Phil closed the dingy door and walked around back of the cottage. Apparently, Granny Foster had liked the view of the open ocean, contrary to the taste of most of the women on the island, who had good reason to dread its mighty power. At any rate, while the front of the little house grew straight out of the grass, the back had once boasted a piazza, which had fallen away and capsized in the field which ran down to the water's edge.
"What a view your old lady had!" said Phil, standing still and listening to the rustling leaves that whispered in the orchard.
"'Tis a sightly place," said Eliza.
The artist looked with starry eyes over the little cottage again and then at his companion.
"It's wonderful," he said.
"'M-h'm," agreed Eliza; "and it'll do you all the good in the world if you can only stay here."
Phil's radiant smile beamed upon her.
"Why, I'm going to stay. Can't you see what I'm thinking?"
"No," replied Eliza, staring at him curiously.
"I've found my cave." He waved his hand toward the chicken-house. "Do you think Jennie'll let me have it?"