re pinched and pale;
his cup, she noticed, stood empty on the top of the organ; his hands
were terribly thin, and trembled as he played, so that he had to stop
frequently between songs and rest.

"Are you sick, Mr. Blind-man?" she asked before she was aware she had
spoken her thoughts aloud.

The white, unseeing eyes of the organist turned in the direction of the
voice, and he answered with a show of cheerfulness, "Not now, little
lady."

"Then you have been?"

"Yes, this is my first day out for two weeks."

"Oh, you poor man! It must tire you dreadfully to have to grind that box
all day. Won't you let me try it awhile? I know I can do it all right.
You can count your money while I play."

"There ain't been any to count so far this morning," he murmured,
unconsciously dropping his hand from the organ as the quaint,
old-fashioned song was finished; and before he had a chance to
remonstrate, Peace had seized the crank with both hands, and was
grinding away with all her might. But, though the crank seemed to turn
easily enough, the music came in jerks, and the blind player took
possession of his organ the minute she had completed the last bar,
saying gently, "I am afraid you don't know how to make the music, little
one. But I thank you a thousand times for your great good-will. I shall
soon be strong enough to play as well as I always have. The first day is
a little hard. Tomorrow it will be better. We'll change the roll now,
and give them another tune." He fumbled about the organ for a moment or
two, and then the strains of _Annie Laurie_ filled the air.

"Oh, I know that!" cried Peace, with animation. "Allee, you come and
sing, while I whistle. We can do it lovely. Now begin again."

Nothing loath to humor his strange, sympathetic little guests, he began
the second time to grind out the wheezy notes of the beautiful,
time-honored song, and Peace's red lips took up the accompaniment,
while Allee's sweet, childish voice warbled the words:

"Maxwellton braes are bonnie,
Where early fa's the dew,
And it's there that Annie Laurie
Gied me her promise true--
Gied me her promise true,
Which ne'er forgot will be;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doon and dee."

Mrs. Sherrar wheeled in amazement at the sound; the girls broke off
their animated conversation to stare at the quaint group on the corner;
a crowd gathered quickly; and with sudden, characteristic impulsiveness