he felt a gentle wafting as of a
hundred little wings about his forehead, and in another moment he was
asleep.

CHAPTER II

PHIL'S NEW FRIEND

Old black Joe had not always been either a boot-black or fiddler. In his
youthful days he had been a house-servant, and had prided himself on his
many accomplishments--his dexterity at dinners, his grace at evening
parties, the ease and unconcern with which he could meet embarrassing
emergencies at either. But times had changed for him: his old employers
had died, a scolding wife had made his home unhappy, he had lost the
little money he had saved, and he was no longer the bright, cheerful
young fellow he had been. Age and rheumatism had made him crusty; but
beneath the outward manner, which sometimes was very cross, he had a
tender heart and a pitiful nature.

Of late years he had picked up enough for his support in the many little
ways incident to city life. He could whitewash, sweep chimneys, run on
errands--or rather walk on them, and that, too, very slowly. He
shovelled snow and carried coal, sawed wood and helped the servants at
whose homes he was employed.

His occupations took him about to many houses, but he always irritated
the people with whom he came in contact by invariably assuring them that
their masters and mistresses were not of the real stuff that ladies and
gentlemen of _his_ day were made of; that fine feathers did not make
fine birds; that people nowadays were all alike, and had no manners.

He made one exception only, in favor of a maiden lady whose parents he
had known, whose servants were kind to him, and whose retired and
dignified way of living quite suited his fastidiousness.

This was a Miss Schuyler; and nothing pleased Joe more than to have this
one person, whom he regarded with unqualified admiration, send for him
to bestow the monthly allowance she was in the habit of giving him. On
the day that he expected this summons he always gave an extra touch to
his toilet, exchanged his torn coat for a patched one, his slouch hat
for a very much worn beaver adorned with a band of rusty crape, and out
of the pocket of his coat, but never upon his hands, was to be seen an
old pair of yellow kid gloves.

In the course of Joe's wanderings he had chanced to, hear of the
invalid boy Phil, who liked to listen to his fiddle, and it did not take
long to strike up an acquaintance between them.

Often on a rainy day, or when work was dull, Joe woul