, like a good child," said her friend, gently putting her back on her pillow; "and I will find some person to carry you home--or some person what will bring your mother here. I will go see if I can find some one now. You lie still, Nettie."

Nettie lay still, feeling weak after that exertion of trying to raise herself. She was quite restored now, and her first thoughts were of grief that she had for a moment failed to trust fully the Lord's promises. She fully trusted them now. Let her father do what he would, let things look as dark as they might, Nettie felt sure that "the rewarder of them that diligently seek Him" had a blessing in store for her. Bible words, sweet and long loved and rested on, came to her mind, and Nettie rested on them with perfect rest. "For He hath not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted; neither hath He hid His face from him; but when he cried unto Him, _He heard_." "Our heart shall rejoice in Him, _because we have trusted in His holy name_." Prayer for forgiveness, and a thanksgiving of great peace, filled Nettie's heart all the while the Frenchwoman was gone.

Meanwhile Madame Auguste had been looking into the street, and seeing nobody out in the wet snow, she rushed back to Nettie. Nettie was like herself now, only very pale.

"I must have cut my lip somehow," she said; "there's blood on my handkerchief. How did I come in here?"

"Blood!" said the Frenchwoman; "where did you cut yourself, Nettie? Let me look!"

Which she did, with a face so anxious and eager that Nettie smiled at her. Her own brow was as quiet and placid as ever it was.

"How did I get in here, Mrs. August?"

The Frenchwoman, however, did not answer her. Instead of which she went to her cupboard and got a cup and spoon, and then from a little saucepan on the stove dipped out some _riz-au-gras_ again.

"What did you have for dinner, Nettie? you did not tell me."

"Not much--I wasn't hungry," said Nettie. "Oh, I must get up and go home to mother."

"You shall eat something first," said her friend; and she raised Nettie's head upon another pillow, and began to feed her with the spoon. "It is good for you. You must take it. Where is your father? Don't talk, but tell me. I will do everything right."

"He is at work on Mr. Jackson's new house."

"Is he there to-day?"

"Yes."

Madame Auguste gave her all the "broth" in the cup, then bade her keep still, and went to the shop window. It was time for the men to be quitting work, she knew; she watched for the carpenters to come,--if they were not gone by already!--how should she know? Even as she thought this, a sound of rude steps and men's voices came from down the road; and the Frenchwoman went to her door and opened it. The men came along, a scattered group of four or five.

"Is Mr. Mat'ieson there?" she said. Madame Auguste hardly knew him by sight. "Men, I say! is Mr. Mat'ieson there?"

"George, that's you; you're wanted," said one of the group, looking back; and a fine-looking tall man paused at Madame's threshold.

"Are you Mr. Mat'ieson?" said the Frenchwoman.

"Yes, ma'am. That's my name."

"Will you come in? I have something to speak to you. Your little daughter Nettie is very ill."

"Ill!" exclaimed the man. "Nettie!--Where is she?"

"She is here. Hush! you must not say nothing to her, but she is very