With the old man's benediction repeating itself like a solemn refrain in all his thoughts, Joel stood smoothing the pigeon in his arms, until Phineas had made his daily purchases. Then they walked on together in the cool of the morning, to the little white house under the fig-trees. Phineas was surprised at his pupil's progress. To be sure, the weak arms could lift little, the slender hands could attempt no large tasks. But the painstaking care he bestowed on everything he attempted, resulted in beautifully finished work. If there was an extra smooth polish to be put on some wood, or a delicate piece of joining to do, Joel's deft fingers seemed exactly suited to the task.
Before the winter was over, he had made many pretty little articles of furniture for Abigail's use.
"May I have these pieces of fine wood to use as I please?" he asked of Phineas, one day.
"All but that largest strip," he answered. "What are you going to make?"
"Something for Ruth's birthday. She will be three years old in a few weeks, Jesse says, and I want to make something for her to play with."
"What are you going to make her?" inquired Jesse, from under the work-bench. "Let me see too."
"Oh, I didn't know you were anywhere near," answered Joel, with a start of alarm.
"Tell me!" begged Jesse.
"Well, if you will promise to keep her out of the way while I am finishing it, and never say a word about it—"