Phil found a cane without any trouble, a very nice one with a natural crook for a handle. He knew that he might have it, for Mr. Anderson, to whom the woods belonged, had told him to get a cane for granny whenever she needed a new one. Then he began to look for a vine, which he also found without much trouble, for the woods were full of them. He dug it up carefully with as long a root as possible, and wrapped it in a paper which he had brought on purpose, that the roots need not get dry.
"What lovely flowers?" said he as he looked around him. "I mean to pick a good large bunch to take home. Granny always says it does her good to see them. And I will carry some to Matty Mehan too. Poor thing! She can't get away from the house and the baby for an hour's pleasure, let alone a day's."
Now Matty Mehan was the owner of the goat which had eaten Phil's geranium. She was the oldest girl in a family of four children. Her mother was dead; her father was away at his work all day, and Matty had to do the housework, look after the little ones, and take care of the poor sickly baby, which had never thriven since its mother died. The poor thing was thin as a little skeleton, and cried till the neighbors were tired of hearing it.
"It would be a good thing if the poor child were taken too," they said, but Matty did not think so.
She loved the little pale thin creature, that was hardly larger than a doll, though it was six months old, and she often wished she had nothing to do but to tend it. Bridget, her sister, was a good-natured little thing, but she was not old enough either to be trusted with the baby or to do the work. However, she helped Matty before and after school, and was always pleasant and good-natured, even when poor tired Matty was rather cross and unreasonable.
When Phil came down to the Mehan house, which was more properly a shanty than a house, he found Matty at the door stroking the white goat, while it ate some beans out of a pail.
"Just see here, Phil, how somebody has hurt our goat," said she, before Phil had time to speak. "Isn't it a shame? I'm afraid her leg is broken."
Phil felt his face turn scarlet as he bent down and carefully felt the goat's leg.
"Oh no, it isn't broken," said he, trying to speak cheerfully. "I dare say it will be quite well in a few days. See what a fine bunch of flowers I have brought you."
"Oh how lovely!" exclaimed Matty, who loved flowers as well as did Phil himself. "But won't you rob yourself?"