"
"It's a white chile, Miss Rachel."
"Well, I like white children, Joe, though I must confess the little
colored ones are much more interesting," said Miss Rachel, smiling.
"I thought you liked my people, Miss Rachel; but this poor Phil's a
gentleman's son, very much come down far's money goes. He is too young
to know much about it, but the girl who takes care of him was brought up
in his family, and she says they was well off once."
"But what about the boy?" asked Miss Schuyler, a little impatiently.
"He's a great sufferer, but he's a wonderful chile. He loves to have me
play for him, and then he tells me the thoughts that come to him from
the music. I's no great player, Miss Rachel," said Joe, modestly, "but
you'd think I was, to hear him talk. He sees fairies and he dreams
beautiful things, and his big brown eyes look as if he could a'most see
'way up into heaven. Oh, he's a strange chile; but he'll die if he stays
up in that garret room and nebber sees the green fields he's so hungry
for."
Miss Rachel's eyes were moist, but she took a card and pencil from her
desk. "Where does he live--in what street and what number?"
"I'm sorry, Miss Rachel--You jess go up the Avenue, and turn down the
fourth or fifth street, and up a block or two, and it's the fust house
with a high stoop and green shutters.
Pages:
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94