"I'm Toni, Toni," was the answer, and he began to cry. "Oh, please let me go: the Padrone will kill me."
"Why will he kill you, and why are you here?"
"He will kill me because I have no money. I have lost, also, my way."
"Have you no home, no mother?" asked Mrs. Morton, gently.
"No, signora, no, madame, no mother. We all live, Baptiste and Vincenzo and I, with the Padrone. We play the harp and the violin; but I was tired, and I could not keep with the others, and they scolded me, oh, so sharply! and I was weary and cold, and crept in here where the angels sing, and it was so beautiful I could not go away."
The organist muttered, "Police," at which the child again sobbed violently. "Yes, to the station-house, of course, he must go."
But Mrs. Morton remembered the three faces asleep on their pillows at home, and as she looked at this tear-stained, dirty little gypsy, she said to the organist, "I will take care of him to-night." So, under the stars, the Christmas stars, gleaming so brightly, she led the little wanderer home.
All was still and safe in the little house. "Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse." The fire still gleamed in the kitchen and the sitting-room, and it was the work of only a few moments to divest the little musician of his uncouth garments, to pop him into the tub of hot suds, to scrub him well, until his lean little body shone like bronze, to slip him into a night-gown, to give him a slice of bread and butter, and then to tuck him up on the cozy lounge.
The children slept like tops, and the tired little mother was glad to say her prayers, and lie down beside them.
The stars were still shining when she awoke; for Christmas-day would be a busy one, and there were no moments to lose. Already the milkman was at the door, and the hands of the kitchen clock pointed to six.