"There are lots of water-lilies there."

"Oh, do go there, then! I want some to copy."

"All right. Pull on your starboard oar, Joe; there, that will do. Now we will soon reach it."

It was a lovely little nook where grew the lilies, after they had turned around the jutting stones which gave a name to the spot, and Phil soon had his hands full of fragrant buds. The water was so clear that he could see their long green stems away down to the black mud from which they sprang. They moored the boat, and Graham got out to ramble, returning with ferns and mosses and wild-flowers for Phil.

"Now," said he, "if you don't mind, I'm going to have a swim just around the rocks here where the water is deeper and not so full of weeds. I wish you could come."

"So do I," said Phil, watching with admiration every movement of his lively companion. Besides admiration, too, there was a twinge of envy, which he really did not know to be that hateful fault; but it pa.s.sed in a moment, and he laughed loudly to see Graham's antics in the water.

The bath over, they turned homeward. Miss Rachel was entertaining guests in the parlor. Lisa had gone off for a walk. Graham had to go home, but promised frequent visits; and as Phil was tired, Joe carried him up and laid him on his bed, putting his mosses on the table, and the water-lilies in an oblong vase which was usually filled with fragrant flowers. The wind harp was there, too, and as Phil, with closed eyes, was resting in the half-twilight made by shut blinds, there came from it a little murmur, which grew into a long, sad monotone. He dared not move, and would not speak, but between his eyelids, partly raised, he thought he saw the familiar little winged creature who had comforted and entertained him in his wretched city home.

"How little people know what they are doing when they pull up ferns and mosses in the woods!" said the soft voice. "I was sleeping soundly on the nicest bed imaginable, having travelled far for just a whiff of water-lily odor that I thought might refresh a poor little hospital patient tossing with fever in the city, when with a violent wrench I found myself borne off from my sheltered and dusky resting-place, and tossed into a boat in the blinding glare of the sun. Fortunately, I had wrapped myself in some broad grape-vine leaves, and was mistaken for a moth coc.o.o.n; else, dear Phil, I had not been here."

"I am so glad, so very glad, to see you again!" murmured Phil, softly.

"And I am so glad you are in the country! You could not have lived long in the city. What are you doing now?"

"Getting well, they tell me."

"Do you ever think of the ones who cannot do that?"

"No, I do not," said Phil, in some surprise.

"Ah, there are so many. I see them often--little creatures who are friendless and helpless. You should not forget them."

"It is not that I forget, I do not think of them at all. I suppose I would if I saw them."

"Well, you must think of them, and do something for them. Oh yes, I know you do not believe you can, but the way will come if you try. All that I do is to whisper soft songs in their ears, or give them a little waft of summer freshness, but it sometimes stops their painful tossing, and brings sleep to their tired eyes."

"I will think; I will try," said Phil.

"That is right," replied the fairy. "Now I will call some of my friends, the flower fairies, hidden in these water-lilies, and you shall see them dance." She clapped her hands softly together, and out of each lily crept a tiny shape of radiant whiteness and lily-like grace, so pure, so exquisite, that they did indeed seem to be the very essence and spirit of the flower. And now began another of those fantastic movements which Phil had before witnessed. Now in wreaths, now apart, and again in couples, they swayed about in an ecstasy of mirth, and the wind harp gave out strains of wild and melodious sound. They nodded to each other in their glee, and Phil could hardly tell whether they really were fairies or flowers, for they looked just as the flowers might when blown about in a breeze. As he gazed, his eyelids began to droop. He was very tired. The music grew fainter and fainter. He seemed to be again in the boat, listening to the water lapping its sides, and Graham seemed to be with him, reaching out for lilies; and then all faded, and Phil was fast asleep.

CHAPTER IX

A VISIT FROM THE YOUNG DOCTOR

"Now, Phil," said Miss Rachel, "I am not going to be so busy for a while, and though you cannot study yet, for the doctors say you must not, I shall read aloud to you a little every day. Graham has promised to come often to visit you, and with our boating and driving, and pleasant friends coming to stay with us, I think we shall have rather a nice summer. What do you think?"

Phil's face lighted up with a grateful smile, which grew into rather a sober expression.

"I think it is all delightful; but--"

"But what, my dear; are you not contented?"

"Oh yes, more than that: I am as happy as I can be; but--"

"Another but."

"Miss Rachel, what becomes of all the poor sick children in the city who have no such friend as you are to me?"

"They suffer sadly, dear Phil."

"Then don't you think I ought to remember them sometimes?"

"Yes, in your prayers."

"Is there no other way?"

"I am not sure that there is for a child like you. Perhaps there may be, and we will think about it; but you must not let such a thought oppress you; it is too much for a sick child to consider. Be happy; try to get well; do all you can to make everybody about you glad that you are here, by pleasant looks and good-nature. There, that is a little sermon which you hardly need, dear, for you are blessed with a sweet and patient temper, and are far less troublesome than many a well child."

"I suppose I do not deserve any praise if I was made so," said Phil, laughing.

"No, not a bit; the poor cross little things who fret and tease and worry are the ones who should be praised when they make an effort not to be disagreeable. But I am not going to preach any more. I am going down-stairs to make some sponge-cake for the picnic you and Lisa and I are going to have to-morrow."

"A picnic! a real one in the woods?"

"Yes, and here comes Graham with a basket. I wonder what is in it.

Good-bye. I will send him up to you."

Graham came up in a few moments with the basket on his arm.

"Guess what I have here, Phil."

"How can I?"

"Oh yes, you can--just guess."

"Something to eat?"

"No, little piggy; or rather yes, if you choose."

"Well, chickens or eggs?"

"No, neither."

"Fruit?"

"Guess again."

"Medicine for some of your father's sick people?"

"No."