Would he not? She read the answer in the shining depths of his earnest, loving eyes.
"And, Phil," she continued in a minute or two, "you will be dull without Millie. Here is an old drawing-box of my own that I should like to give you. It may amuse you in your spare time."
She broke off his thanks, and he went home—heavy-handed, but light-hearted.
Great was Millie's gratitude for the contents of that parcel. The little serge dress, broad-brimmed hat, and thick pair of boots were most acceptable—more acceptable even than Miss Crawford believed they would be. Her uncle had certainly given her a small sum, but it had been barely sufficient to pay for the pair of stockings and the dress that were absolute necessities. The only pair of boots that she possessed were so old that she feared that she must ask Phil, or her uncle, to get her some new ones. Yet she could not bear the idea of doing so; for, as it was, Phil gave up every penny that he earned, and had she gone to her uncle she knew that the only way in which he could have supplied her need would be to pawn another of their few remaining pieces of furniture. So to Millie Miss Crawford's present brought great relief and joy, and she received it with no feeling save that of loving gratitude.
On the appointed day, Phil, having obtained permission to extend his dinner hour, reached home in a great hurry, to find Millie ready and waiting for him. She had had her dinner, but she was so excited at the prospect of the journey, and so anxious for the welfare of those whom she would leave behind, that eating was a difficult matter. Phil took a mouthful as he stood, put some bread and cheese into his pocket, and shouldered his sister's box.
Millie had made many friends in the short time that she had lived in Swift Street. Now they all gathered round her to wish her a pleasant journey, and to say good-bye. Even the rough rude Nora Dickson said with something very like a sob in her voice:
"Good-bye, Millie. I'm real sorry to lose you, that I am."
"It won't be for long," called out Millie cheerfully. "I'm glad to go, of course, for some things, but I'd sooner stay here, after all."
Phil thought that he never should get her away, but at last the good-byes were all said and Millie was trotting along by his side. It was an intensely hot day: the sun beat down upon them with an ardour that was almost unbearable; the pavement seemed to scorch their feet. There was not a breath of air stirring; not a breeze from the river even lightened the oppressiveness of the atmosphere. Phil sighed for the different scene that would soon gladden his sister's eyes.
"Bring me home some seaweed, darling," he said; "I'll bury my nose in it, and 'twill seem like a whiff from old Father Neptune himself."