"But I an't good," said Gerty, "I'm really bad!"
"But you can be good," said Emily, "and then everybody will love you."
"Do you think I can be good?"
"Yes, if you try."
"I will try."
"I hope you will," said Emily. "Mr. Flint thinks a great deal of his little girl, and she must do all she can to please him."
She then asked concerning Gerty's former way of life, and became so interested in the recital of the little girl's early sorrows and trials, that she was unconscious of the flight of time, and quite unobservant of the departure of the organist, who had ceased playing, closed his instrument, and gone away.
Gerty was very communicative. The sweet voice and sympathetic tones of Emily went straight to her heart, and though her whole life had been passed among the poorer and lowest classes of people, she felt no awe and constraint on her encountering, for the first time, a lady of polished mind and manners. On the contrary, Gerty clung to Emily as affectionately, and stroked her soft boa with as much freedom, as if she had herself been born in a palace. Once or twice she took Emily's nicely-gloved hand between both her own, and held it tight; her favourite mode of expressing her warmth of gratitude and admiration. The excitable but interesting child took no less strong a hold upon Miss Graham's feelings. The latter perceived how neglected the little one had been, and the importance of her being educated, lest early abuse, acting upon an impetuous disposition, should prove destructive to a nature capable of the best attainments. The two were still entertaining each other, when Mr. Arnold entered the church hastily. As he came up the aisle, he called to Emily, saying, "Emily; dear, I fear you thought I had forgotten you. I have been longer than I intended. Were you not tired of waiting?"
"I thought it was but a very little while. I have had company, you see."
"What, little folks," said Mr. Arnold, good-naturedly. "Where did this little body come from?"