or 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,