"It don't become you, Miss Emily, to be carried round everywhere, and left, like an express parcel, till called for. You caught a horrid cold that you're hardly well of now, waiting there in the church for the minister; and Mr. Graham will be finding fault next."
"Oh, no, Mrs. Ellis; it's very comfortable here; the church must have been damp, I think. Come, put me in Mr. Flint's arm-chair, and I can make myself quite contented."
"Well, at any rate," said Mrs. Ellis, "I'll make up a good fire in this stove before I go."
As she spoke, the energetic housekeeper seized the poker, and, after stirring up the coals, and making free with all True's kindlewood, waited till the fire burnt up, and then, having laid aside Emily's cloak, went away with the same firm step with which she had come, and which had so overpowered Emily's noiseless tread, that Gerty had only anticipated the arrival of a single guest. As soon as Gerty knew that Mrs. Ellis had really departed, she suspended her efforts at self-control, and, with a deep-drawn sigh, gasped out, "O dear! O dear!"
"Why, Gerty!" exclaimed Emily, "is that you?"
"Yes," sobbed Gerty.
"Come here."
The child waited no second bidding, but, starting up, ran, threw herself on the floor by the side of Emily, buried her face in the blind girl's lap, and once more commenced crying aloud. Her whole frame was agitated.
"Why, Gerty," said Emily, "what is the matter?"
But Gerty could not reply; and Emily desisted from her inquiries until the little one should be somewhat composed. She lifted Gerty up into her lap, laid her head upon her shoulder, and with her handkerchief wiped the tears from her face. Her soothing words and caresses soon quieted the child, and when she was calm, Emily, instead of recurring at once to the cause of her grief, questioned her upon other topics. At last, however, she asked her if she went to school.