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