"Dear old girl, the rob-in sings a-bove you,
Dear old girl, it speaks of how I love you,
The blind-ing tears are fall-ing,
As I think of my lost pearl,
And my broken heart is call-ing,
Calling you, dear old girl.
"Just as the older sister finished this chorus and started to roll down the street a little brother, who until now had remained in his baby carriage unnoticed, the younger girl came where we were. I had to throw in a dollar. We all chipped in something. One of the boys put his fingers deep into the cup and let drop a coin. Tears were in his eyes. He went to the hotel without saying a word.
"The little girl went away, but soon she came back and said: 'One of you gentlemen has made a mistake. You aimed, mama says, to give me a nickel, but here is a five-dollar gold piece.'
"'It must be the gentleman who has gone into the hotel,' said I.
"Then I'll go find him,' said the little girl. 'Where is it?'
"Well, sir, what do you suppose happened? The little girl told the man who'd dropped in the five, how her father, who had been well to do, was killed in a mine accident in Colorado and that although he was considerable to the good, creditors just wiped up all he had left his family. The mother—the family was Italian—had taught her children music and they boldly struck out to make their living in the streets. It was the best they could do.
"The man who had put in the five was a jewelry salesman from New York. While out on a trip he had lost his wife and three children in the Slocum disaster. He just sent the whole family,—the mother, the two sisters, and the baby—to New York and told them to go right into his home and live there—that he would see them through.
"I was down at the depot when the family went aboard, and it was beautiful to see the mother take that man's hand in both of hers and the young girls hug him and kiss him like he was their father."
End of Project Gutenberg's Tales of the Road, by Charles N. Crewdson