ed as
well as disliked. Once a band of them had united to vex her; but, Nan
Grant coming up just when one of the girls was throwing the shoes, which
she had pulled from Gerty's feet, into the dock, had given the girl a
sound whipping, and put them all to flight. Gerty had not had a pair of
shoes since; but Nan Grant, for once, had done her a good service, and
the children now left her in peace.

It was a sunshiny, though a cold day, when Gerty sought shelter in the
wood-yard. There was an immense pile of timber in one corner of the
yard, almost out of sight of any of the houses. Of different lengths,
the planks formed, on one side, a series of irregular steps. Near the
top was a little sheltered recess, overhung by some long planks, and
forming a miniature shed, protected by the wood on all sides but one,
and from that looking out upon the water.

This was Gerty's haven of rest, and the only place from which she never
was expelled. Here, during the long summer days, the little lonesome
child sat brooding over her griefs, her wrongs, and her ugliness;
sometimes weeping for hours. Now and then she would get a little more
cheerful, and enjoy watching the sailors as they laboured on board their
vessels, or rowed to and fro in little boats. The warm sunshine was so
pleasant, and the men's voices so lively, that the poor little thing
sometimes forgot her woes.

But summer was gone, and the schooner and the sailors were gone too. The
weather was cold, and for a few days had been so stormy, that Gerty had
to stay in the house. Now, however, she made the best of her way to her
little hiding-place; and, to her joy, the sunshine had dried up the
boards, so that they felt warm to her bare feet, and was still shining
so bright and pleasant, that Gerty forgot Nan Grant, forgot how cold
she had been, and how much she dreaded the long winter. Her thoughts
rambled about sometime; but, at last, fixed upon the kind look and voice
of the old lamplighter; and then, for the first time since the promise
was made, it came into her mind that he had engaged to bring her
something the next time he came. She could not believe he would remember
it; but still he might--he seemed to be so sorry for her fall.

What would he bring? Would it be something to eat? Oh, if it were only
some shoes! Perhaps he did not notice that she had none?

Gerty resolved to go for her milk in season to be back before it was
time to light the lamp, so that nothing sh