CHAPTER XI.
PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE.
It was one pleasant evening in April that Gerty, who had been to see Miss Graham and bid her good-bye, before her departure for the country, stood at the back part of the yard, weeping bitterly. She held in her hand a book and a new slate, Emily's parting gifts; but she had not removed the wrapper from the one, and the other was bedewed with tears. She was so full of grief that she did not hear any one approach, until a hand was placed upon each of her shoulders; and, as she turned round, she found herself encircled by Willie's arms, and face to face with Willie's sunny countenance. "Why, Gerty!" said he, "this is no welcome, when I've come home on a week-night to stay with you all the evening. Mother and grandfather are gone out, and when I come to look for you, you're crying so I can't see your face for tears. Come, come! do leave off; you don't know how you look!"
"Willie!", sobbed she, "do you know Miss Emily's gone?"
"Gone where?"
"Way off, six miles, to stay all summer!"
But Willie only laughed. "Six miles!" said he; "that's a terrible way, certainly!"
"But I can't see her any more!" said Gerty.
"You can see her next winter," rejoined Willie.