ors had been few and sales very slow. The young people, with rueful
faces, were talking in the twilight of their disappointed hopes, and
wondering if the evening would bring customers for the little articles
they had spent all their leisure summer hours upon, in the hope of
adding a large sum to the depleted treasury of the town, when suddenly a
child's voice was heard at the door, "Me want to play me fiddle for some
supper."

No one who saw that tiny boy with his pleading eyes, and his rich, soft
voice and his broken foreign accent, as he stood half clad in the chill
of that November night, can ever forget the picture. They were at a loss
to know what to do. They said, "But we don't want to hear your fiddle.
Where did you come from, and what is your name, and where are you going?
It is night and where will you sleep?"

"Me come from Naple," he said; and holding out his little brown hands he
displayed the scratches and said, "Me big brothers beat me, and scratch
me, and me run away."

"But where did you come from?" a half a dozen eager girls asked all at
once.

"Me don't know. Me sleep under cart and me very cold. Can't me play me
fiddle for some supper?"

The tears began to start not only in the eyes of the little waif, but
handkerchiefs were in demand among all who stood listening to the story,
forgetful of sales or profits for the moment, and intent only upon
feeding the little orphan who stood before them.

"Come," they said, "and you shall have some supper; but where will you
stay to-night?"

"Me don't know. Me mother die, me father go back to Naple, and me cry."

The interest grew with every word he uttered, and the excitement ran
high among the enthusiastic young girls, each of whom fed and petted him
till the little fellow's countenance beamed with happiness. He had never
fallen into such hands before, and his sorrows, like all childish
sorrows, melted away under the first rays of loving kindness. He was
placed on the flower-stand, and there among the flowers, in the warm,
cheerful hall, he was reminded of his own beautiful Italy, the land of
flowers; and the notes of his little fiddle attracted the visitors so
that as the evening wore on, Dino found his friends increasing and his
pockets filling with pennies, and his eyes overflowing with joy.
Pointing to one of the ladies, he said in a plaintive tone, "Nobody love
me, nobody smile on me but her--and my mother die and I cry."

But the evening was wea