and said, sooner than one would have imagined possible
under the circumstances, "Oh, don't he, though? And we dance sometimes,
and do gymnastics to music. I like a drum myself, and mean to learn as
soon as ever I can."

"I like a fiddle best; I can play one too," said Nat, getting
confidential on this attractive subject.

"Can you?" and Tommy stared over the rim of his mug with round eyes,
full of interest. "Mr. Bhaer's got an old fiddle, and he'll let you play
on it if you want to."

"Could I? Oh, I would like it ever so much. You see, I used to go round
fiddling with my father, and another man, till he died."

"Wasn't that fun?" cried Tommy, much impressed.

"No, it was horrid; so cold in winter, and hot in summer. And I got
tired; and they were cross sometimes; and I didn't get enough to eat."
Nat paused to take a generous bite of gingerbread, as if to assure
himself that the hard times were over; and then he added regretfully:
"But I did love my little fiddle, and I miss it. Nicolo took it away
when father died, and wouldn't have me any longer, 'cause I was sick."

"You'll belong to the band if you play good. See if you don't."

"Do you have a band here?" Nat's eyes sparkled.

"Guess we do; a jolly band, all boys; and they have concerts and things.
You just see what happens to-morrow night."

After this pleasantly exciting remark, Tommy returned to his supper, and
Nat sank into a blissful reverie over his full plate.

Mrs. Bhaer had heard all they said, while apparently absorbed in filling
mugs, and overseeing little Ted, who was so sleepy that he put his spoon
in his eye, nodded like a rosy poppy, and finally fell fast asleep, with
his cheek pillowed on a soft bun. Mrs. Bhaer had put Nat next to Tommy,
because that roly-poly boy had a frank and social way with him, very
attractive to shy persons. Nat felt this, and had made several small
confidences during supper, which gave Mrs. Bhaer the key to the new
boy's character, better than if she had talked to him herself.

In the letter which Mr. Laurence had sent with Nat, he had said:

"DEAR JO: Here is a case after your own heart. This poor lad is an
orphan now, sick and friendless. He has been a street-musician; and
I found him in a cellar, mourning for his dead father, and his lost
violin. I think there is something in him, and have a fancy that between
us we may give this little man a lift. You cure his overtasked body,
Fritz help his neglected mind, a