Phil
passed around his hat in vain. He found himself likely to go
unrewarded for his labors. But just then he noticed a carriage
with open door, waiting in front of a fashionable dry-goods
store. Two ladies had just come out and taken their seats
preparatory to driving off, when Phil stepped up bareheaded and
held his cap. He was an unusually attractive boy, and as he
smiled one of the ladies, who was particularly fond of children,
noticed him.
"What a handsome boy!" she said to her companion.
"Some pennies for music," said Phil.
"How old are you?" asked the lady.
"Twelve years."
"Just the age of my Johnny. If I give you some money what will
you do with it?"
"I will buy dinner," said Phil.
"I never give to vagrants," said the second lady, a spinster of
uncertain age, who did not share her niece's partiality for
children.
"It isn't his fault if he is a vagrant, Aunt Maria," said the
younger lady.
"I have no doubt he is a thief," continued Aunt Maria, with
acerbity.
"I am not a thief," said Phil, indignantly, for he understood
very well the imputation, and he replaced his cap on his head.
"I don't believe you are," said the first lady; "here, take
this," and she put in his hand twenty-five cents.
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