the floor by the side of Emily, buried her face in the blind girl's
lap, and once more commenced crying aloud. Her whole frame was agitated.

"Why, Gerty," said Emily, "what is the matter?"

But Gerty could not reply; and Emily desisted from her inquiries until
the little one should be somewhat composed. She lifted Gerty up into her
lap, laid her head upon her shoulder, and with her handkerchief wiped
the tears from her face. Her soothing words and caresses soon quieted
the child, and when she was calm, Emily, instead of recurring at once to
the cause of her grief, questioned her upon other topics. At last,
however, she asked her if she went to school.

"I _have been_," said Gerty, raising her head from Emily's shoulder;
"but I won't ever go again!"

"What!--Why not!"

"Because," said Gerty, angrily, "I hate those girls; yes, I hate 'em!
ugly things!"

"Gerty," said Emily, "don't say that; you shouldn't hate anybody."

"Why shouldn't I?" said Gerty.

"Because it's wrong."

"No, it's not _wrong_; I say it _isn't_!" said Gerty; "and I do hate
'em; and I hate Nan Grant, and I always shall! Don't _you_ hate
anybody?"

"No," answered Emily, "_I don't._"

"Did anybody ever drown your kitten? Did anybody ever call your father
Old Smutty?" said Gerty. "If they had, I know you'd hate 'em just as I
do."

"Gerty," said Emily, solemnly, "didn't you tell me, the other day, that
you were a naughty child, but that you wished to be good, and would
try!"

"Yes," said Gerty.

"If you wish to become good and be forgiven, you must forgive others."
Gerty said nothing.

"Do you not wish God to forgive and love you?"

"God, who lives in heaven--who made the stars?" said Gerty.

"Yes."

"Will he love me, and let me some time go to heaven?"

"Yes, if you try to be good and love everybody."

"Miss Emily," said Gerty, after a moment's pause, "I can't do it, so I
s'pose I can't go."

Just at this moment a tear fell upon Gerty's forehead. She looked
thoughtfully up into Emily's face, then said--

"Dear Miss Emily, are you going there?"

"I am trying."

"I should like to go with you," said Gerty.

Still Emily did not speak. She left the child to the working of her own
thoughts.

"Miss Emily," said Gerty, at last, in the lowest whisper, "I mean to
_try_, but I don't think I _can_."

"God bless you, and help you, my child!" said Emily, laying her hand
upon Gerty's head.

For fifteen minutes or more not a word w