osity and attention. For the first time in his life
he felt ashamed of his own ignorance, and wished he, too, might have
a chance to learn, as the children around him were doing. But they had
homes and parents to supply their wants, while he must work for his
livelihood.

After a time, recess came. Then the boys gathered around, and asked Phil
to play them a tune.

"Will he let me?" asked the young fiddler, again referring to the
teacher.

The latter, being applied to, readily consented, and expressed his own
wish to hear Phil. So the young minstrel played and sang several tunes
to the group of children who gathered around him. Time passed rapidly,
and the recess was over before the children anticipated it.

"I am sorry to disturb your enjoyment," said the teacher; "but duty
before pleasure, you know. I will only suggest that, as our young friend
here depends on his violin for support, we ought to collect a little
money for him. James Reynolds, suppose you pass around your hat for
contributions. Let me suggest that you come to me first."

The united offerings, though small individually, amounted to a dollar,
which Phil pocketed with much satisfaction. He did not remain after
recess, but resumed his wanderings, and about noon entered a grocery
store, where he made a hearty lunch. Thus far good fortune attended him,
but the time was coming, and that before long, when life would wear a
less sunny aspect.

CHAPTER XXV

PHIL FINDS A FRIEND

It was the evening before Christmas. Until to-day the winter had been an
open one, but about one o'clock in the afternoon the snow began to fall.
The flakes came thicker and faster, and it soon became evident that an
old-fashioned snowstorm had set in. By seven o'clock the snow lay a foot
deep on the level, but in some places considerably deeper, for a brisk
wind had piled it up in places.

In a handsome house, some rods back from the village street, lived Dr.
Drayton, a physician, whose skill was so well appreciated that he had
already, though still in the prime of life, accumulated a handsome
competence.

He sat this evening in his library, in dressing-gown and slippers, his
wife nearby engaged in some needlework.

"I hope you won't be called out this evening, Joseph," said Mrs.
Drayton, as a gust of wind tattled the window panes.

"I echo that wish, my dear," said the doctor, looking up from the last
number of the Atlantic Monthly. "I find it much more comfortable h