it to them, and they recognized it as an old
favorite; and with their pretty, childish voices, they joined in the
chorus: "Home, sweet home, there's no place like home, there's no place
like home." And as poor Christie looked up at them, it seemed to him
that they, at least, _did_ know something of what they sang.

"Why have not I a nice home?" he wondered. But the children had run away
from the window, and scampered downstairs to ask their mamma for some
money for the poor organ-boy. A minute afterwards two pennies were
thrown to Christie from the nursery window. They fell down into the
middle of a bed of pure white snowdrops, and Christie had to open the
garden gate, and walk cautiously over the grass to pick them up. But for
some time he could not find them, for they were hidden by the flowers;
so the children ran downstairs again to help him. At last the pennies
were discovered, and Christie took off his hat and made a low bow, as
they presented them to him. He put the money in his pocket, and looked
down lovingly on the snowdrops.

"They _are_ pretty flowers, missie," he said.

"Would you like one, organ-boy?" asked Mabel, standing on tip-toe, and
looking into Christie's face.

"Could you spare one?" said Christie, eagerly.

"I'll ask mamma," said Mabel, and she ran into the house.

"I'm to gather four," she said, when she came back; "organ-boy, you
shall choose."

It was a weighty matter selecting the flowers; and then the four
snowdrops were tied together and given to Christie.

"My mother once gave me some like these, missie," he said.

"Does she never give you any now?" said Mabel.

"No, missie, she's dead," said Christie, mournfully.

"Oh!" said little Mabel, in a sorrowful, pitying voice, "poor organ-boy,
poor organ-boy!"

Christie now put his organ on his back and prepared to depart.

"Ask him what his name is," whispered Mabel to Charlie.

"No, no; you ask him."

"_Please_, Charlie, ask him," said Mabel again.

"What is your name, organ-boy?" said Charlie, shyly.

Christie told them his name, and as he went down the road he heard their
voices calling after him:--

"Come again, Christie; come again another day, Christie; come again
soon, Christie."

The snowdrops were very faded and withered when Christie reached the
attic that night. He tried to revive them in water, but they would not
look fresh again; so he laid them to rest beside his mother's faded
flowers in the old spelling-boo