"Don't rise, Mr. Flint; I beg you will not," said Emily, whose quick ear perceived the motion. "From what Gerty tells me, I fear you are not able. Please give me a chair, Gerty, nearer to Mr. Flint."
She drew near, took True's hand, but looked inexpressibly shocked as she observed how tremulous it had become.
"Ah, Miss Emily," said he, "I'm not the same man as when I saw you last; the Lord has given me a warning, and I shan't be here long."
"I am so sorry I did not know of this!" said Emily. "I should have come to see you before, but I never heard of your illness until to-day. George, my father's man, saw you and Gertrude at a shop this morning, and he told me. Gertrude should have sent me word."
Gerty was standing by True's chair, smoothing his grey locks with her slender fingers. As Emily mentioned her name, he turned and looked at her. O what a look of love he gave her! Gerty never forgot it.
"Miss Emily," said he, "'twas no need for anybody to be troubled. The Lord provided for me His own self. All the doctors and nurses in the land couldn't have done half so much for me as this little gal o' mine. It wa'nt at all in my mind, some four or five years gone—when I brought the little barefoot mite of a thing to my home, and when she was sick and e'en a'most dyin' in this very room, and I carried her in my arms night and day—that her turn would come so soon. Ah! I little thought then, Miss Emily, how the Lord would lay me low—how those same feet would run about in my service, how her bit of a hand would come in the dark nights to smooth my pillow, and I'd go about daytimes leaning on her little arm. Truly God's ways are not like our ways, nor his thoughts like our thoughts."
"Oh, Uncle True!" said Gerty, "I don't do much for you, I wish I could do a great deal more. I wish I could make you strong again."
"I dare say you do, my darlin', but that can't be in this world; you've given me what's far better than strength o' body. Yes, Miss Emily," added he, "it's you we have to thank for all the comfort we enjoy. I loved my little birdie; but I was a foolish man, and I should ha' spiled her. You knew better what was for her good, and mine too. You made her what she is now, one of the lambs of Christ, a handmaiden of the Lord. If anybody'd told me, six months ago, that I should become a poor cripple, and sit in my chair all day, and not know who was going to furnish a living for me or birdie either, I should ha' said I never could bear my lot with patience, or keep up any heart at all. But I've learned a lesson from this little one. When I first got so I could speak, after the shock, and tell what was in my mind, I was so troubled a' thinkin' of my sad case, and Gerty with nobody to work or do anything for her, that I said, 'What shall we do now?—what shall we do now?' And then she whispered in my ear, 'God will take care of us, Uncle True!' And when I forgot the sayin', and asked, 'Who will feed and clothe us now!' she said again, 'The Lord will provide.' And, in my deepest distress, when one night I was full of anxiety about my child, I said aloud, 'If I die, who will take care of Gerty?' the little thing that I supposed was sound asleep in her bed, laid her head down beside me, and said, 'Uncle True, when I was turned out into the dark street all alone, and had no friends nor any home, my heavenly Father sent you to me; and now, if He wants you to come to Him, and is not ready to take me too, He will send somebody else to take care of me the rest of my life.' After that, Miss Emily, I gave up worryin' any more. Her words, and the blessed teachin's of the Holy Book that she reads every day, have sunk deep into my heart, and I'm at peace.
"I used to think that, if I lived and had my strength spared me, Gerty would be able to go to school and get a sight o' larnin', for she has a nateral liking for it, and it comes easy to her. She's but a slender child, and I never could bear the thought of her bein' driv to hard work for a livin'; she don't seem made for it, somehow. I hoped, when she grew up, to see her a school-mistress, like Miss Browne, or somethin' in that line; but I've done bein' vexed about it now. I know, as she says, it's all for the best, or it wouldn't be."
Gerty, whose face had been hid against his shoulder, looked up, and said bravely, "Oh, Uncle True, I'm sure I can do almost any kind of work. Mrs. Sullivan says I sew very well, and I can learn to be a milliner or a dressmaker; that isn't hard work."