She hastened off, while Joe leaned on his cane and muttered blessings upon her; but some rude boys beginning to chaff him, he turned on them with his usual crustiness, and quite forgot his beatitudes.

Miss Schuyler came back in a few minutes with a lovely bunch of bright blossoms embosomed in geranium leaves.

“Now, then, Joe, this shall be my card; take it in, and tell Phil I am coming.”

“God bless you, Miss Rachel!” was all Joe could reply.

Miss Rachel had her own way of doing things.  It was nothing new for her to carry flowers and dainties to the sick poor.  She had been much with sick people, and she knew that those who have no luxuries and few necessaries care for the things which do not really sustain life quite as much as do those who can command both.

CHAPTER III

PHIL HAS A VISITOR

Phil was alone, as indeed he was always, except on Sundays, or the few half-holidays that came to Lisa.  Once in a while Lisa begged off, or paid another woman for doing an extra share of work in her place, if Phil was really too ill for her to leave him.  The hot sun was pouring into the garret room, though a green paper shade made it less blinding, and Phil was lying back in a rocking-chair, wrapped in a shawl.  On a small table beside him were some loose pictures from a newspaper, a pencil or two, and an old sketch-book, a pitcher of water, and an empty plate.

The boy opened his closed eyes as Joe came in, after knocking, and looked surprised.

“Why, Joe, what is the matter?” he asked.  “You do not come twice a day very often.”

“No,” said Joe, “nor are you always a-sufferin’ as you was this mornin’.  I’ve come to know how you are, and to bring you that,” said he triumphantly putting the nosegay before the child’s eyes.

The boy nearly snatched the flowers out of Joe’s hand in his eagerness to get them, and putting them to his face he kissed them in his delight.

“Oh, Joe dear, I am so much obliged!  Oh, you darling, lovely flowers, how sweet you are! how delicious you smell!  I never saw anything more beautiful.  Where did they come from, Joe?”

“Ah, you can’t guess, I reckon.”

“No, of course not; they are so sweet, so perfect, they take all my pain away; and I have been nearly smothered with the heat to-day.  Just see how cool they look, as if they had just been picked.”

“It’s a pity the one who sent ’em can’t hear ye.  Shall I bring her in?”

“Who, Joe—­who do you mean?”

“Joe means me,” said a soft voice; “I sent them to you, and I am Miss Rachel Schuyler, an old friend of Joe’s.  I want to know you, Phil, and see if I cannot do something for that pain I hear you suffer so much with.  Shall I put the flowers in water, so that they will last a little longer?  Ah, no! you want to hold them, and breathe their sweet fragrance.”