PHIL HAS A VISITOR
Phil was alone, as indeed he was always, except on Sundays, or the few
half-holidays that came to Lisa. Once in a while Lisa begged off, or
paid another woman for doing an extra share of work in her place, if
Phil was really too ill for her to leave him. The hot sun was pouring
into the garret room, though a green paper shade made it less blinding,
and Phil was lying back in a rocking-chair, wrapped in a shawl. On a
small table beside him were some loose pictures from a newspaper, a
pencil or two, and an old sketch-book, a pitcher of water, and an empty
plate.
The boy opened his closed eyes as Joe came in, after knocking, and
looked surprised.
"Why, Joe, what is the matter?" he asked. "You do not come twice a day
very often."
"No," said Joe, "nor are you always a-sufferin' as you was this mornin'.
I've come to know how you are, and to bring you _that_," said he
triumphantly putting the nosegay before the child's eyes.
The boy nearly snatched the flowers out of Joe's hand in his eagerness
to get them, and putting them to his face he kissed them in his delight.
"Oh, Joe dear, I am _so_ much obliged! Oh, you darling, lovely flowers,
how sweet you are! how delicious you smell! I never saw anything more
beautiful. Where did they come from, Joe?"
"Ah, you can't guess, I reckon."
"No, of course not; they are so sweet, so perfect, they take all my pain
away; and I have been nearly smothered with the heat to-day. Just see
how cool they look, as if they had just been picked."
"It's a pity the one who sent 'em can't hear ye. Shall I bring her in?"
"Who, Joe--who do you mean?"
"Joe means me," said a soft voice; "I sent them to you, and I am Miss
Rachel Schuyler, an old friend of Joe's. I want to know you, Phil, and
see if I cannot do something for that pain I hear you suffer so much
with. Shall I put the flowers in water, so that they will last a little
longer? Ah, no! you want to hold them, and breathe their sweet
fragrance."
Miss Schuyler had opened the door so gently, and appeared so entirely at
home, that Phil took her visit quite as a matter of course, and though
astonished, was not at all flurried. He fastened his searching gaze upon
her, over the flowers which he held close to his lips, and made up his
mind what to say. At last, after deliberating, he said, simply, "I thank
you very much." His thoughts ran this way: "She is a real lady, a kind,
lovely woman; she has on a nice dress--nicer than Lisa's; she has little
hands, and what a soft pleasant voice! I wonder if my mother looked like
her?"
Miss Schuyler's thoughts were very pitiful. She was much moved by the
pale little face and brilliant eyes, the pleased, shy expression, the
air of refinement, and the very evident pain and poverty. She could not
say much, and to hide her agitation took up the sketch-book, saying,
"May I look in this, please?"
Phil nodded, still over the flowers.
As the leaves were opened, one after the other, Miss Schuyler became
still more interested. The sketches were simply rude copies of newspaper
pictures, but there was no doubt of the taste and talent that had
directed their pencilling.
"Have you ever had any teaching, Phil?" she asked.
"No, ma'am," answered Joe for Phil, thinking he might be bashful. "He
hasn't had no larnin' nor teachin' of anythin'; but it is what he wants,
poor chile, and he often asks me things I can't answer for want of not
knowin' nuthin' myself."
"And what is this?" said Miss Schuyler, touching the box with violin
strings across it, which was on a chair beside her.
"Please don't touch it," answered Phil, anxiously; then fearing he had
been rude, added, "It is my harp, and I am so afraid, if it is handled,
that the fairies will never dance on it again. You ought to hear what
lovely music comes out of it when the wind blows."
Phil spoke as if fairies were his particular friends. Miss Schuyler
looked at him pitifully, thinking him a little light-headed. Joe nodded,
and looked wise, as much as to say, "I told you so."
Just then Phil's pain came on again, and it was as much as he could do
not to scream; but Miss Rachel saw the pallor of his face, and turning
to Joe, asked:
"Does he have a doctor? Is anything done for him?"
"Nuthin', Miss Rachel, that I knows of. I never knew of his havin' a
doctor."
"Poor child!" said Miss Rachel, smoothing his forehead, and fanning him.
Then she tucked a pillow behind him, and did all so gently that Phil
took her hand and kissed it--it eased his pain so to have just these
little things done for him. Then she poured a little of her cordial in a
glass with some water, and he thought he had never tasted anything so
refreshing. She sent Joe after some ice, and spreading her napkins out
on Phil's table, set all her little store of dainties before him,
tempting the child to eat in spite of his pain.
Phil thought it was all the fairies' doing and not Joe's--poor pleased
Joe--who looked on with a radiant face of delight. Phil would not eat
unless Joe took one of his cakes, so the old fellow munched one to
please him.
Meanwhile Miss Schuyler gazed at the boy with more and more interest; a
something she could hardly define attracted her. At first it had been
his suffering and poverty, for her heart was tender, and she was always
doing kind deeds; but now as she looked at him she saw in his face a
likeness to some one she had loved, the look of an old and familiar
friend, a look also of thought and ability, which only needed fostering
to make of Phil a person of great use in the world--one who might be a
leader rather than a follower in the path of industry and usefulness.
The grateful little kiss on her hand had gone deeply into her heart.
Phil must no longer be left alone: he must have good food and medical
care and fresh air, and Lisa must be consulted as to how these things
should be gained. So while Phil nibbled at the good things, and Joe
chuckled and talked, half to himself and half to Phil, Miss Schuyler
wrote a note to Lisa, asking her to come and see her that evening, if
convenient, explaining how her interest had been aroused in Phil, and
that she wanted to know more about him, and wanted to help him, and was
sure she could make his life more comfortable, and that Lisa must take
her interference kindly, for it was offered in a loving spirit. Then she
folded the note, and gave it to Phil for Lisa, and arranging all his
little comforts about him, bade him good-bye.
Phil thought her face like that of an angel's when she stooped to kiss
him; and after Joe, too, had hobbled off, promising to come again soon
with his violin, he took up his pencil, and tried to sketch Miss
Schuyler. Face after face was drawn, but none to his taste; first the
nose was crooked, then the eyes were too small, then the mouth would be
twisted, and just as Lisa came in, with a tired and flushed face, he
threw his pencil away and began to sob.
"Why, my dear Phil," said Lisa, in surprise, "are you so very miserable
to-night?"
"No, I am not miserable at all," said Phil, between his tears; "that is,
I have had pain enough, but I have had such a lovely visitor!--Joe
brought her--and I wanted to make a little picture of her, so that you
could see what she looked like, and I cannot. Oh dear! I wish I could
ever do anything!"
"Ah, you are tired; drink this nice milk and you will be better."
"I have had delicious things to eat, and I saved some for you, Lisa.
Look!" and he showed her the little parcel of cakes Miss Schuyler had
left. "And see the big piece of ice in my glass."
"Some one has been kind to my boy."
"Yes; and here is a note for you; and you must dress up, Lisa, when you
go to see our new friend."
Lisa looked down at her shabby garments; they were all she had; but she
did not tell Phil that her only black silk had been sold long ago. She
read the note, and her face brightened. There seemed a chance of better
things for Phil.
"I will go to-night, if you can spare me."
"Not till you have rested, Lisa; and you must drink all that milk your
own self. Did you ever hear of Miss Schuyler?"
"I don't know," said Lisa, meditating; "the name is not strange to me.
But there used to be so many visitors at your father's house, Phil dear,
that I cannot be sure."
"She is so nice and tender and kind--Have you had a tiresome day, Lisa,"
added Phil, quickly, fearing Lisa might think herself neglected in his
eager praise of the new friend.
"Yes, rather; but I can go. So Joe brought her here?"
"Yes; and see these flowers--yes, you must have some. Put them in your
belt, Lisa."
"Oh, flowers don't suit my old clothes, child; keep them yourself, dear.
Well, it is a long lane that has no turning," she said, half to herself
and half to Phil. "Perhaps God has sent us Miss Schuyler to do for you
what I have not been able to; but I have tried--he knows I have."
"And I know it too, dear Lisa," said Phil pulling her down to him, and
throwing both arms around her. "No one could be kinder, Lisa; and I
love this old garret room, just because it is your home and mine. Now
get me my harp, and when you have put it in the window you can go; and I
will try not to have any pain, so that you won't have to rub me
to-night."
"Dear child!" was all Lisa could say, as she did what he asked her to
do, and then left him alone.