The boy opened his closed eyes as Joe came in, after knocking, and looked surprised.
"Why, Joe, what is the matter?" he asked. "You do not come twice a day very often."
"No," said Joe, "nor are you always a-sufferin' as you was this mornin'. I've come to know how you are, and to bring you that," said he, triumphantly putting the nosegay before the child's eyes.
The boy nearly snatched the flowers out of Joe's hand in his eagerness to get them, and putting them to his face, he kissed them in his delight.
"Oh, Joe dear, I am so much obliged! Oh, you darling, lovely flowers, how sweet you are! how delicious you smell! I never saw anything more beautiful. Where did they come from, Joe?"
"Ah, you can't guess, I reckon."
"No, of course not; they are so sweet, so perfect, they take all my pain away; and I have been nearly smothered with the heat to-day. Just see how cool they look, as if they had just been picked."
"It's a pity the one who sent 'em can't hear ye. Shall I bring her in?"
"Who, Joe—who do you mean?"
"Joe means me," said a soft voice; "I sent them to you, and I am Miss Rachel Schuyler, an old friend of Joe's. I want to know you, Phil, and see if I can not do something for that pain I hear you suffer so much with. Shall I put the flowers in water, so that they will last a little longer? Ah, no, you want to hold them, and breathe their sweet fragrance."