“Such was their life for two of the most happy weeks of their lives, and never did boys thrive better.  They grew fat and rosy; they sang, they danced, they played.  Every time the Princess came among them they shouted with glee, and nearly cracked their young throats in doing her honor.  But all fine things come to an end some time.  Once more they were packed in the Fairy Swan, and away they sailed for the land of reality and for home.  The Princess gave them each a beautiful portrait of herself, of the island, and of the Swan.  And each boy promised that whenever he had a chance to perform a kind action he would do it in remembrance of the gentle courtesy of the Princess.  And so ends my fairy story.  Good-night, Phil.”

“Good-night.  Oh, how nice it was!  I thank you so much!” and sleepy Phil turned to see the little white butterfly wings skimming out of the window, while a long, sweet sigh came from his wind harp, sounding like, “Good-night—­good-night,” again.

CHAPTER VII

FAREWELL TO THE CITY

A day or two later, Phil, wrapped in shawls, was carried by Joe to a carriage, and the carriage rolled away to a wharf where puffed numerous steamboats; and here he was taken on board one of the river-steamers, and safely placed in the midst of a heap of pillows on deck, where he could see all the busy life about him—­see the newspaper boys and the orange women, and the hurrying hacks and the great teams, and all the stir and tumult of the city’s busiest hours.  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.