"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 the 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.