A lost child was wandering through the forest, who could not find his mother. It was very dark beneath the fir trees, and the wind made the boy shiver. His cry of—Mother! Mother! echoed in my heart and would not be hushed. I hid my face in the hollow of my arm and sobbed bitterly.
The music ceased. Harry had me in his arms.
"What's wrong, old fellow, was it something in Tony's music that hurt?"
I nodded, clinging to him.
"It's 'igh time 'e was in bed," said Mr. Watlin, taking the fiddle brusquely from the Italian's hands, "'e don't fancy doleful ditties, an' no more do I, hey Johnnie?"
Tony only smiled at me. "I tink you like my music," he said.
Harry now announced rather hurriedly that he must be going, and after he had said good-night to every one, and thanked Mary Ellen in a very manly way, he still kept my hand in his, and, together, we passed out of doors.
It was frosty cold. The air came gratefully to my hot cheeks. Harry stared up at the stars in silence for a moment, then he said:
"I want to tell you something, John, before I go. I don't know just how to make you understand. But I—I'm not the loafer you think I am—"
[153]
