"Why not?"

"Oh, because you're so handsome, and I an't handsome a bit. I heard Ellen Chase tell Lucretia Davis, the other day, that she thought Gerty Flint was the worst-looking girl in the school."

"Then she ought to be ashamed of herself," said Willie, "I guess she an't very good-looking. I should hate the looks of _her_ or any _other_ girl that said that."

"Oh, Willie!" exclaimed Gerty, "it's true."

"No, it an't _true_," said Willie. "To be sure, you haven't got long curls, and a round face, and blue eyes, like Belle Clinton's, and n.o.body'd think of setting you up for a beauty; but when you've been running, and have rosy cheeks, and your great black eyes shine, and you laugh so heartily, I often think you're the brightest-looking girl I ever saw in my life: and I don't care what other folks think, as long as I like your looks. I feel just as bad when you cry, or anything's the matter with you, as if it were myself, and worse."

Such professions of affection by Willie were frequent, and always responded to by a like declaration from Gerty. Nor were they mere professions. The two children loved each other dearly. That they loved _each other_ there could be no doubt; and if in the spring the bond between them was already strong, autumn found it cemented by still firmer ties; for, during Emily's absence, Willie filled her place, and his own too; and though Gerty did not forget her blind friend, she pa.s.sed a most happy summer, and made such progress in her studies at school that, when Emily returned in October, she could hardly understand how so much had been accomplished in so short a time.

Miss Graham's kindly feeling towards her little _protege_ had increased by time and absence, and Gerty's visits to Emily became more frequent than ever. The profit derived from these visits was not all on Gerty's part. Emily had, during the previous winter, heard her read occasionally, that she might judge of her proficiency; now she had discovered that the little girl had attained to a much greater degree of excellence. She read understandingly, and her accent and intonations were so admirable that Emily found rare pleasure in listening to her.

For the child's benefit, and for her own gratification, she proposed that Gerty should come every day and read to her for an hour. Gerty was only too happy to oblige her dear Miss Emily, who, in making the proposal, represented it as a personal favour to herself, and a plan by which Gerty's eyes could serve for them both. It was agreed that when True started on his lamplighting expeditions he should take Gerty to Mr.

Graham's, and call for her on his return. Thus Gerty was punctual in her attendance at the appointed time; and none but those who have tried it are aware what a large amount of reading may be effected in six months, if an hour is devoted to it each day. Emily, in her choice of books, did not confine herself to such as came strictly within a child's comprehension. She judged that a girl of such keen intelligence as Gerty was naturally endowed with would be benefited by what was beyond her comprehension; but that, in the effort she would be called upon to make, would enlarge her capacity, and be an incentive to her genius. So history, biography, and books of travels were perused by Gerty at an age when most children's literary pursuits are confined to stories and pictures. The child gave the preference to this comparatively solid reading; and, aided by Emily's explanations, she stored up in her mind much useful information.

From the time Gerty was first admitted until she was twelve years old, she attended the public schools, and was rapidly promoted; but what she learned with Miss Graham, and acquired by study with Willie at home, formed nearly as important a part of her education. Willie was very fond of study, and was delighted at Gerty's partic.i.p.ation in his favourite pursuit. They were a great advantage to each other, for each found encouragement in the other's sympathy and co-operation. After the first year or two of their acquaintance, Willie was in his fifteenth year, and beginning to look quite manly. But Gerty's eagerness for knowledge had all the more influence upon him; for if the little girl of ten years was patient and willing to labour at her books until after nine o'clock, the youth of fifteen must not rub his eyes and plead weariness. When they had reached these ages, they began to study French together.

Willie's former teacher continued to feel a kindly interest in the boy who had long been his best scholar, and who would certainly have borne away from his cla.s.s the first prizes, had not a higher duty called him to inferior labours previous to the public exhibition. Finding that Willie had much spare time, he advised him to learn the French language, which would prove useful to him--and offered to lend him such books as he would need at the commencement.

Willie availed himself of his teacher's advice and his kind offer, and began to study in good earnest. When he was at home in the evening, he came into True's room, partly for the sake of quiet and partly for the sake of being with Gerty, who was at the time occupied with her books.

Gerty had a strong desire to learn French too. Willie wished her to try, but thought she would not persevere. But to his surprise, she discovered a wonderful determination, and a decided talent for language; and as Emily furnished her with books like Willie's, she kept pace with him, oftentimes translating more during the week than he could find time to do. On Sat.u.r.day evening, when they had always had a fine study-time together, True would sit on his old settle watching Willie and Gerty side by side, at the table, with their eyes bent on the page, which to him seemed a labyrinth. Gerty looked out the words with great skill, her bright eyes diving, as if by magic, into the dictionary, and transfixing the right word at a glance, while Willie's province was to make sense. Almost the only occasion when True disturbed them was when he heard Willie talk about making sense. "Making sense, Willie!" said the old man; "is that what ye're after? Well, you couldn't do a better business. I'll warrant you a market for it; there's want enough on't in the world!"

It was but natural that, with Emily to advise and direct, and Willie to aid and encourage, her intellect should rapidly expand and strengthen.

But how is it with that little heart of hers, that, at once warm and affectionate, impulsive, sensitive, and pa.s.sionate, now throbs with love and grat.i.tude, and now again burns as vehemently with the consuming fire that a sense of wrong, a consciousness of injury to herself or her friends, would at any moment enkindle? Has she, in two years of happy childhood, learned self-control? Has she also attained to an enlightened sense of the distinction between right and wrong, truth and falsehood?

In short, has Emily been true to her self-imposed trust, her high resolve, to soften the heart and instruct the soul of the little ignorant one? Has Gerty learned religion? Has she found out G.o.d, and begun to walk patiently in that path which is lit by a holy light and leads to rest?

She has _begun_; and though her footsteps often falter, though she sometimes turns aside, and, impatient of the narrow way, gives the rein to her old irritability, she is yet but a child, and there is a foundation for hopefulness in the sincerity of her good intentions, and the depth of her contrition when wrong has had the mastery. Emily has taught her where to place her strong reliance, and Gerty looks to higher aid than Emily's, and she leans on a mightier arm.

How much Gerty had improved in the two years that had pa.s.sed since she first began to be so carefully instructed and provided for, the course of our story must develop. We cannot pause to dwell upon the trials and struggles, the failures and victories, that she experienced. It is sufficient to say that Miss Graham was satisfied and hopeful, True proud and over-joyed, while Mrs. Sullivan, and even old Mr. Cooper, declared she had improved wonderfully in her behaviour and her looks.

CHAPTER XII.

AN ADVENTURE AND A MISFORTUNE.

One Sat.u.r.day evening in December Willie came in with his French books under his arm, and, after the first salutations, exclaimed, as he put the grammar and dictionary on the table, "Oh, Gerty! before we begin to study, I _must_ tell you and Uncle True the funniest thing that happened to-day; I have been laughing so at home, as I was telling mother about it!"

"I heard you laugh," said Gerty. "If I had not been so busy, I should have come in to hear what it was that was so very droll. But do tell us!"

"Why, you will not think it's anything like a joke when I begin, and I should not be much amused, if she hadn't been the very queerest old woman that ever I saw in my life."

"Old woman!--You haven't told us about one!"

"But I'm going to," said Willie. "You noticed how everything was covered with ice this morning. How splendidly it looked, didn't it? I declare, when the sun shone on that great elm-tree in front of our shop, I thought I never saw anything so handsome in my life. But, there, that's nothing to do with my old woman--only that the side-walks were just like everything else, a perfect glare."

"I want to hear about your old woman," said Gerty.

"I was standing at the shop-door, about eleven o'clock, looking out, when I saw the strangest-looking figure coming down the street. She had on some kind of a black silk or satin gown, made very scant, and trimmed all round with some brownish-looking lace--black it had been once, but it isn't now--then she had a grey cloak, of silk material, that you certainly would have said came out of the Ark, if it hadn't been for a little cape, of a different colour, that she wore outside of it, and which must have been dated a generation further back. Her bonnet! Oh dear! it was twice as big as anybody's else, and she had a figured lace veil thrown over one side, that reached nearly to her feet. But her goggles crowned all; such immense horrid-looking things I never saw. She had a work-bag made of black silk, with pieces of cloth of all the colours in the rainbow sewed on to it, zigzag: then her pocket-handkerchief was pinned to her bag, and a great feather fan--at this season of the year!--that was pinned on somewhere--by a string, I suppose--and a bundle-handkerchief, and a newspaper! Oh, gracious! I can't think of half the things; but they were all pinned together with great bra.s.s pins, and hung in a body on her left arm. Her dress, though, wasn't the strangest thing about her. What made it funny was her way of walking: she looked quite old and infirm, and it was evident she could hardly keep her footing on the ice; and yet she walked with such a consequential little air! Oh, Gerty, it's lucky you didn't see her!

you'd have laughed from then till this time."

"Some poor, crazy crittur, wasn't she?" asked True.

"Oh, no!" said Willie, "I don't think she was; though queer enough, but not crazy. Just as she got opposite the shop door her feet slipped, and she fell flat on the pavement. I rushed out, for I thought the fall might have killed the poor little thing; and Mr. Bray, and a gentleman whom he was waiting upon, followed me. She did appear stunned at first; but we carried her into the shop and she came to her senses in a minute or two. Crazy you asked if she were, Uncle True! No, not she! She's as bright as you are! As soon as she opened her eyes, and seemed to know what she was about, she felt for her work-bag and all its appendages; counted them up, to see if the number were right, and then nodded her head very satisfactorily. Mr. Bray poured out a gla.s.s of cordial and offered it to her. By this time she had got her airs and graces back again; so when he recommended her to swallow the cordial, she retreated with a little old-fashioned curtsey, and put up both her hands to express her horror at the idea of such a thing. The gentleman standing by smiled, and advised her to take it, as it would do her no harm. She turned round, made another curtsey to him, and asked, in a little cracked voice, 'Can you a.s.sure me, sir, as a gentleman of candour and gallantry, that it is not an exhilarating potion?' The gentleman could hardly keep from laughing; but he told her it was nothing that would hurt her. 'Then,' said she, 'I will venture to sip the beverage; it has most aromatic fragrance.' She seemed to like the taste as well as the smell, for she drank every drop of it; she turned to me and said, 'Except upon this gentleman's a.s.surance of the harmlessness of the liquid, I would not have swallowed it in your presence, my young master, if it were only for the _example_. I have set my seal to no temperance pledge, but I am abstemious because it becomes a lady; it is with me a matter of choice, a matter of _taste_.' She now seemed quite restored, and talked of starting again on her walk; but it was not safe for her to go alone on the ice, and Mr. Bray thought so, for he asked her where she was going? She told him, in her roundabout way, that she was going to pa.s.s the day with mistress somebody, that lived near the Common. I touched Mr. Bray's arm, and said, in a low voice, that if he could spare me, I'd go with her. He said he shouldn't want me for an hour; so I offered her my arm and told her I should be happy to wait upon her. You ought to have seen her then. If I had been a grownup man, and she a young lady, she couldn't have tossed her head or giggled more. But she took my arm and we started off. I knew Mr. Bray and the gentleman were laughing to see us, but I didn't care; I pitied the old lady, and I did not mean she should get another tumble.

"Every person we met stared at us; we were such a grotesque looking couple. She accepted my proffered arm, and clasped her hands together round it, making a complete handle of her two arms; and so she hung on with all her might. But I ought not to laugh at the poor thing, for she needed somebody to help her along, and I'm sure she wasn't heavy enough to tire me out, if she did make the most of herself. I wonder who she belongs to. I shouldn't think her friends would let her go about the streets so, especially such walking as it is to-day."

"What's her name?" inquired Gerty. "Didn't you find out?"

"No," answered Willie; "she wouldn't tell me. I asked her, but she only said, in her little cracked voice (and here Willie began to laugh immoderately), that she was the _incognito_, and that it was the part of a true and gallant knight to discover the name of his fair lady. Oh, I promise you she was a case! Why, you never heard anyone talk so ridiculously as she did! I asked her how old she was. Mother said that was very impolite, but it's the only uncivil thing I did or said, as the old lady would testify herself if she were here."

"How old is she?" said Gerty.

"Sixteen."

"Why, Willie, what do you mean?"

"That's what she told me," said Willie; "and a true and gallant knight must believe his fair lady."

"Poor body!" said True; "she's childish!"

"No, she isn't Uncle True," said Willie; "you'd think so part of the time, to hear her run on with her nonsense; and then, the next minute, she'd speak as sensible as anybody, and say how much obliged she was to me for being willing to put myself to so much trouble for the sake of an old woman like her. Just as we turned into Beacon Street we met a school of girls, blooming beauties, handsome enough to kill, my old lady called them; and when they came in sight, she seemed to take it for granted I should get away from her, and run after some of them. But she held on with a vengeance! It's lucky I had no idea of forsaking her, for it would have been impossible! Some of them stopped and stared at us--of course I didn't care how much they stared; but she seemed to think I should be terribly mortified; and when we had pa.s.sed them all, she complimented me again and again on my spirit of conformity, her favourite expression."

Here Willie was out of breath. True clapped him upon the shoulder. "Good boy, Willie?" said he, "clever boy! You always look out for the old folks, and that's right. Respect for the aged is a good thing; though your grandfather says it's very much out of fashion."

"I don't know much about fashion, Uncle True; but I should think it was a pretty mean sort of a boy that would see an old lady get one fall on the ice, and not save her from another by seeing her safe home."

"Willie's always kind to everybody," said Gerty.

"Willie's either a hero," said the boy, "or else he has got two pretty good friends--I rather think it's the latter. But, come, Gerty, Charles the Twelfth is waiting for us, and we must study as much as we can to-night. We may not have another chance very soon, for Mr. Bray isn't well this evening; he seems threatened with a fever, and I promised to go back to the shop after dinner to-morrow. If he should be sick, I shall have plenty to do without coming home at all."

"Oh, I hope Mr. Bray is not going to have a fever," said True and Gerty, in the same breath.

"He's such a clever man!" said True.

"He's so good to you, Willie!" added Gerty.

Willie hoped not, too; but his hopes gave way to his fears, when he found on the following day that his kind master was not able to leave his bed, and the doctor p.r.o.nounced his symptoms alarming. A typhoid fever set in, which in a few days terminated the life of the excellent apothecary.

The death of Mr. Bray was a dreadful blow to Willie. The shop was closed, the widow having decided to dispose of the stock, and remove into the country. Willie was thus left without employment, and deprived of Mr. Bray's valuable a.s.sistance. His earnings had promoted the comfort of his mother and grandfather, who had thus been enabled to relax their own labours. The thought of being a burden to them was intolerable to the independent spirit of the boy; and he tried to obtain another place.

He applied to the different apothecaries in the city, but none of them wanted a youth of his age. He returned home at night, disappointed, but not discouraged. If he could not obtain employment with an apothecary, he would do something else. But what should he do? That was the question. He had long talks with his mother about it. She felt that his talents and education ent.i.tled him to fill a position equal to that he had already occupied; and could not endure the thought of his descending to more menial service. Willie, without pride, thought so too. He knew he could give satisfaction in a station which required more business talent than his situation at Mr. Bray's had ever given scope to. So he had made every possible inquiry, but he had no one to speak a good word for him, and so he met with no success, and day after day returned home silent and depressed.

CHAPTER XIII.