"You'll not be very long before you'll be there too," she said. "Now kiss me, mother."
Could Mrs. Mathieson help it? She took Nettie in her arms, but instead of the required kiss there came a burst of passion that bowed her head in convulsive grief against her child's breast. The pent-up sorrow, the great burden of love and tenderness, the unspoken gratitude, the unspeakable longing of heart, all came in those tears and sobs that shook her as if she had forgotten on what a frail support she was half resting. Nay, nature must speak this one time; she had taken the matter into her own hands, and she was not to be struggled with, for a while. Nettie bore it--how did she bear it? With a little trembling of lip at first; then that passed, and with quiet sorrow she saw and felt the suffering which had broken forth so stormily. True to her office, the little peacemaker tried her healing art. Softly stroking her mother's face and head while she spoke, she said very softly and slowly,
"Mother, you know it is Jesus that said, 'Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.' You have the mourning now, but he will find the comfort by and by."
Ashamed of her giving way, and of her having left it to the weak one to act the part of the strong, Mrs. Mathieson checked herself, held up her head and dried her tears. Nettie lay down wearily.
"I will stay here, mother," she said, "till tea is ready; and then I will come." Mrs. Mathieson went to attend to it.
When Nettie went into the other room, her father was sitting there. She said nothing however, and even for some time did not look in his face to see what he might have to say to her. She took a cup of tea and a biscuit, and eat an egg that her mother had boiled for her. It was when supper was over, and they had moved from the table and Mrs. Mathieson was busy about, that Nettie turned her eyes once more upon her father, with their soft, full inquiry. He looked grave, subdued, tender; she had heard that in his voice already; not as she had ever seen him look before. He met her eyes, and answered them.
It was worth while to see Nettie's smile. She was not a child very given to expressing her feelings, and when pleasure reached that point with her, it was something to see such a breaking of light upon a face that generally dwelt in twilight sobriety. Her father drew her close, close within his arms; and without one word Nettie sat there, till, for very happiness and weariness, she fell asleep; and he carried her to her room.