yore, and, using it as a tray, proceeded to gather
the scattered fruit.

"Have an orange?" he inquired of Strings, who still stood in a
reflective mood in the centre of the room, as he rested in his labours
by him.

"How; do they belong to you?" demanded Strings.

"Oh, no," admitted Dick, "but--"

The fiddler instantly assumed an air of injured innocence.

"How dare you," he cried, "offer me what don't belong to you?" He turned
upon the boy almost ferociously at the bare thought. "Honesty is the
best policy," he continued, seriously. "I have tried both, lad"; and, in
his eagerness to impress upon the boy the seriousness of taking that
which does not belong to you, he gestured inadvertently with the hand
which till now had held the stolen orange well behind him.

[Illustration: A FRIEND EVEN UNTO HER WORST ENEMY.]
Dick's eye fell upon it, and so did Strings's. There was a moment's
awkwardness, and then both burst into a peal of joyous laughter.

"Oh, well, egad,--I _will_ join you, Dick," said Strings, with more
patronage still than apology. He seated himself upon the table and began
anew to suck his orange in philosophic fashion.

"But, mind you, lad; never again offer that which is not your own, for
there you are twice cursed," he discoursed pompously. "You make him who
receives guilty of your larceny. Oons, my old wound." He winced from
pain. "He becomes an accomplice in your crime. So says the King's law.
Hush, lad, I am devouring the evidence of your guilt."

The boy by this time had placed the shield of oranges in the corner of
the room and had returned to listen to Strings's discourse. "You speak
with the learning of a solicitor," he said, as he looked respectfully
into the old fiddler's face.

Strings met the glance with due dignity.

"Marry, I've often been in the presence of a judge," he replied, with
great solemnity. His face reflected the ups and downs in his career as
he made the confession.

"Is that where you have been, Strings, all these long days?" asked Dick,
innocently.

"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Strings, with sadly retrospective
countenance. "Travelling, lad--contemplating the world, from the King's
highways. Take note, my boy,--a prosperous man! I came into the world
without a rag that I could call my own, and now I have an abundance.
Saith the philosopher: Some men are born to rags, some achieve rags and
some have rags thrust upon them."

"I wish you were back with us, Strings,"