“With my mamma, who died when I was two years old,” was the prompt answer; and Mrs. Barrett went on: “Had you no father then?”
“Why, yes, but—but——;” the child hesitated a little and blushed painfully, then added, “he didn’t like me much, I guess, and when the new mother came, it was very bad, and so auntie, who isn’t my auntie, you know, only she lived there and liked me, took me for her own little girl, and I’ve been so happy with her, though mamma’s house was much bigger and nicer than any we have had since, and there were servants there just as there are at Oakwood, only not so many. But I like living with auntie best.”
Mrs. Barrett was interested now, and was about to question the child further of that home like Oakwood, when Mrs. Rogers appeared and called the little girl away. That afternoon Mrs. Barrett was attacked with a nervous headache which was so severe as to send her to her bed, where she lay with her eyes closed and moaning occasionally, when a light footstep crossed the floor, and a low, sweet voice said: “You are real sick, aren’t you? May I do something for you?” and before Mrs. Barrett could speak, two soft hands were pressed upon her aching head, which they rubbed and caressed until the throbbing ceased entirely, and the pain was less hard to bear. Gertie was a natural nurse, and she smoothed the lady’s pillow, and folded up a shawl and put it away and adjusted the shutters to exclude the light and still admit the air, and did it all so quietly and noiselessly that Mrs. Barrett would hardly have known she was there.
“You are very kind,” she said, “and I thank you so much, but don’t trouble yourself anymore. I shall do very well now.”
“Oh, I like to take care of you,” Gertie answered. “It’s funny I know, but you see I make believe I am caring for my grandma. I have one somewhere, auntie says, although I never saw her, and I guess she don’t like me very well.”
“Not like you!” Mrs. Barrett exclaimed. “How can she help it?”
“You see she don’t know me,” Gertie answered. “If she did, maybe she would. Do you like me?”
The question was put timidly, and the little face was very grave until the answer came, “Yes, very much;” then it flushed all over, and the blue eyes shone like stars while the warm red lips touched Mrs. Barrett’s cheek so lovingly, as Gertie exclaimed: “I am so glad. I want to be liked. I want everybody to like me.”
A desire to be loved was a part of Gertie’s nature, and with it she seemed to possess the faculty of making everybody love her, even to Mrs. Barrett, who, after that day, was exceedingly kind to the little girl, and ceased to care because she was an occupant of Edith’s room. That there was some history connected with her she was sure, but no questioning on her part availed to elicit any more information than had been volunteered during their first interview. Mrs. Rogers must have cautioned Gertie not to talk of her parents and old home, for she was very reticent, and answered evasively whenever Mrs. Barrett broached the subject to her, as she did once or twice.
“Auntie can tell you,” was her reply, when asked where her father had lived, and as Mrs. Barrett did not care to talk to Mrs. Rogers, she knew nothing definite of little Gertie Westbrooke when Edith came to see her and brought news of her rejection of the colonel.