ed there, that he might hear his mother's tune. The
landlady began to look upon him as one of her regular household. She
sometimes gave him a crust of bread, for she noticed his hungry face
each night, as he came to the large lodging-room to sleep.

And every night old Treffy played, and Christie crept upstairs to
listen.

But one night, as he was kneeling at the attic door, the music suddenly
ceased, and Christie heard a dull, heavy sound, as if something had
fallen on the floor. He waited a minute, but all was quite still; so he
cautiously lifted the latch, and peeped into the room. There was only a
dim light in the attic, for the fire was nearly out, and old Treffy had
no candle. But the moonlight, streaming in at the window, showed
Christie the form of the old man stretched on the ground, and his poor
old barrel-organ laid beside him. Christie crept to his side, and took
hold of his hand. It was deadly cold, and Christie thought he was dead.
He was just going to call the landlady, when the old man moved, and in a
trembling voice asked, "What's the matter, and who's there?"

"It's only me, Master Treffy," said Christie, "it's only me. I was
listening to your organ, I was, and I heard you tumble, so I came in.
Are you better, Master Treffy?"

The old man raised his head, and looked round. Christie helped him to
get up, and took him to his attic straw bed in the corner of the attic.

"Are you better, Master Treffy?" he asked again.

"Yes, yes," said the old man; "it's only the cold, boy; it's very chilly
o' nights now, and I'm a poor lone old man. Good night."

And so the old man fell asleep, and Christie lay down by his side and
slept also.

That was the beginning of a friendship between old Treffy and Christie.
They were both alone in the world, both friendless and desolate, and it
drew them to each other. Christie was a great comfort to Treffy. He went
errands for him, he cleaned the old attic, and he carried the
barrel-organ downstairs each morning when Treffy went on his rounds.
And, in return, Treffy gave Christie a corner of the attic to sleep in
and let him sit over his tiny fire whilst he played his dear old organ.
And whenever he came to "Home, sweet Home," Christie thought of his
mother, and of what she had said to him before she died.

"Where is 'Home, sweet Home,' Master Treffy?" he asked one night.

Treffy looked round the wretched little attic, with its damp,
weather-stained roof, and its rick