Gerty was patient; but would lie awake whole nights suffering from pain and weariness through long confinement to a sick-bed, without uttering a groan, lest she might waken True, who slept on the floor beside her, when he could so far forget his anxiety about her as to sleep at all. Sometimes, when in great pain, True carried her in his arms for hours; but Gerty would try to appear relieved before she was so, and feign sleep that he might put her to bed again and take some rest himself. Her little heart was full of love and gratitude to her kind protector, and she spent much time in thinking what she could do for him when she got well. True was often obliged to leave her to attend to his work; and during the first week she was much alone, though everything she could possibly want was put within her reach. At last she became delirious, and for some days had no knowledge how she was taken care of. One day, after a long sleep, she woke restored to consciousness, and saw a woman sitting by her bedside sewing. She sprang up in bed to look at the stranger, who had not observed her open her eyes, but who started when she heard her move, and exclaimed, "Oh, lie down, my child! lie down!" laying her hand gently upon her.
"I don't know you," said Gerty; "where's my Uncle True?" for that was the name by which True had told her to call him.
"He's gone out, dear; he'll be home soon. How do you feel—better?"
"Oh, yes! much better. Have I been asleep long?"
"Some time; lie down now, and I'll bring you some gruel—it will be good for you."
"Does Uncle True know you are here?"
"Yes. I came in to sit with you while he was away."
"Come in?—From where?"
"From my room. I live in the other part of the house."
"I think you're very good," said Gerty. "I like you. I wonder why I did not see you when you came in."