"He's my book-keeper."
"Oh, Philip! you're jesting."
"No, indeed, I'm not. He has not a cent, saving his salary; but he's a gentleman and a scholar, and has seen better days."
"Well, I like him, anyhow," she remarked, presently.
"You ought to encourage him to pay his addresses to you. You could teach school, and he could keep books. You could take a suite of three rooms, and wait upon yourselves. I'll promise to furnish the rooms with dimity, delf, and rag-carpeting."
"You are generous, Philip."
"And to send you an occasional barrel of flour and load of refuse kindling-wood."
"My prospects brighten."
"Don't tease the girl," said the raftsman, "she'll do better'n you think for yet. Since my own chick has deserted me for another nest, I don't know but I shall adopt Virginia myself."
"I wish you would," and the great black eyes were turned to him with a mournful, lonely look. "Everybody else is so happy and blessed, they do not need me. But I should love to wait upon you, and cheer you, sir."