“But tell me about your music. I play a little myself sometimes, and it is just possible that I might be able to help you in some way.”
Philip clasped his hands ecstatically, and then, encouraged by his listener’s kindly interest, he chattered on quite freely, of himself, of his mother and their life together in the little cottage at the mines, of their underground work, and of his own anxiety to learn to read and to play; and then, quite suddenly, he broke off, reminded by the lengthening shadows of the trees that the afternoon had nearly worn away, that Dash and he had a long walk ahead of them, and that Mag might even then be watching anxiously for their return.
So the boat was turned about again, and when the stranger had set the boy and his dog on shore, he held out his hand with real regret.
“Good-by, my boy,” he said; “you have done more than you know this afternoon. Will you come again soon?”
“Oh, yes!” said Philip eagerly; “and I believe I shall never forget this afternoon.”
“Nor I,” said the other earnestly; “and now, let me see: this is Monday, is it not? Why cannot Dash and you come over again on Thursday for another row, and perhaps some fishing in the lake,” and as Philip would have thanked him for the invitation—
“There,” he said, “no thanks, please; but come on Thursday. And, by the way, what is your name?”
“Philip,” said the boy simply.
“A good name,” said the gentleman, “and one I like—for many reasons. And my name—is Frederick.” He laughed. “You’ll remember it, I hope? And now, good-by, Philip.”
“Good-by, Frederick,” said the boy, and as his new friend pushed off from the shore, he scampered away through the woods towards home, with Dash following closely at his heels.