"Yes; and see these flowers—yes, you must have some. Put them in your belt, Lisa."
"Oh, flowers don't suit my old clothes, child; keep them yourself, dear. Well, it is a long lane that has no turning," she said, half to herself and half to Phil. "Perhaps God has sent us Miss Schuyler to do for you what I have not been able to; but I have tried—he knows I have."
"And I know it too, dear Lisa," said Phil pulling her down to him, and throwing both arms
around her. "No one could be kinder, Lisa; and I love this old garret room, just because it is your home and mine. Now get me my harp, and when you have put it in the window you can go; and I will try not to have any pain, so that you won't have to rub me to-night."
"Dear child!" was all Lisa could say, as she did what he asked her to do, and then left him alone.
CHAPTER IV
A PROMISE OF BETTER TIMES
When Phil was alone again, he waited impatiently for the long twilight to end in darkness, and the stars to come out. It seemed a very long time. Once in a while a faint murmur came from his harp, but it was a mere breathing of sound, and he turned restlessly in his chair. Then he closed his eyes and waited again, and his waiting was rewarded by a small voice in his ear whispering,
"Here we are! here we are!"