ng you light the lamp," said Gerty, "and I an't hurt a bit;
but I wish I hadn't spilt the milk."

Just then Nan Grant came to the door, saw what had happened, and pulled
the child into the house, amidst blows and profane, brutal language. The
lamplighter tried to appease her, but she shut the door in his face.
Gerty was scolded, beaten, deprived of her usual crust for her supper,
and shut up in her dark attic for the night. Poor little child! Her
mother had died in Nan Grant's house five years before; and she had been
tolerated there since, not so much because when Ben Grant went to sea he
bade his wife to keep the child until his return--he had been gone so
long that no one thought he would ever come back--but because Nan had
reasons of her own for doing so, and, though she considered Gerty a dead
weight upon her hands, she did not care to excite inquiries by trying to
dispose of her elsewhere.

When Gerty found herself locked up for the night in the dark
garret--Gerty hated and feared the dark--she stood for a minute
perfectly still, then suddenly began to stamp and scream, tried to beat
open the door, and shouted, "I hate you, Nan Grant! Old Nan Grant, I
hate you!" But nobody came near her; and she grew more quiet, lay down
on her miserable bed, covered her face with her little thin hands, and
sobbed as if her heart would break. She wept until she was exhausted;
and then gradually she became still. By-and-by she took her hands from
her face, clasped them together convulsively, and looked up at a little
glazed window near the bed. It was but three panes of glass unevenly
stuck together. There was no moon; but as Gerty looked up, she saw
shining upon her _one_ bright star. She thought she had never seen
anything half so beautiful. She had often been out of doors when the sky
was full of stars, and had not noticed them much; but this one, all
alone, so large, so bright, and yet so soft and pleasant-looking, seemed
to speak to her; to say, "Gerty! Gerty! _poor_ little Gerty!" She
thought it seemed like a kind face, such as she had a long time ago
seen or dreamt about. Suddenly she asked herself, "Who lit it? Somebody
lit it! Some good person, I know. Oh! how could he get up so high?" And
Gerty fell asleep, wondering who lit the star.

Poor little, untaught, benighted soul! Who shall enlighten thee? Thou
art God's child, little one! Christ died for thee. Will he not send man
or angel to light up the darkness within, to