"
"Oh, flowers don't suit my old clothes, child; keep them yourself, dear.
Well, it is a long lane that has no turning," she said, half to herself
and half to Phil. "Perhaps God has sent us Miss Schuyler to do for you
what I have not been able to; but I have tried--he knows I have."
"And I know it too, dear Lisa," said Phil pulling her down to him, and
throwing both arms around her. "No one could be kinder, Lisa; and I
love this old garret room, just because it is your home and mine. Now
get me my harp, and when you have put it in the window you can go; and I
will try not to have any pain, so that you won't have to rub me
to-night."
"Dear child!" was all Lisa could say, as she did what he asked her to
do, and then left him alone.
CHAPTER IV
A PROMISE OF BETTER TIMES
When Phil was alone again, he waited impatiently for the long twilight
to end in darkness, and the stars to come out. It seemed a very long
time. Once in a while a faint murmur came from his harp, but it was a
mere breathing of sound, and he turned restlessly in his chair. Then he
closed his eyes and waited again, and his waiting was rewarded by a
small voice in his ear whispering,
"Here we are! here we are!"
"Oh," said Phil, "I thought you never would come again."
"Tut, tut, child, you must not be so doubtful," said the little voice
again, and the starry coronet gleamed in his eyes.
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