Philip: The Story of a Boy Violinist

by Virginia C. Young; Mary C. Hungerford

Chapter VI
A New Friend

PHILIP’S grandfather never regained his strength after the attack of fever, and he grew gradually more and more feeble until at last he was not able to leave his bed; and one morning when Mag went softly into his room to see if the old man needed her, she found that he had passed quietly away during the night.

It was a deep grief to his daughter, but she had scarcely time to mourn for her father, when Philip was stricken down with the same fever, and for many days he hovered between life and death. The fever fed remorselessly on his plump body, which had scarcely lost the rounded curves of babyhood, and Mag felt something tighten round her heart as she looked at the wasted face upon the pillow.

The doctor, busy as he was, came every day, for he knew something of Mag’s sad history, and had a warm place in his heart for her and her little boy; and when the fever broke at last, and he could say, “The worst is over now, and the little lad will pull through after all, please God,” his eyes were moist with pleasure and relief, and as he gathered up the reins to hurry on to his next case, he muttered:

“I wish the Rev. Henry Seldon and his wife could see that fine child and his mother; I believe they would have a mild surprise.”

Philip came out from his sick-room a pale and languid image of his former self; he had grown considerably taller, as often happens in such cases, and his face had gained a certain delicate refinement of expression which caused even the rough miners to turn and look after him admiringly, as in the early spring days he began to walk about a little with Dash in the warm sunshine.

The good doctor had peremptorily forbidden that he should return to work in the mines, and this was a great disappointment to Philip, who was anxious to help his mother with his earnings. Nevertheless he could not deny that it was extremely pleasant to wander about the country with Dash, in the sweet spring weather, spending long, blissful days in the woods and fields, sometimes returning home only just in time to have the fire kindled and the kettle boiling against Mag’s return from her work in the mines.

One beautiful day in May, when Mag was not to be expected home until later than usual, Philip and Dash started off, as they often did, for a long, happy day in the country. Philip had their dinner in a small basket which was slung over his shoulder, while in one pocket he was careful to put one of his beloved books, and in the other a flute which had been given him by his kind friend the overseer, and upon which he had taught himself to play very sweetly.

It was the boy’s greatest delight to find a secluded spot somewhere in the woods, where he could practise on his flute without fear of interruption; and after a rather longer search than usual, Dash and he found such a nook on this particular morning. In the course of their tramp they had come quite unexpectedly upon a small but beautiful lake, and Philip gave a little cry of delight as he pushed aside the bushes and discovered the sheet of water sparkling and dimpling in the sunlight. Dash expressed his pleasure by diving into the water for a swim, and Philip amused himself for some time by throwing sticks into the lake for the dog to bring ashore in his mouth. After a while, however, they both became conscious of being pleasantly tired and hungry, and then Philip opened the basket which Mag had packed so carefully in the morning, and dined royally on its contents, with refreshing draughts of clear, cool water from the lake. After sharing the meal Dash curled himself up on the grass for a comfortable nap, while Philip took out his flute, and, stretched on his back on a soft bed of moss under the pleasant shade of a great tree, he began to play.