began to be terrified, lest the aunt too would be taken.
So, she went up to her gently, and kissed her brow, and the poor aunt opened her eyes and smiled mournfully; and when she heard how little money the tambourine had brought that day, she tried to conceal her sorrow lest the little child should be grieved.
Then Cybele lighted a small fire in their bit of a fireplace, and made a little tea for her aunt. It was the very last she had; but when she thought how much her aunt needed it, and how she would need still more on the morrow, hope whispered, quite cheerfully, that with the tambourine she would win from people's pockets many a bright cent. With these thoughts, she looked very lovingly towards the tambourine, which lay quietly upon the floor in the corner, its gay bells silent, as if it, too, felt sorrow for the aunt's sickness.
After Cybele had toasted a bit of bread, and given it, with the tea, to the aunt—had received the kind kiss, and saw her close her eyes—she thought she slept, and new courage filled her heart; she began to think of the pleasant people
she should see to-morrow. What a kind crowd she drew about her! They looked on her with loving eyes, and the sweet smiles played about their lips. There were the groups of pretty children, in gay frocks and rosy cheeks, which should gather about the parlor-window, when she should stop before it and strike the tambourine with her hand; and they would smile upon her, and then the elder sister, who should be so mild and gentle, would come and throw up the sash, and speak with her; and, perhaps, even she would throw down to her a sprig of the geranium which stood near by on the flower-stand. Then she was lured further on, to think of a great fortune which was to be obtained, that she might go back to the laughing skies of Italy, and spend her days in the lovely garden where her mother slept.
But when Cybele arose in the morning, and told her aunt how she was going out to gather in the pennies, the poor aunt sighed, and bade her stay at home a while, for she could not bear to be alone.
So Cybele sat down upon the floor, and, taking the tambourine, sang and played the softest and
sweetest airs she could remember; and, as she played, it seemed as though new tones, and words even, were given to speak out of it.
She astonished herself, and a kind of sorrowful ecstasy came into her soul. She played on, and on, and forgot that the day was passing off, in which she was to earn so many bright pennies, in order to bring home the kind physician who was to make the dear aunt well at once. She went to the far-off land, and sang of the vineyards and the soft, warm air; of the gently-moving waters, and the fragrant blossoms around the banks of the lakes. O, the moon rose up before her, and she drank from its loving beams; the stars sent down their misty light, as if shrouded because of their great beauty! Once in that land, how had she forgotten all things else! A holy inspiration had come down over her; an angel of light appeared to her enchanted eyes, beckoning her to rest her head upon his bosom.
"Fear not!" he said, "for I will yet take you to the lovely gardens where your mother dwells."