“O, I’ve found him! here he is—my dear Nino.”
Nino—for it was he—shrank back into his pillows, and covering his face with his hands, cried aloud. From the station-house he had been taken to the hospital, where his foot had to be amputated, and he had lain for several days, with a bandaged head, in great pain. His guitar was lost, and he had been so lonely, though the nurses were kind, that at the sight of Viola his fortitude gave way.
“Don’t cry, and don’t be frightened,” said Viola, kissing him, and taking her handkerchief to wipe his tears. “I love you, dear Nino, and now I’ve found you.”
“Is this your Nino, Viola?” asked her mother, while the nurses and other patients looked on with surprise.
“Yes, mamma; is he not pretty?” and she tried to remove his hands.
When he was a little more composed, Viola’s mother thanked and praised him for saving her daughter’s life, and persuaded him to tell her what he knew about himself. And the nurses told how patient he had been, and she gave him some fruit, and promised to come again. When Viola bade him good by, she put her arms about his neck and kissed him, and they left him quite happy.
A few days after they came again, and Viola cried when she saw him.
“You are going to come and live with us, and be my brother.”
“If you would like to,” said her mother; and Nino’s eyes sparkled with joy at the thought.
Then he was carefully laid in the carriage, and taken to his beautiful new home. More than he had ever dreamed, or fancied, came to him—books, pictures, toys, kind care, love, and a fine new guitar, with the promise of learning to play it better. An artificial foot was to help him walk, and the wonders and delights of his home ever multiplied.