Then there came into her room a coarse man,
who told her she must go out, for she could no longer live there; that she might be allowed to take her tambourine with her, but all the rest,—and there was little enough, the two chairs, the bed, the kettle and the few things in the cupboard,—were his, to pay for the rent of the room and he told her, if she brought a few pennies to the people who lived in the next room, when night was come, they would take care of her.
Now the man had no sooner spoken these words, than Cybele decided to have nothing to do with the people in the next room, for she could not love them. The father and mother were so coarse and cross, and the boys were so rude and big;—they had often refused to help her aunt, and while she was sick they had never come with kind words to smooth her pillow. Even after she had died, they had but come to put her in a rude coffin, and carry her to a dismal place, from which they thrust out the only heart who yearned for her.
So Cybele did not think of going to them. She tied the large silk handkerchief over her head, which had served her for a bonnet since she had
left Italy, and, taking her dear tambourine in her hand, and the poor, neglected brooms, she went away out of the rooms where she had lived so long, where she had seen the angel, and where her aunt had died. Then, after standing upon the sill of the door a few moments, looking down the long staircase, out into the world to which she was going, she raised her gray eyes, and sweetly said, as though replying to the angel's admonition, "I'm not afraid." Ah, dearest one, you need not fear when the heavenly Father is so near unto your heart!
Without more hesitation she said "Good-by" to the room, and quickly sped down the staircase out into the world, while thus she talked to her tambourine:
"Don't you be afraid either, dear little Tambourine!" and she held it tenderly in her arms; "nor you, dear Brooms! We shall have happy times together yet. Only think of the beautiful tunes I'll play on you, and how the children will clap their hands when they hear your bells! No, don't be in the least afraid; I'll play on you as I never have before since once,"—here the little
lip quivered in spite of itself,—"only try and play real pretty—do, so I shan't ever be lonesome with thinking of the lovely gardens at home! Ah, Tambourine! Tambourine! you and I are all alone!" Just then, a sweet tone came from the bells of the tambourine, and comforted Cybele's heart.
She wandered up the streets, and stopped to look in upon the windows of the toy-shops; but the toy-carts, and those wonderful witches, who would always stand on their heads, had no charm for her longer. Her heart was saddened, and when she tried to strike out gay tunes, they would not come—only sad ones, and sad words from her lips. The children pitied her grave looks, and, when they could not persuade her to dance for them, they would leave her in silence.
When she looked about her and saw all the children, how they were never alone, that their eye's danced, and their voices were mirthful, she would ask herself why she, too, was not happy. Then courage would come to her, and she would strike a gay air, and call the children to her side; but, when she had finished, she was glad to creep