He had been brought over by a sea captain, who dealt in boys; and as he was very ill on the voyage, the captain let an old woman take him for a small sum. She thought his thin, sad face would move the passers, and in pity they would give him money. For this reason she sent him out day after day, in storm or shine, ill clad and weary, giving him but little food. But nature helped him. In spite of this treatment, he became stronger, and after a time ran away from her. Then he joined himself to a party of boy musicians, and by their help got his guitar. But they were unkind to him; for he was yet weak and timid, and the leader, a large boy, sometimes beat him if he refused to play. One night Nino ran away from them, his precious guitar under his arm; and since then he had played and sung through the streets, sometimes begging, sometimes in despair, with thoughts of stealing.
His chief delight and comfort was to lie in the sun on a fair day. He was always hungry, almost always cold, and when the wind did not blow, and the sun was hot, he liked to bask on a step, and dream of good dinners, pretty clothes, and a soft bed. The sun was the only thing he could find in the cold northern climate which was like his old home. In this way he would be nearly happy; but when storms came, he was chilled within and without. The world then was gray; he could not even play on his guitar, which in sunny days brought him pleasant pictures of green fields, dancing water, and leafy vines, loaded with purple grapes.
His guitar was his only companion, and he treated it as if it was alive; he talked to it, cared for and loved it with a tenderness which was of no value to the instrument, but was of service to the friendless boy, in giving him an unselfish motive.
The autumn was fast advancing when he met the golden-haired child; and as the days became colder, he cherished the thought of her, and it made him warm when the sky was cloudy, as if she was a ray of sunlight. He had generally slept on steps or any spot where the police would leave him unmolested; but now the nights were so chill, that he tried hard with a few cents to pay for a lodging.
With this purpose in his mind, he stopped before a house in a private street one evening just after dark. The gas was already lighted; but the curtains were not drawn, and Nino could see the table bountifully spread, and a servant moving about, adding various articles to it. A dancing figure passed and repassed the window, now peeping out, and again running back. Nino’s voice trembled as he saw this light and warmth; and as he sang of “love and knightly deeds,” he thought of himself out in the cold, with nothing to love but his guitar, and he felt very sad.
In a moment the door opened, and out sprang the child he had thought of so long. The light seemed to follow her, and she cried,—
“Here are some pennies.” Nino removed his ragged hat, and held it out, and she said, “O, you’re the same little boy! Wait a minute, and I’ll get you a cake.”
NINO.