Coming in from one of these rather tiresome attempts one warm morning,
and hearing music and voices in the parlor, Phil strayed into the
dining-room, which was darkened and cool, and fragrant with fresh
flowers. He lay down on a lounge, with his crutches beside him, and was
listening to the pretty waltz being played in the other room, when he
thought he saw a tiny creature light upon one of his crutches. Supposing
it, however, to be a butterfly, he watched it in a sleepy, dreamy
fashion, until it approached more nearly, and these words startled him:
"You do not know me?" said a tiny voice, rather reproachfully.
"What! is it you, my dear little wind fairy?" he asked. "I never dreamed
that I should see you again. How did you get here?"
"Blown here, to be sure, as I always am, only I have to pilot myself, or
what would be the use of having wings? I came on some thistle-down this
time, for I wanted to have another peep at you, and I have had hard work
to follow you in here, I assure you; but the vibrations of that lovely
music helped me, and here I am. Do not talk--let me do it all. I never
have much time, you know, and I want to thank you for your goodness in
taking my advice, and helping some of my little sick friends. You do not
begin to know what good you have done--nobody does; but doing good is
very like the big snowballs that children make in winter--a little ball
at first, but as they roll, it grows bigger and bigger, almost of
itself, until it is more than one can manage.
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