"Don't you think he'd relish some green peas? I've got some first-rate ones, fresh from the country; and, if you'd think he'd eat 'em, I should like to send you some. My boy shall take round half-a-peck or so, and I'll put the meat right in the same basket."
"Thank you," said Gerty; "he likes green peas."
"Very well! Then I'll send him some beauties;" and he turned away to wait upon another customer, so quick that Gerty thought he did not see how the colour came into her face and the tears into her eyes. But he _did_ see, and that was the _reason_ he turned away so quickly.
True had an excellent appetite, enjoyed and praised the dinner exceedingly, and, after eating heartily of it, fell asleep in his chair. The moment he awoke, Gerty sprung to his side, exclaiming, "Uncle True, here's Miss Emily!--here's dear Miss Emily come to visit you."
"The Lord bless you, my dear, dear young lady!" said True, trying to rise from his chair and go towards her.
"Don't rise, Mr. Flint; I beg you will not," said Emily, whose quick ear perceived the motion. "From what Gerty tells me, I fear you are not able. Please give me a chair, Gerty, nearer to Mr. Flint."
She drew near, took True's hand, but looked inexpressibly shocked as she observed how tremulous it had become.
"Ah, Miss Emily," said he, "I'm not the same man as when I saw you last; the Lord has given me a warning, and I shan't be here long."
"I am so sorry I did not know of this!" said Emily. "I should have come to see you before, but I never heard of your illness until to-day. George, my father's man, saw you and Gertrude at a shop this morning, and he told me. Gertrude should have sent me word."
Gerty was standing by True's chair, smoothing his grey locks with her slender fingers. As Emily mentioned her name, he turned and looked at her. O what a look of love he gave her! Gerty never forgot it.
"Miss Emily," said he, "'twas no need for anybody to be troubled. The Lord provided for me His own self. All the doctors and nurses in the land couldn't have done half so much for me as this little gal o' mine. It wa'nt at all in my mind, some four or five years gone--when I brought the little barefoot mite of a thing to my home, and when she was sick and e'en a'most dyin' in this very room, and I carried her in my arms night and day--that her turn would come so soon. Ah! I little thought then, Miss Emily, how the Lord would lay me low--how those same feet would run about in my service, how her bit of a hand would come in the dark nights to smooth my pillow, and I'd go about daytimes leaning on her little arm. Truly God's ways are not like our ways, nor his thoughts like our thoughts."