Doctor Drayton had completed rather more than half his journey,
when, looking to the right, his attention was drawn to a small,
dark object, nearly covered with snow.
Instinctively he reined up his horse.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, "it must be a boy. God grant he
is not frozen!"
He leaped from his sleigh, and lifted the insensible body.
"It is an Italian boy, and here is his violin. The poor child
may be dead," he said to himself in a startled tone. "I must
carry him home, and see what I can do for him."
So he took up tenderly our young hero--for our readers will have
guessed that it was Phil--and put both him and his violin into
the sleigh. Then he drove home with a speed which astonished
even his horse, who, though anxious to reach his comfortable
stable, would not voluntarily have put forth so great an exertion
as was now required of him.
I must explain that Phil had for the last ten days been traveling
about the country, getting on comfortably while the ground was
bare of snow. To-day, however, had proved very uncomfortable.
In the city the snow would have been cleared off, and would not
have interfered so much with traveling.
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