ive," she cried, dancing about him. "I am joyed to
see you, Strings!"

Turning, she saw the manager eying them with fiery glances. She knew the
situation and the feeling. "Jack, is it not good to have Strings back?"
she asked, sweetly.

Hart's face grew livid with anger. He could see the merry devil dancing
in her eye and on her tongue. He knew the hoyden well. "Gad, I will
resign management." He turned on his heel, entered his tiring-room and
closed the door, none too gently. He feared to tarry longer, lest he
might say too much.

Nell broke into a merry laugh; and the fiddler chuckled.

"You desert me these days, Strings," she said, as she leaned against the
table and fondly eyed the wayfarer of the tattered garments and
convivial spirits.

"I don't love your lackey-in-waiting, Mistress Nell," said he, with a
wink in the direction of the departed manager.

"Poor Jack. Never mind him," she said, with a roguish laugh, though with
no touch of malice in it, for there was devil without malice in Nell's
soul.

As she again sought the eyes of the fiddler, her face grew thoughtful.
She spoke--hesitated--and then spoke again, as if the thought gave her
pain. "Have you kept your word to me, Strings, and stopped--drinking?"
she asked. The last word fell faintly, tremblingly, from her
lips--almost inaudibly.

"Mistress Nell, I--I--" Strings's eyes fell quickly.

Nell's arm was lovingly about him in an instant. "There, there; don't
tell me, Strings. Try again, and come and see me often." There was a
delicacy in her voice and way more beautiful than the finest acting. The
words had hurt her more than him. She changed her manner in an instant.

Not so with Strings. The tears were in his eyes. "Mistress Nell, you are
so good to me," he said; "and I am such a wretch."

"So you are, Strings," and she laughed merrily.

"I have taught my little ones at home who it is that keeps the wolf from
our door," he continued.

"Not a word of that!" she exclaimed, reprovingly. "Poor old fellow!" Her
eyes grew big and bright as she reflected on the days she had visited
the fiddler's home and on the happiness her gifts had brought his
children. For her, giving was better than receiving. The feeling sprang
from the fulness of her own joy at seeing those about her happy, and not
from the teachings of priests or prelates. Dame Nature was her sole
preceptor in this.

"I'll bring the babes another sugar plum to-morrow. I haven't a farthi