Читать книгу The Lamplighter - Maria S. Cummins - Страница 24

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It was one pleasant evening in April that Gerty, who had been to see Miss Graham and bid her good-bye, before her departure for the country, stood at the back part of the yard, weeping bitterly. She held in her hand a book and a new slate, Emily's parting gifts; but she had not removed the wrapper from the one, and the other was bedewed with tears. She was so full of grief that she did not hear any one approach, until a hand was placed upon each of her shoulders; and, as she turned round, she found herself encircled by Willie's arms, and face to face with Willie's sunny countenance. "Why, Gerty!" said he, "this is no welcome, when I've come home on a week-night to stay with you all the evening. Mother and grandfather are gone out, and when I come to look for you, you're crying so I can't see your face for tears. Come, come! do leave off; you don't know how you look!"

"Willie!", sobbed she, "do you know Miss Emily's gone?"

"Gone where?"

"Way off, six miles, to stay all summer!"

But Willie only laughed. "Six miles!" said he; "that's a terrible way, certainly!"

"But I can't see her any more!" said Gerty.

"You can see her next winter," rejoined Willie.

"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."

"Oh, Willie!" exclaimed Gerty, "it's true."

"No, it an't true," said Willie. "To be sure, you haven't got long curls, and a round face, and blue eyes, like Belle Clinton's, and nobody'd think of setting you up for a beauty; but when you've been running, and have rosy cheeks, and your great black eyes shine, and you laugh so heartily, I often think you're the brightest-looking girl I ever saw in my life: and I don't care what other folks think, as long as I like your looks. I feel just as bad when you cry, or anything's the matter with you, as if it were myself, and worse."

Such professions of affection by Willie were frequent, and always responded to by a like declaration from Gerty. Nor were they mere professions. The two children loved each other dearly. That they loved each other there could be no doubt; and if in the spring the bond between them was already strong, autumn found it cemented by still firmer ties; for, during Emily's absence, Willie filled her place, and his own too; and though Gerty did not forget her blind friend, she passed a most happy summer, and made such progress in her studies at school that, when Emily returned in October, she could hardly understand how so much had been accomplished in so short a time.

Miss Graham's kindly feeling towards her little protégé had increased by time and absence, and Gerty's visits to Emily became more frequent than ever. The profit derived from these visits was not all on Gerty's part. Emily had, during the previous winter, heard her read occasionally, that she might judge of her proficiency; now she had discovered that the little girl had attained to a much greater degree of excellence. She read understandingly, and her accent and intonations were so admirable that Emily found rare pleasure in listening to her.

For the child's benefit, and for her own gratification, she proposed that Gerty should come every day and read to her for an hour. Gerty was only too happy to oblige her dear Miss Emily, who, in making the proposal, represented it as a personal favour to herself, and a plan by which Gerty's eyes could serve for them both. It was agreed that when True started on his lamplighting expeditions he should take Gerty to Mr. Graham's, and call for her on his return. Thus Gerty was punctual in her attendance at the appointed time; and none but those who have tried it are aware what a large amount of reading may be effected in six months, if an hour is devoted to it each day. Emily, in her choice of books, did not confine herself to such as came strictly within a child's comprehension. She judged that a girl of such keen intelligence as Gerty was naturally endowed with would be benefited by what was beyond her comprehension; but that, in the effort she would be called upon to make, would enlarge her capacity, and be an incentive to her genius. So history, biography, and books of travels were perused by Gerty at an age when most children's literary pursuits are confined to stories and pictures. The child gave the preference to this comparatively solid reading; and, aided by Emily's explanations, she stored up in her mind much useful information.

From the time Gerty was first admitted until she was twelve years old, she attended the public schools, and was rapidly promoted; but what she learned with Miss Graham, and acquired by study with Willie at home, formed nearly as important a part of her education. Willie was very fond of study, and was delighted at Gerty's participation in his favourite pursuit. They were a great advantage to each other, for each found encouragement in the other's sympathy and co-operation. After the first year or two of their acquaintance, Willie was in his fifteenth year, and beginning to look quite manly. But Gerty's eagerness for knowledge had all the more influence upon him; for if the little girl of ten years was patient and willing to labour at her books until after nine o'clock, the youth of fifteen must not rub his eyes and plead weariness. When they had reached these ages, they began to study French together. Willie's former teacher continued to feel a kindly interest in the boy who had long been his best scholar, and who would certainly have borne away from his class the first prizes, had not a higher duty called him to inferior labours previous to the public exhibition. Finding that Willie had much spare time, he advised him to learn the French language, which would prove useful to him—and offered to lend him such books as he would need at the commencement.

Willie availed himself of his teacher's advice and his kind offer, and began to study in good earnest. When he was at home in the evening, he came into True's room, partly for the sake of quiet and partly for the sake of being with Gerty, who was at the time occupied with her books. Gerty had a strong desire to learn French too. Willie wished her to try, but thought she would not persevere. But to his surprise, she discovered a wonderful determination, and a decided talent for language; and as Emily furnished her with books like Willie's, she kept pace with him, oftentimes translating more during the week than he could find time to do. On Saturday evening, when they had always had a fine study-time together, True would sit on his old settle watching Willie and Gerty side by side, at the table, with their eyes bent on the page, which to him seemed a labyrinth. Gerty looked out the words with great skill, her bright eyes diving, as if by magic, into the dictionary, and transfixing the right word at a glance, while Willie's province was to make sense. Almost the only occasion when True disturbed them was when he heard Willie talk about making sense. "Making sense, Willie!" said the old man; "is that what ye're after? Well, you couldn't do a better business. I'll warrant you a market for it; there's want enough on't in the world!"

It was but natural that, with Emily to advise and direct, and Willie to aid and encourage, her intellect should rapidly expand and strengthen. But how is it with that little heart of hers, that, at once warm and affectionate, impulsive, sensitive, and passionate, now throbs with love and gratitude, and now again burns as vehemently with the consuming fire that a sense of wrong, a consciousness of injury to herself or her friends, would at any moment enkindle? Has she, in two years of happy childhood, learned self-control? Has she also attained to an enlightened sense of the distinction between right and wrong, truth and falsehood? In short, has Emily been true to her self-imposed trust, her high resolve, to soften the heart and instruct the soul of the little ignorant one? Has Gerty learned religion? Has she found out God, and begun to walk patiently in that path which is lit by a holy light and leads to rest?

She has begun; and though her footsteps often falter, though she sometimes turns aside, and, impatient of the narrow way, gives the rein to her old irritability, she is yet but a child, and there is a foundation for hopefulness in the sincerity of her good intentions, and the depth of her contrition when wrong has had the mastery. Emily has taught her where to place her strong reliance, and Gerty looks to higher aid than Emily's, and she leans on a mightier arm.

How much Gerty had improved in the two years that had passed since she first began to be so carefully instructed and provided for, the course of our story must develop. We cannot pause to dwell upon the trials and struggles, the failures and victories, that she experienced. It is sufficient to say that Miss Graham was satisfied and hopeful, True proud and over-joyed, while Mrs. Sullivan, and even old Mr. Cooper, declared she had improved wonderfully in her behaviour and her looks.