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.
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 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.