AN EARTHLY MESSENGER OF PEACE.
The next Sabbath afternoon found Gerty seated on a stool in Emily's
room. Her large eyes were fixed on Emily's face, which always seemed to
fascinate the little girl; so attentively did she watch her features,
the charm of which many an older person than Gerty had felt, but could
not describe. It was not beauty; though once her face was illumined by
beautiful hazel eyes: nor was it fascination of manner, for Emily's
manner and voice were so soft and unassuming that they never took the
fancy by storm. It was not compassion for her blindness, though that
might well excite sympathy. But it was hard to realise that Emily was
blind. It was a fact never forced upon her friend's recollection by any
repining or selfish indulgence on the part of the sufferer; and, as
there was nothing painful in the appearance of her closed lids, shaded
and fringed as they were by her long eyelashes, it was not unusual for
persons to converse upon things which could only be evident to the sense
of sight, and even direct her attention to one object and another, quite
forgetting, for the moment, her sad deprivation: and Emily never sighed,
never seemed hurt at their want of consideration, or showed any lack of
interest in objects thus shut from her gaze, but quite satisfied with
the pictures which she formed in her imagination, would talk pleasantly
upon whatever was uppermost in the minds of her companions. Some said
that Emily had the sweetest mouth in the world, and they loved to watch
its ever varying expression. But true Christians knew the source whence
she derived that power by which her face and voice stole into the hearts
of young and old, and won their love--_they_ would have said the
same as Gerty did, when she sat gazing so earnestly at Emily on the
very Sunday afternoon of which we speak, "Miss Emily, I know you've been
with God."
Gerty was a strange child; but she had felt Emily's superiority to any
being she had ever seen; and she reposed confidence in what she told
her, allowed herself to be guided by one whom she felt loved her and
sought her good; and, as she sat at her feet, and listened to her gentle
voice while she gave her first lesson upon the distinction between right
and wrong, Emily, though she could not see the little thoughtful face,
knew, by her earnest attention, and by the little hand which had sought
hers, and held it tight, that one great point was won.
Gerty had not been to school since the day of her battle with the girls.
True's persuasions had failed; she would not go. But Emily understood
the child's nature better than True did, and urged upon her more
forcible motives than the old man had thought of employing, that _she_
succeeded where _he_ had failed. Gerty considered that her old friend
had been insulted, and that was the chief cause of her indignation with
her schoolmates; but Emily placed the matter in a different light, and
convincing her at last that, if she loved Uncle True, she would show it
much better by obeying his wishes than by retaining her foolish anger,
she finally obtained Gerty's promise that she would go to school the
next morning.
The next morning True, much pleased, went with her, and inquiring for
the teacher, stated the case to her in his blunt, honest way, and then
left Gerty in her special charge. Miss Browne, who was a young woman of
good sense and good feelings, saw the matter in the right light; and
taking an opportunity to speak privately to the girls who had excited
Gerty's temper by their rudeness, made them so ashamed of their conduct,
that they ceased to molest the child.
The winter passed away, and spring days came, when Gerty could sit at
the open window, when birds sang in the morning among the trees, and the
sun at evening threw bright rays across True's great room, and Gerty
could see to read almost until bed-time. She had been to school steadily
all winter, and had improved rapidly. She was healthy and well; her
clothes were clean and neat, for her wardrobe was well stocked by Emily,
and the care of it superintended by Mrs. Sullivan. She was bright and
happy too, and tripped round the house so joyously, that True declared
his birdie knew not what it was to touch her heel to the ground, but
flew about on the tips of her toes.
The old man could not have loved her better had she been his own child;
and he sat by her side on the wide settle, which, in warm weather, was
moved outside the door, and listened patiently and attentively while she
read various pleasing stories. The old man's interest in the story-books
was as keen as if he had been a child himself.
Emily, who gave these books, knew their influence on the hearts of
children, and most judiciously did she select them. Gerty's life was now
as happy as it had been wretched and miserable. All the days in the week
were joyous; but Saturday and Sunday were marked days; for Saturday
brought Willie home to hear her recite her lessons, walk, laugh, and
play with her. He had so many pleasant things to tell, was so full of
life, so ready to enter into all her plans, and promote her amusement,
that on Monday morning she began to count the days until Saturday would
come again.
Sunday afternoon Gerty always spent with Emily, listening to her sweet
voice, and imbibing a portion of her sweet spirit. Emily preached no
sermons, nor did she weary the child with precepts. It did not occur to
Gerty that she went there to be _taught_ anything; but gradually the
blind girl imparted light to the child's dark soul, and the lessons that
are divine were implanted in her so naturally, that she realized not the
work that was going on, but long after--when goodness had grown strong
within her, and her first feeble resistance of evil, her first attempts
to keep her childish resolves, had matured into deeply-rooted
principles--she felt, as she looked back, that on those blessed
Sabbaths, sitting at Emily's knee, she had received into her heart the
first beams of that immortal light that never could be quenched.
It was a grievous trial to Gerty to learn that the Graham's were about
to go into the country for the summer. Mr. Graham had a pleasant
residence about six miles from Boston, to which he resorted as soon as
the planting season commenced; for though devoted to business during the
winter, he had of late years allowed himself much relaxation during the
summer; and ledgers and day-books were to be supplanted by the delights
of gardening. Emily promised Gerty that she should pass a day with her
when the weather was fine; a visit which Gerty enjoyed three months in
anticipation, and more than three in retrospection.
It was some compensation for Emily's absence that, as the days got long,
Willie was often able to leave the shop and come home for an hour or two
in the evening; and Willie's visits always tended to comfort Gerty.