“It will not feed my little ones, Mistress Nell,” he answered, sadly.
Nell’s heart was touched in an instant. “Too true!” she said, sympathetically, falling on her knee and lovingly gathering up the roses. “Flowers and Music feed naught but Love, and often then Love goes hungry–very hungry.” Her voice was so sweet and tender that it seemed as though the old viol had caught the notes.
“Last night, Mistress Nell,” said Strings, “the old fiddle played its sweetest melody for them, but they cried as if their tiny hearts would break. They were starving, and I had nothing but music for them.”
“Starving!” Nell listened to the word as though at first she did not realize its meaning. “What can I send?” she cried, looking about in vain and into her tiring-room.
Her eyes fell suddenly upon the rich jewel upon her finger. “No, no; I cannot think of that,” she thought.
Then the word “starving” came back to her again with all its force. “Starving!” Her imagination pictured all its horrors. “Starving” seemed written on every wall and on the ceiling. It pierced her heart and brain. “Yes, I will,” she exclaimed, wildly. “Here, Strings, old fellow, take the ring to the babes, to cut their teeth on.”
Strings stood aghast. “No, Mistress Nell; it is a present. You must not,” he protested.
“There are others where that came from,” generously laughed Nell.
“You must not; you are too kind,” he continued, firmly.
“Pooh, pooh! I insist,” said Nell as she forced the jewel upon him. “It will make a pretty mouthful; and, besides, I do not want my jewels to outshine me.”