or
to see his dear old barrel-organ. He examined it most carefully and
tenderly, but he could not discover that Christie had done any harm to
it, and he praised him accordingly.

Then, while Christie was getting tea ready, Treffy played through all
his four tunes, dwelling most affectionately and admiringly on "Home,
sweet Home."

CHAPTER III.

ONLY ANOTHER MONTH.

Old Treffy did not regain his strength. He continued weak and feeble. He
was not actually ill, and could sit up day after day by the tiny fire
which Christie lighted for him in the morning. But he was not able to
descend the steep staircase, much less to walk about with the heavy
organ, which even made Christie's shoulders ache.

So Christie took the old man's place. It was not always such pleasant
work as on that first morning. There were cold days and rainy days;
there was drizzling sleet, which lashed Christie's face; and biting
frost, which chilled him through and through. There were damp fogs,
which wrapped him round like a wet blanket, and rough winds, which
nearly took him off his feet. Then he grew a little weary of the sound
of the poor old organ. He never had the heart to confess this to old
Treffy; indeed he scarcely liked to own it to himself; but he could not
help wishing that poor Mary Ann would come to the end of her troubles,
and that the "Old Hundredth" would change into something new. He never
grew tired of "Home, sweet Home;" it was ever fresh to him, for he heard
in it his mother's voice.

Thus the winter wore away, and the spring came on, and the days became
longer and lighter. Then Christie would go much farther out of the town,
to the quiet suburbs where the sound of a barrel-organ was not so often
heard. The people had time to listen in these parts; they were far away
from the busy stir of the town, and there were but few passers-by on the
pavement. It was rather dull in these outlying suburbs. The rows of
villas, with their stiff gardens in front, grew a little monotonous. It
was just the kind of place in which a busy, active mind would long for a
little variety. And so it came to pass that even a barrel-organ was a
welcome visitor; and one and another would throw Christie a penny, and
encourage him to come again.

One hot spring day, when the sun was shining in all his vigor, as if he
had been tired of being hidden in the winter, Christie was toiling up
one of these roads on the outskirts of the town. The organ was v