Phil, the Fiddler

She jumped to her feet in alarm.

“Who is it, Joseph?” she asked.

“A poor Italian boy, whom I found by the side of the road.”

“Is he dead?” asked the doctor’s wife, quickly.

“I think not. I will restore him if there is any life left in him.”

It was fortunate for Phil that he had been discovered by a skillful physician, who knew the most effectual means of bringing him to. The flame of life was burning low, and a little longer exposure would have closed the earthly career of our young hero. But he was spared, as we hope, for a happy and useful career.

By the application of powerful restoratives Phil was at length brought round. His chilled limbs grew warm, and his heart began to beat more steadily and strongly. A bed was brought down to the sitting-room, and he was placed in it.

“Where am I?” he asked faintly, when he opened his eyes.

“You are with friends, my boy. Don’t ask questions now. In the morning, you may ask as many as you like.”

Phil closed his eyes languidly, and soon fell into a sound sleep.

Nature was doing her work well and rapidly.

In the morning Phil woke up almost wholly restored.

As he opened his eyes, he met the kind glances of the doctor and his wife.

“How do you feel this morning?” asked the doctor.

“I feel well,” said Phil, looking around him with curiosity.

“Do you think you could eat some breakfast?” asked Dr. Drayton, with a smile.

“Yes, sir,” said Phil.

“Then, my lad, I think I can promise you some as soon as you are dressed. But I see from your looks you want to know where you are and how you came here. Don’t you remember the snow-storm yesterday?”

Phil shuddered. He remembered it only too well.

“I found you lying by the side of the road about half-past eight in the evening. I suppose you don’t remember my picking you up?”

“No, sir.”

“You were insensible. I was afraid at first you were frozen. But I brought you home, and, thanks to Providence, you are all right again.”

“Where is my fiddle?” asked Phil, anxiously.

“It is safe. There it is on the piano.”

Phil was relieved to see that his faithful companion was safe. He looked upon it as his stock in trade, for without it he would not have known how to make his livelihood.

He dressed quickly, and was soon seated at the doctor’s well-spread table. He soon showed that, in spite of his exposure and narrow escape from death, he had a hearty appetite. Mrs. Drayton saw him eat with true motherly pleasure, and her natural love of children drew her toward our young hero, and would have done so even had he been less attractive.

“Joseph,” she said, addressing her husband, “I want to speak to you a moment.”

He followed her out of the room.

“Well, my dear?” he said.

“I want to ask a favor.”

“It is granted in advance.”

“Perhaps you will not say so when you know what it is.”

“I can guess it. You want to keep this boy.”

“Are you willing?”

“I would have proposed it, if you had not. He is without friends and poor. We have enough and to spare. We will adopt him in place of our lost Walter.”

“Thank you, Joseph. It will make me happy. Whatever I do for him, I will do for my lost darling.”

They went back into the room. They found Phil with his cap on and his fiddle under his arm.

“Where are you going, Philip?” asked the doctor.

“I am going into the street. I thank you for your kindness.”

“Would you not rather stay with us?”

Phil looked up, uncertain of his meaning.

“We had a boy once, but he is dead. Will you stay with us and be our boy?”

Phil looked in the kind faces of the doctor and his wife, and his face lighted up with joy at the unexpected prospect of such a home, with people who would be kind to him.

“I will stay,” he said. “You are very kind to me.”

So our little hero had drifted into a snug harbor. His toils and privations were over. And for the doctor and his wife it was a glad day also. On Christmas Day four years before they had lost a child. On this Christmas, God had sent them another to fill the void in their hearts.

CHAPTER XXVI

CONCLUSION

It was a strange thing for the homeless fiddler to find himself the object of affectionate care and solicitude—to feel, when he woke up in the morning, no anxiety about the day’s success. He could not have found a better home. Naturally attractive, and without serious faults, Phil soon won his way to the hearts of the good doctor and his wife. The house seemed brighter for his presence, and the void in the heart of the bereaved mother was partially filled. Her lost Walter would have been of the same age as Phil, had he lived. For his sake she determined to treat the boy, who seemed cast by Providence upon her protection, as a son.

To begin with, Phil was carried to the village tailor, where an ample wardrobe was ordered for him. His old clothes were not cast aside, but kept in remembrance of his appearance at the time he came to them. It was a novel sensation for Phil, when, in his new suit, with a satchel of books in his hand, he set out for the town school. It is needless to say that his education was very defective, but he was far from deficient in natural ability, and the progress he made was so rapid that in a year he was on equal footing with the average of boys at his age. He was able at that time to speak English as fluently as his companions, and, but for his dark eyes, and clear brown complexion, he might have been mistaken for an American boy.

His popularity with his schoolfellows was instant and decided. His good humor and lively disposition might readily account for that, even if his position as the adopted son of a prominent citizen had no effect. But it was understood that the doctor, who had no near relatives, intended to treat Phil in all respects as a son, even to leaving him his heir.