Passing over Gertrude's parting with Emily, her cordial reception by Mrs. Sullivan, and her commencement of school duties, we will record the events of a day in November, about two months after she left Mr. Graham's.
Rising with the sun, she made her neat toilet in a room so cold that her hands were half benumbed; nor did she omit, ere she began the labours of the day, to supplicate Heaven's blessing upon them. Then, noiselessly entering the adjoining apartment, where Mrs. Sullivan was still sleeping, she lit a fire, and performed a similar service at the cooking-stove, which stood in a comfortable room, where, now that the weather was cold, the family took their meals. The table was set for breakfast when Mrs. Sullivan entered, pale, thin, and feeble in her appearance, and wrapped in a large shawl.
"Gertrude," said she, "why did you let me sleep so late, while you are up and at work?"
"For the very best reason in the world, auntie; because I sleep all the early part of the night, and am wide awake at day-break, and with you it is quite the reverse. Besides, I like to get the breakfast; I make such beautiful coffee. Look!" said she, pouring some into a cup, and then lifting the lid of the coffee-pot, and pouring it back again; "see how clear it is! Don't you long for some of it?"
Mrs. Sullivan smiled, for, Uncle True having always preferred tea, Gertrude did not at first know how to make coffee.
"Now," said Gertrude, "I want you to sit down here and watch the tea-kettle boil, while I run and see if Mr. Cooper is ready to let me tie up his cue."
She went, leaving Mrs. Sullivan to think what a good girl she was; and presently returning with the old man, she placed a chair for him, and having waited while he seated himself, and then pinned a napkin about his throat, she proceeded to place the breakfast on the table.
While Mrs. Sullivan poured out the coffee, Gertrude removed the skin from a baked potato, and the shell from a boiled egg, and placing both on the plate destined for Mr. Cooper, handed him his breakfast in a state of preparation which obviated the difficulty the old man experienced in performing these tasks for himself. Poor Mrs. Sullivan had no appetite, and it was with difficulty Gertrude persuaded her to eat anything; but a few fried oysters, unexpectedly placed before her, proved such a temptation that she was induced to eat several, with a degree of relish she rarely felt for any article of food. As Gertrude gazed at her languid face, she realized, more than ever, the change which had come over the active little woman; and confident that nothing but positive disease could have effected such a transformation, she resolved that not another day should pass without her seeing a physician.
Breakfast over, there were dishes to wash, rooms to be put in order, dinner to be partially prepared; and all this Gertrude saw accomplished, chiefly through her own labour, before she went to re-arrange her dress, previous to her departure for the school where she had now been some weeks assistant teacher. A quarter before nine she looked in at the kitchen door, and said, in a cheering tone, to the old man, who was cowering gloomily over the fire—"Come, Mr. Cooper, won't you go over and superintend the new church a little while this morning? Mr. Miller will be expecting you; he said yesterday that he depended on your company when at work."
The old man rose, and taking his great-coat from Gertrude, put it on with her assistance, and accompanied her in a mechanical sort of way, which implied great indifference about going. As they walked in silence down the street, Gertrude could not but resolve in her mind the singular coincidence which had thus made her the almost daily companion of another infirm old man; nor could she fail to draw a comparison between the warm-hearted Uncle True, and the gloomy Paul Cooper. Unfavorable as the comparison was to the latter, it did not diminish the kindness of Gertrude towards her present charge, who was in her eyes an object of sincere compassion. They soon reached the new church—a very handsome edifice. It was not yet finished, and a number of workmen were completing the interior. A man with a hod full of mortar preceded Gertrude and her companion up the steps which led to the main entrance, but stopped inside the porch, on hearing himself addressed by name, and turned to respond to the well-known voice. "Good morning, Miss Flint," said he. "I hope you're very well, this fine day. Ah! Mr. Cooper, you've come to help me a little, I see—that's right. We can't go on very well without you—you're so used to the place. Here, sir, if you'll come with me I'll show you what has been done since you were here last; I want to know how you think we are getting along."