other in their glee, and Phil could hardly tell whether they really were fairies or flowers, for they looked just as the flowers might when blown about in a breeze.  As he gazed, his eyelids began to droop.  He was very tired.  The music grew fainter and fainter.  He seemed to be again in the boat, listening to the water lapping its sides, and Graham seemed to be with him, reaching out for lilies; and then all faded, and Phil was fast asleep.

CHAPTER IX

A VISIT FROM THE YOUNG DOCTOR

“Now, Phil,” said Miss Rachel, “I am not going to be so busy for a while, and though you cannot study yet, for the doctors say you must not, I shall read aloud to you a little every day.  Graham has promised to come often to visit you, and with our boating and driving, and pleasant friends coming to stay with us, I think we shall have rather a nice summer.  What do you think?”

Phil’s face lighted up with a grateful smile, which grew into rather a sober expression.

“I think it is all delightful; but—­”

“But what, my dear; are you not contented?”

“Oh yes, more than that:  I am as happy as I can be; but—­”

“Another but.”

“Miss Rachel, what becomes of all the poor sick children in the city who have no such friend as you are to me?”

“They suffer sadly, dear Phil.”

“Then don’t you think I ought to remember them sometimes?”

“Yes, in your prayers.”

“Is there no other way?”

“I am not sure that there is for a child like you.  Perhaps there may be, and we will think about it; but you must not let such a thought oppress you; it is too much for a sick child to consider.  Be happy; try to get well; do all you can to make everybody about you glad that you are here, by pleasant looks and good-nature.  There, that is a little sermon which you hardly need, dear, for you are blessed with a sweet and patient temper, and are far less troublesome than many a well child.”

“I suppose I do not deserve any praise if I was made so,” said Phil, laughing.

“No, not a bit; the poor cross little things who fret and tease and worry are the ones who should be praised when they make an effort not to be disagreeable.  But I am not going to preach any more.  I am going down-stairs to make some sponge-cake for the picnic you and Lisa and I are going to have to-morrow.”

“A picnic! a real one in the woods?”

“Yes, and here comes Graham with a basket.  I wonder what is in it.  Good-bye.  I will send him up to you.”

Graham came up in a few moments with the basket on his arm.

“Guess what I have here, Phil.”

“How can I?”

“Oh yes, you can—­just guess.”

“Something to eat?”

“No, little piggy; or rather yes, if you choose.”

“Well, chickens or eggs?”

“No, neither.”