PHIL'S FAIRIES.
BY MRS. W J. HAYS,
Author of "Princess Idleways," etc.
Chapter IX.
A VISIT FROM THE YOUNG DOCTOR.
"Now, Phil," said Miss Rachel, "I am not going to be so busy for a while, and though you can not study yet, for the doctors say you must not, I shall read aloud to you a little every day. Graham has promised to come often to visit you, and with our boating and driving, and pleasant friends coming to stay with us, I think we shall have rather a nice summer. What do you think?"
Phil's face lighted up with a grateful smile, which grew into rather a sober expression.
"I think it is all delightful; but—"
"But what, my dear; are you not contented?"
"Oh yes, more than that: I am as happy as I can be; but—"
"Another but."
"Miss Rachel, what becomes of all the poor sick children in the city who have no such friend as you are to me?"
"They suffer sadly, dear Phil."
"Then don't you think I ought to remember them sometimes?"
"Yes, in your prayers."
"Is there no other way?"
"I am not sure that there is for a child like you. Perhaps there may be, and we will think about it; but you must not let such a thought oppress you; it is too much for a sick child to consider. Be happy; try to get well; do all you can to make everybody about you glad that you are here, by pleasant looks and good-nature. There, that is a little sermon which you hardly need, dear, for you are blessed with a sweet and patient temper, and are far less troublesome than many a well child."
"I suppose I do not deserve any praise if I was made so," said Phil, laughing.
"No, not a bit; the poor cross little things who fret and tease and worry are the ones who should be praised when they make an effort not to be disagreeable. But I am not going to preach any more. I am going down stairs to make some sponge-cake for the picnic you and Lisa and I are going to have to-morrow."
"A picnic! a real one in the woods?"
"Yes, and here comes Graham with a basket. I wonder what is in it. Good-by. I will send him up to you."
Graham came up in a few moments with the basket on his arm.
"Guess what I have here, Phil."
"How can I?"
"Oh yes, you can—just guess."
"Something to eat?"
"No, little piggy; or rather yes, if you choose."
"Well, chickens or eggs?"
"No, neither."
"Fruit?"
"Guess again."
"Medicine for some of your father's sick people?"
"No."
"Flowers? Oh no, one can not eat flowers if they choose. I give it up."
PHIL'S PRESENT.
"Well, then, watch," and lifting the cover slowly, three cunning white rabbits poked their little twitching noses over the edge of the basket.
Phil gazed at them delightedly. "And you call those little darlings something to eat, do you?"
"If you choose, yes."
"As if any one could choose to be such a cannibal! What precious little beauties they are! Oh, how pretty they look!"
"They are for you."
"Really! Oh, thank you, Graham. But you must ask Miss Schuyler."
"I did, and I am to build them a hutch. Until I do, there is an empty box in the barn where they can stay."
"And can you build?—handle tools like a carpenter? How nice that must be!"
"Oh, that's nothing; all boys can do that."
Graham forgot that Phil was one boy who could not, but seeing the shade come over his friend's face made him repent his hasty speech.
"I beg your pardon," he said, in a low voice.
"No, you need not, Graham. I must get used to being different from other boys. Well, these are just the loveliest little things I ever saw. What do they live on?"
"Almost any green thing; they are very fond of lettuce. When you are able, you must come and see my lop-ears."
"Have you many rabbits?"
"Yes, quite a number. Let me see: there's Neb (he's an old black fellow, Nebuchadnezzar), and Miss Snowflake, Aunt Chloe (after the one in Uncle Tom's Cabin), Fanny Elssler (because she jumps about so), and Mr. Prim—he is the stillest old codger you ever saw."
"What other pets have you?"
"I've lots of chickens, three dogs, two cats, a squirrel, and a parrot."
"A large family."
"Yes, almost too large; they will have to be given up soon."
"How soon?"
"In the fall, I suppose; I am going to boarding-school."
"What fun!"
"You would be amused with Polly. She is a gay old thing—laughs, sings, and dances."
"Oh, Graham, can she do all that?"
"Indeed she can; sometimes she sings like a nurse putting a child to sleep, in a sort of humming hush-a-by-baby way; then she tries dance-music, and hops first on one foot, then on the other—this way," and Graham began mimicking the parrot, and Phil laughed till the tears came. "She screams out 'Fire!' like an old fury, but she is as serene as a May day when she gets her cup of coffee."
"Is that your parrot, Graham?" asked Miss Schuyler.
"Yes, ma'am, that's our green and golden Polly."
"We will have to pay it a visit. Can you join our picnic to-morrow? it is Phil's first one."
"Really! why, he has a good deal to learn of our country ways."
"Yes, and I have a little plan to propose in which you may help us. Promise you will come."
"Oh, I am always ready, thank you, Miss Schuyler. Shall we go by boat?"
"To be sure, to Eagle Island."
"Then we will go early, I suppose, as it is quite a long pull. What must I bring, Miss Schuyler?"
"Only your arms, Graham, for alone Joe will perhaps find the rowing a little too much for him in the warm sun. I am Commissary-General for the party. That means, Phil, that I furnish the provisions; a Commissary-General has to see that his troops are well fed."
"There is no danger about that, I am sure," said Graham, gallantly, "if Miss Schuyler leads us."
"Well, then, to-morrow at nine, before the sun is too high—earlier would not do for Phil. And now be off with yourself; and your bunnies, Graham, leave them in the barn; and tell your good, kind father that you are an excellent substitute for himself, that Phil is improving even faster with your visits than he did with his."
"Good-by, then, Phil; good-by, Miss Schuyler. To-morrow at nine."