"Oh, but that's so long!" said the child.
"What makes you think so much of her?"
"She thinks much of me; she can't see me, and she likes me better than anybody, but Uncle True."
"I don't believe it; I don't believe she likes you half as well as I do. I know she don't! How can she, when she's blind, and never saw you in her life, and I see you all the time, and love you better than I do anybody in the world, except my mother."
"Do you really, Willie?"
"Yes, I do. I always think, when I come home—Now I'm going to see Gerty; and everything that happens all the week, I think to myself—I shall tell Gerty that."
"I shouldn't think you'd like me so well."
"Why not?"
"Oh, because you're so handsome, and I an't handsome a bit. I heard Ellen Chase tell Lucretia Davis, the other day, that she thought Gerty Flint was the worst-looking girl in the school."
"Then she ought to be ashamed of herself," said Willie, "I guess she an't very good-looking. I should hate the looks of her or any other girl that said that."