"But that an't your fault, Willie; you couldn't help Mr. Bray's dying. I shouldn't think Mr. Cooper would blame you for not having anything to do now."
"He don't blame me; but if you were in my place you'd feel just as I do, to see him sit in his arm-chair in the evening, and groan and look up at me, as much as to say, 'It's you I'm groaning about.'"
"Have heart," said Gerty; "I think you'll be rich, some time—and then won't he be astonished!"
"Oh, Gerty! you're a nice child, and I think I can do anything. If ever I am rich, I promise to go shares with you; but 'tan't so easy. I used to think I could make money when I grew up; but it's pretty slow business."
Here he was on the point of leaning down upon the table again, and giving himself up to melancholy; but Gerty caught hold of his hands. "Come," said she, "Willie, don't think any more about it. People have troubles always, but they get over 'em; perhaps next week you'll be in a better shop than Mr. Bray's, and we shall be as happy as ever. Do you know," said she, changing the subject, "it's just two years to-night since I came here?"
"Is it?" said Willie. "Did Uncle True bring you home with him the night before Christmas?"
"Yes."
"Why, that was Santa Claus carrying you to good things, instead of bringing good things to you, wasn't it?"
Gerty did not know anything about Santa Claus, that special friend of children; and Willie, who had only lately read about him in some book, undertook to tell her what he knew of the veteran toy-dealer. Finding the interest of the subject had engaged his thoughts, Gerty returned to her cooking, listening attentively to his story. When he had finished, she was kneeling by the stove; her eyes twinkled with such a merry look, that Willie exclaimed, "What are you thinking of, Gerty, that makes you look so sly?"
"I was thinking that perhaps Santa Clans would come for you to-night. If he comes for folks that need something, I expect he'll come for you, and carry you to some place where you'll have a chance to grow rich."