"Yes. Mr. True Flint I live with now. He took me home to his house one night, when Nan Grant put me out on the side-walk."
"Why, are you that little girl? Then I've heard of you before. Mr. Flint told me all about you."
"Do you know my Uncle True?"
"Yes, very well."
"What's your name?"
"My name is Emily Graham."
"O! I know," said Gerty, springing suddenly up, and clapping her hands together; "I know. You asked him to keep me; he said so—I heard him say so; and you gave me my clothes; and you're beautiful; and you're good; and I love you! O! I love you ever so much!"
As Gerty spoke with a voice full of excitement, a strange look passed over Miss Graham's face, a most inquiring and restless look, as if the tones of the voice had vibrated on a chord of her memory. She did not speak, but, passing her arm around the child's waist, drew her closer to her. As the peculiar expression passed from her face, and her features assumed their usual calmness, Gerty, as she gazed at her with a look of wonder, exclaimed, "Are you going to sleep?"
"No.—Why?"
"Because your eyes are shut."