PHIL'S FAIRIES.
BY MRS. W. J. HAYS,
Author of "Princess Idleways," etc.
Chapter XIV.
PLANS FOR THE WINTER.
Summer had gone. Visitors had gone. Graham had gone to school. The banks of the lake were red and yellow, brown and purple, with autumnal foliage. Aunt Rachel was superintending the making of preserves. Lisa was at work on the piazza. Phil was sketching.
Slowly up the garden path came old Joe. He took off his hat and stood still a moment waiting for Phil to speak.
"Well, Joe, what is it?" said Phil, hardly looking up, he was so busy.
"This is just as fine as ever the garden of Eden was, but old Adam had to go, you know, Massa Phil." He had lately, of his own accord, put the Massa before Phil's name.
"What are you driving at, Joe?" asked Phil, absently.
"I mean I's a-gwine home, Massa Phil."
"To the city?" said Phil, surprised into attention.
"Yes, back to New York. I wants to go to work."
"Have you not enough to do here?"
"No," said Joe, with a chuckle. "It's all play here—no real hard work sich as I's 'customed to."
"It is time you took it easy, Joe," said Phil.
"True nuff, but I's not one of the easy sort. Besides, who knows, Massa Phil, but there may be other chillen—poor sick chillen—waitin' for to hear my fiddle an' be comforted?"
Phil looked up hastily; a bright look of gratitude and love came into his eyes.
Just then Miss Schuyler appeared, with a glass jar of jelly in her hand; the maid was following with a tray full.
"Joe wants to go to the city, Aunt Rachel," said Phil.
"I dare say," was the ready response. "He wants a little gossip over the kitchen fires, and he wants this nice jar of jelly for his bread and butter when he has company to tea; and as we all are going home next week, he may as well wait for the rest of us."
"Aunt Rachel!" said Phil, in dismay. Going home to the city seemed like going back to poverty, and illness, and the garret room he so well remembered.
Aunt Rachel divined it all. "You belong to me now, Phil. Lisa and I are partners henceforth; and while you and I travel in search of health, study, and improvement, Lisa is going to keep house for us in her own nice quiet way."
"Travel!—where?—when?" said Phil, eagerly.
"The doctors suggest our going abroad—to a warm climate for the winter, where we please; in summer, to the German baths."
"Oh, Aunt Rachel!"
This was enough for Phil to think of and wonder about all the rest of the happy days at the lake. He could walk now with comparative ease, not of course without crutches, and the gold and scarlet glory of the autumn leaves was a perpetual delight to him. He gathered them for wreaths and bouquets, he pressed them, and ironed them, and varnished them, and tried every method suggested to him for keeping them; and when it came packing time it was found necessary to get an extra trunk to contain all the woodland treasures.
The happy summer had ended, and not without a lingering look of regret that it could not last longer was the farewell said to house, and lake, and every pretty graceful tree or plant that adorned them.
They found the city house all in nice order for them, for Aunt Rachel was always wise in her forethought and provision for future comfort.
Phil's little room near her own had been especially attended to, and he found it in all its arrangements as complete and satisfactory as the lovely summer nook he had vacated.
In three weeks' time they were to start for Europe. The days were spent in preparation. Phil must have a steamer chair, plenty of clothes, wraps, and contrivances. All Aunt Rachel's thoughts were for Phil's comfort; but it did not spoil him nor make him selfish; he had the happy faculty of receiving kindness gracefully, as if glad to be the means of making others happy by his gratitude, not as if it were his due in any way. And in his turn he was thoughtful and considerate for others, in trifles light as air, but nevertheless showing by the gentle, tender manner that he meant them as evidences of his affection. He knew Lisa dreaded parting from him, so before her he was quite silent as to his expected pleasures, although his imagination was constantly picturing the details of an ocean voyage. His sketch-book was getting full of yachts and craft of all sorts and sizes—some that would have astonished a sailor very much. Whenever he met Lisa he kissed her, whether with hat on she was hurrying out on some errand for Miss Schuyler, or on her return, with arms full of bundles, she was hastening through the hall.
He was necessarily left much alone, and thus had the chance to draw a charming little picture for Lisa, and frame it with acorns, lichen, and red maple leaves. He hung it in her room one day when she was out, and, to his surprise, the next day it was missing. He had expected some recognition of it, but none coming, he kept still, wondering what Lisa had done with it. The secret came out in due time.
A day or two before their departure, Lisa came to him with tears in her eyes, and a little package in her hand.
"Open it, dear; it is for you."
It was a tiny leather purse, with four dollars in it.
"Lisa, you must not give me all this."
"Yes, it is yours—your own earnings. I sold your little picture, and bought this purse with part of the money, so that you might have something to spend just as you pleased.".
"Oh, Lisa!" was all Phil could say, for though grateful, he was yet disappointed that Lisa had not kept his picture.
"Now, dear," she said, "you can buy some little trifle for Joe, and any one else you want to make a present to."
"Thank you, Lisa; yes, I will. It is a very nice purse," he replied; but as soon as he could find Miss Schuyler, he unburdened his heart. "After all the pains I took with that little picture, Aunt Rachel, to think of Lisa's selling it! Oh, how could she?"
"Hush, dear Phil; Lisa is the most unselfish creature in the world. Has she not given you up to me? And for the pleasure she supposed it would give you to have money of your own earning, she was willing to part with even a thing so precious as a picture painted by you for her. Do not question her motive for a moment. Take the money, and buy her something useful. Come, we will go get a pretty work-basket; she will find it even more to her taste than a picture."
So they went out and bought a light, nicely shaped basket, with little pockets all around it, and Aunt Rachel made it complete with a silver thimble, a strawberry emery cushion, a morocco needle-book, and an ample supply of silk, thread, needles, pins, and buttons.
Lisa was delighted; but Phil could not be satisfied until he had painted another little picture, and made Lisa promise that no one else should ever have it.
Joe was made happy with some new bandana handkerchiefs in brilliant yellows and red, a pipe, some tobacco, and a suit of clothes from Miss Schuyler.
It was a tranquil, lovely day in the fall when the steam-ship sailed with Aunt Rachel and Phil on board. All the bay sparkled in the sunshine, and boats of every shape and size danced upon the blue water. After the bustle and confusion of getting off, the leave-takings, the cries and shouts of sailors, the blowing of whistles and ringing of bells, they sat quietly down to watch the receding shores, and look out upon the glittering water.
"Aunt Rachel," said Phil, "it all seems like another fairy story to me, and we are sailing in a nautilus to the island of Heart's Ease."
"Yes, dear child, so it does. And let us hope that we shall find that beautiful island, and never wish to leave it."