o many funny
stories that Gerty laughed heartily, forgot that she did not make the
toast herself, forgot her sadness, and showed herself, for once, a merry
child. After tea, she sat beside Willie on the great settle, and, in her
peculiar way, gave him a description of her life at Nan Grant's, winding
up with a touching account of the death of her kitten.

The two children were in a fair way to become as good friends as True
could possibly wish. True sat on the opposite side of the stove, smoking
his pipe; his elbows on his knees, his eyes bent on the children, and
his ears drinking in all their conversation. He laughed when they
laughed; took long whiffs at his pipe when they talked quietly; ceased
smoking entirely, letting his pipe rest on his knee, and secretly wiping
away a tear, when Gerty recounted her childish griefs. He often heard it
afterwards, but never _without crying_.

After Gerty had closed her tale of sorrows, she sat for a moment without
speaking, then becoming excited, as her ungoverned and easily roused
nature dwelt upon its wrongs, she burst forth in a very different tone,
and began uttering the most bitter invectives against Nan Grant. The
child's language expressed unmitigated hatred, and even a hope of future
revenge. True looked troubled at hearing her talk so angrily. Since he
brought her home he had never witnessed such a display of temper, and
had fondly believed that she would always be as quiet and gentle as
during her illness and the few weeks subsequent to it. True's own
disposition was so amiable and forgiving, that he could not imagine that
anyone, and especially a little child, should long retain feelings of
anger and bitterness. Gerty had shown herself so mild and patient since
she had been with him, that it had never occurred to him to dread any
difficulty in the management of the child. Now, however, as he observed
her flashing eyes, and noticed the doubling of her little fist as she
menaced Nan with her future wrath, he had an undefined, half-formed
presentiment of coming trouble in the control of his little charge. For
the moment she ceased, in his eyes, to be the pet and plaything he had
hitherto considered her. He saw in her something which needed a check,
and felt himself unfit to apply it.

He _was_ totally unfit to cope with a spirit like Gerty's. It was true
he possessed over her one mighty influence--her strong affection for
him, which he could not doubt. It was that which