"Oh, yes; it's very easy. I'll come in and prepare some by-and-by. I don't think Gerty'll want any at present; she's just had some gruel. But father has come home, and I must be seeing about our tea. I'll come in again this evening, Mr. Flint."
"Thank you, marm, thank you; you're very kind."
During the few following days Mrs. Sullivan came in and sat with Gerty several times. She was a gentle woman, with a placid face, very refreshing to a child that had long lived in fear, and suffered a great deal of abuse. One evening, when Gerty had nearly recovered, she was sitting in True's lap by the fire, carefully wrapped in a blanket. She had been talking to him about her new acquaintance and friend, when suddenly she said, "Uncle True, do you know what little girl she's making a gown for?"
"For a little girl," said True, "that needs a frock and a many other things; for she hasn't got any clothes, except a few old rags. Do you know any such little girl, Gerty?"
"I guess I do," said Gerty, with a very knowing look.
"What, you!--Why, do you think Mrs. Sullivan would spend her time making clothes for you?"
"Well," said Gerty hanging her head, "I shouldn't _think_ she would, but then you _said_----"
"So I did," said True; "they _are_ for you--two whole suits, with shoes and stockings."
Gerty opened her large eyes in amazement, and clapped her hands, and True laughed too.
"Did she buy them, Uncle True? Is she rich?" asked Gerty.
"Mrs. Sullivan?--no, indeed!" said True. "Miss Graham bought 'em, and is going to pay Mrs. Sullivan for making them."
"She's a lady too good for this world--that's sartin. I'll tell you about her some time; but better not now, for it's time you were abed and asleep."
One Sabbath, after Gerty was nearly well, she was so much fatigued that she went to bed before dark, and for three hours slept soundly. On awaking, she saw that True had company. An old man, much older than True, was sitting on the opposite side of the stove, smoking a pipe. His dress, though ancient and homely, was neat; and his hair was white. He had sharp features, and Gerty thought from his looks he could say sharp things. She rightly conjectured that he was Mrs. Sullivan's father, Mr. Cooper; and she did not widely differ from most other people who knew the old church-sexton. But both his own face and public opinion somewhat wronged him. His nature was not a genial one. Domestic trials, and the fickleness of fortune, had caused him to look on the dark side of life--to dwell upon its sorrows, and frown upon the bright hopes of the young and the gay. His occupation did not counteract a disposition to melancholy; his duties in the church were solitary, and in his old age he had little intercourse with the world, had become severe toward its follies, and unforgiving toward its crimes. There was much that was good and benevolent in him, however; and True Flint knew it. True liked the old man's sincerity; and many a Sabbath evening had they sat by that same fireside, and discussed questions of public policy, national institutions, and individual rights. Trueman Flint was the reverse of Paul Cooper in disposition and temper, being very sanguine, always disposed to look upon the bright side of things, and ever averring that it was his opinion 'twould all come out right at last. On this evening they had been talking on several of such topics; but when Gerty awoke she found herself the subject of conversation.