e reached the attic door.

He sat there and rested awhile, then caught hold of the doorknob and
raised himself to his feet.

A quaint little white-haired woman greeted him with a cheery smile as he
entered, then, seeing his sad face, she turned her head and tears came
to her eyes.

"Honey!" the little old man sobbed, as he stumbled towards her chair and
fell to his knees before her, burying his face in her lap.

Neither could say a word for a long time, then the little old man told
her he had been unable to make a single penny by playing.

"No one cares to hear an old man play the violin!" he said. "No one
cares that we go hungry and cold! And I can still play," he added
fiercely, "just as well as ever I could! Listen to this!" and the little
old man stood up and drew his bow across the violin strings in a sure,
fiery manner, so that the lamp chimney rattled and sang with the
vibrations of the strings.

And in his fierceness he improvised a melody so wild and beautiful his
sister sat entranced.

As the little old man finished the melody he stood still more upright.
Then straightening his old shoulders and pulling his hat firmly on his
head, he stooped and kissed the old lady and walked with a firm tread to
the door.

"I shall make them take notice tonight!" he cried. "I shall return with
success!"

So again he went down the long flights of stairs and down the street
until he came to a good corner where traffic was heavy.

There, with the mood upon him which had fired him in the attic, he
played again the wild melody.

A few people hesitated as they passed, but only one stopped. This was an
old woman, bent and wrinkled, who helped herself along with a cane. She
stopped and looked him squarely in the eye and the little old man felt
he should recognize her, but he could not remember where he had seen her
before, nor was he sure that he had ever looked upon her until now.

At any rate, the faint memory inspired him and, raising his violin, he
played a beautiful lullaby.

Before he had finished the old woman leaned over and dropped something
into his little tin cup.

It sounded as loud as a silver dollar would have sounded.

"The dear old generous soul!" the old man thought as he continued
playing.

He played for hours, but the old woman was the only one who stopped.
"I will at least have enough to get Cynthia some warm food!" he said,
thinking of what the old lady had dropped into his tin cup.

But wh