"Of course; and we know how good a use you make of your power. Times are greatly changed. You are benefiting every one about you; I hear it on all sides. We are proud to be your friends. All that Knops asks is that in clearing up your property, and cutting down all the rank growth of weeds, you will spare a patch of wild-flowers here and there, and all the empty birds' nests. Leave these for the use of our children, and we will be greatly obliged." "But that is a mere nothing; can I in any other way serve you?" asked Leo. "No," said Paz, "not that I know of. I am on my way now to see some new minerals supposed to be similar to those of the moon. I haven't much faith in them." "How about the diamonds?" "Don't mention them. I shall never try my hand at those again; and you, if you are wise, will be contented to let Nature remain her own chemist. Adieu. A very merry Christmas to you." "The same to you," echoed Leo, but Paz was already muffled in his furs and running rapidly away. PHIL'S FAIRIES CHAPTER I THE WIND HARP "Oh, Lisa, how many stars there are to-night! and how long it takes to count just a few!" said a weak voice from a little bed in a garret room. "You will tire yourself, dear, if you try to do that; just shut your eyes up tight, and try to sleep." "Will you put my harp in the window? there may be a breeze after a while, and I want to know very much if there is any music in those strings." "Where did you get them, my darling," "From Joe." "Joe, the fiddler?" "Yes; he brought me a handful of old catgut; he says he does not play any more at dances; he is so old and lame that they like a younger darkey who knows more fancy figures, and can be livelier. He _is_ very black, Lisa, and I am almost afraid of him; but he is so kind, and he tells me stories about his young days, and all the gay people he used to see. Hark! that is my harp; oh, Lisa, is it not heavenly?" "I don't know," said poor, tired Lisa, half asleep, after her long day's work of standing in a shop. Phil's harp was a shallow box, across which he had fastened some violin strings rather loosely; and Phil himself was an invalid boy who had never known what it was to be strong and hardy, able to romp and run, or leap and shout. He had neither father nor mother, but no one could have loved him more or have been any gentler or more considerate than was Lisa--poor, plain Lisa--who worked early and late to pay for Phil's lodging in the top of the old house where they lived, and whose whole earthly happiness consisted in making Phil happy and comfortable. It was not always easy to do this, for Phil was a strange child; aside from the pain that he suffered, he had odd fancies and strange likings, the result of his illness and being so much alone. And Lisa could not always understand him, for she lived among other people--rough, plain, careless people, for whom she toiled, and who had no such thoughts as Phil had.