"You can do some chores and--"
"I'll stay here until I find something else to do," agreed Phil
slowly. "I shan't be able to look about much today, because I'll
be too busy at school; but tomorrow I'll begin hunting for a job.
What can I do for you this morning?"
"Well, you might chop some wood if you are aching to exercise
your muscles," answered the widow, with a twinkle in her eyes.
She knew that there was plenty of wood stored in the woodhouse,
but she was too shrewd an observer to tell Phil so, realizing, as
she did, that the obligation he felt for her kindness was too
great to be lightly treated.
Phil got at his task at once, and in a few moments she heard him
whistling an accompaniment to the steady thud, thud of the axe as
he swung it with strong, resolute arms.
"He's a fine boy," was the Widow Cahill's muttered conclusion.
Phil continued at his work without intermission until an hour had
passed. Mrs. Cahill went out, begging that he come in and rest.
"Rest? Why, haven't I been resting all night? I feel as if I
could chop down the house and work it up into kindling wood, all
before school time. What time is it?"
"Nigh on to seven o'clock.
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