.

"the world goes up and the world goes down,

and the sunshine follows the rain."

charles kingsley.

he was always called old antonio, and though he doubtless possessed a surname of some sort, no one seemed to know anything about it. he had white hair, and a bronzed face, and kindly soft brown eyes, and he got his living by pacing up and down the streets and turning a hurdy-gurdy.

this instrument was a rather good one of its class—it could play six different airs, and all the airs were italian, and even played by[pg 253] the hurdy-gurdy had a little of the sweet cadence and soft pathetic melody of that land of music.

antonio lived in an attic all by himself, and the grown people wondered at him and asked each other what his history could be, but the children loved him and his music, and were to be seen about him wherever he went.

he looked like a man with a story, but no one had ever troubled themselves to find it out or to ask him any questions. he did, however, receive stray pennies enough to keep him alive, and the street children loved him, and whenever they had a chance danced merrily to his music.

one cold and snowy afternoon, about a week before christmas day, old antonio sat up in his attic and looked gloomily out at the snow-laden clouds.

nothing but the fact that there was no oil for his stove, and no pennies in his pockets, would have induced the old italian to brave such inclement weather. but no fire and no food will make a man do harder things than[pg 254] antonio was now thinking about. he must get something to eat and some fire to warm himself by. he shouldered his hurdy-gurdy and went out.

"poor marcia," he said to himself as he trudged along. "well, well, we of the south are mistaken in the generous land of england. the milk and honey-bah, they are nowhere. the inhabitants—they freeze like their frozen skies. poor marcia, no doubt she has long ceased to look for the footfall of her antonio."

the old man, feeling very melancholy and depressed, walked down several streets without once pausing or attempting to commence his music. at last he stopped at the entrance of a very dull square. he had never yet received a penny in this square, and had often said to himself that its inhabitants had not a note of music among them. he took the square now as a short cut, meaning to strike out toward holborn and the neighborhood of the shops.

half-way through the square he stopped. a house which used to be all over placards and[pg 255] notices to let presented a different appearance. it was no longer dead and lifeless. from its windows lights gleamed, and lie could see people flitting to and fro.

he stopped for a moment to look at the house and comment on its changed appearance, then with a slight little start, and a look of pleased expectation, he put down his hurdy-gurdy and began softly to turn the handle and to bring out one by one his beloved italian melodies.

the first, a well-known air from "il trovatore," was scarcely finished before a little dark head was popped up from behind a window-blind, and two soft eyes gazed eagerly across the street at the old organ-grinder.

"bless her! what a depth of color, what eyes, what hair! she comes from the south, the pretty one."

antonio nodded his head to her as he made these remarks, and the child, with her face pressed against the pane, gazed steadily back at him, now and then smiling in an appreciative manner.[pg 256]

the six airs were all played out and repeated a second time, and then antonio, looking up at the sky, from which the snow was still steadily falling, began to think of moving on. in his pleasure at playing for the child he had forgotten all about the money part of his profession. he was indeed indulging in a happy dream, in which marcia, and a certain little marcia, who had long ago gone back to god, were again by his side.

he threw a cloth over his hurdy-gurdy and prepared to mount it on his shoulder.

the moment he did so the child disappeared from the window. there was a quick, eager patter of little feet in the hall, the front door was opened, and the next moment the little dark child was standing by his side.

"here's sixpence of my very own, and you shall have it, poor man, and thank you for your lovely, lovely music."

"you liked it, dearie?" said antonio, not touching the sixpence, but looking down at the pretty child with reverence.

"oh! didn't i just? i used to hear those[pg 257] airs in italy, and they remind me of my dear mamma."

"little missy has got eyes dark and long like almonds; perhaps she comes from our sunny south?" said antonio eagerly.

"no, i am a little english girl; but my mamma was ill, and they took her to italy, and marcia nursed her. god has taken my mamma away, and now i am in england, and i don't like it; but i shall only stay here until my father comes home."

"missy, you make my heart beat when you talk of italy and of marcia—but your marcia, was she young?—the name is a common one, and mine, if the good lord has not removed her, must be very old now."

"my marcia was young and good," said the little girl. "i loved her, and i cry for her still. i am so sorry your marcia is old, poor man. thank you for the music. i must run in now, or janet will scold. good-by. here's your sixpence."

"no, no, missy. i'll get some pence in the other streets. let me feel that i played the old airs for you only for love."