"Almost," was Mr. Phillips' answer.
"I did once," said Gertrude, musingly.
"And will again, perhaps."
"No, that would be impossible; it has been a good foster mother to its orphan child, and now I love it dearly."
"Have they been kind to you?" asked he, with eagerness. "Have heartless strangers deserved the love you seem to feel for them?"
"Heartless strangers!" exclaimed Gertrude, the tears rushing to her eyes. "Oh, sir, I wish you could have known my Uncle True, and Emily, dear, blind Emily! you would think better of the world for their sakes."
"Tell me about them," said he, and he looked fixedly down into the precipice which yawned at his feet.
"There is not much to tell, only that one was old and poor, and the other wholly blind; and yet they made everything rich, and bright, and beautiful to me—a poor, desolate, injured child."
"Injured! Then you acknowledge that you had previously met with wrong and injustice?"
"I!" exclaimed Gertrude; "my earliest recollections are only of want, suffering, and much unkindness."