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 passed 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.
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