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“Hurrah! I’m really going to-morrow. And you, too, mammy dear,” cried the boy, waving his crutch so vigorously that he slipped and fell.

“Never mind; I’m used to it. Pull me up, and I’ll rest while we talk about it,” he said cheerily, as his mother helped him to the bed, where he forgot his pain in thinking of the delights in store for him.

Next day, the flag was flying from the wall, and Fay early at the hole, but no Johnny came; and when Nanna went to see what kept him, she returned with the sad news that the poor boy was suffering much, and would not be able to stir for some days.

“Let me go and see him,” begged Fay, imploringly.

“Cara mia, it is no place for you. So dark, so damp, so poor, it is enough to break the heart,” said Nanna, decidedly.

“If papa was here, he would let me go. I shall not play; I shall sit here and make some plans for my poor boy.”

Nanna left her indignant little mistress, and went to cook a nice bowl of soup for Johnny; while Fay concocted a fine plan, and, what was more remarkable, carried it out.

For a week it rained, for a week Johnny lay in pain, and for a week Fay worked quietly at her little easel in the corner of the studio, while her father put the last touches to his fine picture, too busy to take much notice of the child. On Saturday the sun shone, Johnny was better, and the great picture was done. So were the small ones; for as her father sat resting after his work, Fay went to him, with a tired but happy face, and, putting several drawings into his hand, told her cherished plan.

“Papa, you said you would pay me a dollar for every good copy I made of the cast you gave me. I tried very hard, and here are three. I want some money very, very much. Could you pay for these?”

“They are excellent,” said the artist, after carefully looking at them. “You have tried, my good child, and here are your well-earned dollars. What do you want them for?”

“To help my boy. I want him to come in here and see the pictures, and let Nanna teach him to plait baskets; and he can rest, and you will like him, and he might get well if he had some money, and I have three quarters the friends gave me instead of bonbons. Would that be enough to send poor Giovanni into the country and have doctors?”

No wonder Fay’s papa was bewildered by this queer jumble, because, being absorbed in his work, he had never heard half the child had told him, and had forgotten all about Johnny. Now he listened with half an ear, studying the effect of sunshine upon his picture meantime, while Fay told him the little story, and begged to know how much money it would take to make Johnny’s back well.

“Bless your sweet soul, my darling, it would need more than I can spare or you earn in a year. By and by, when I am at leisure, we will see what can be done,” answered papa, smoking comfortably, as he lay on the sofa in the large studio at the top of the house.

“You say that about a great many things, papa. ‘By and by’ won’t be long enough to do all you promise then. I like now much better, and poor Giovanni needs the country more than you need cigars or I new frocks,” said Fay, stroking her father’s tired forehead and looking at him with an imploring face.

“My dear, I cannot give up my cigar, for in this soothing smoke I find inspiration, and though you are a little angel, you must be clothed; so wait a bit, and we will attend to the boy–later.” He was going to say “by and by” again, but paused just in time, with a laugh.