Miss Schuyler, in her cool
gray suit, was on one side of him, and Lisa, looking tranquil and
thoroughly glad and grateful, on the other, and Joe, just the happiest
darkey in the world, sat at his feet, ready to take charge of all and
everything.
They sailed and they sailed, away from the city and its many roofs, from
the factory chimneys and the steeples, from the cloud of smoke which
hung between the sky and house-tops, until they came to the hills and
dales of pasture-lands and villages. Then they landed, and were whirled
away in the cars, and Phil enjoyed it all, even the fatigue which made
him sleep; and Joe carried him about as if he were a baby.
It was quite dark when, after a drive over a rather rough road, they
reached the lake-side cottage which was Miss Schuyler's summer home, and
Phil was glad to be put in bed, for the old pain had begun again.
When he opened his eyes the next morning, it was with a strange feeling
of wonder at his new surroundings. Birds were twittering out-of-doors,
and there was a soft lapping of water on the shore. The green boughs of
a cherry tree almost brushed against the window-panes. He was no longer
in his old garret room, but in a pretty apartment, with bunches of
rosebuds on the walls, and scent-bottles on the toilet-table, and muslin
curtains, and a bright carpet, and pretty book-shelves, and brackets,
and lovely child-faces in the engravings; and on a broad table was a
little easel, and a paint-box, and drawing-paper; and here too was his
old box with the violin strings.
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