their eyes;
for they were thoroughly chilled, having passed the night in the open
air for want of shelter. The woman, brown, thin, and bare-headed,
coughed, and pressed her hand to her breast, where a stiff bundle was
hidden under her shawl.

They rounded a little turn in the road, hitherto shut in by high
spruces, and came suddenly in sight of a cottage of yellow pine, that
glowed cheerfully against its dark background of evergreens.

"We stop at the golden house," said the older of the men, the bearer of
the organ, and evidently the leader as well as the musician of the
party.

The younger Italian laughed a scornful laugh as he said in his own
language, "Only poor people live there."

"We stop at the golden house!" commanded his companion, adding, "It
brings good luck to play for the poor."

The cottage had its gable end to the road, while its broadside was
turned towards the southern sunshine, the well-kept vegetable-garden
and the pretty flower-beds in front of the windows.

The gate was open, and the Italians came in stealthily--an art they had
learned to perfection. One little turn of the hand-organ and the bear
rose to his hind legs. The open door of the cottage was suddenly
filled. Round-faced, rosy, fair-haired, and eager were they
all--father and mother and six boys. They had evidently been disturbed
at a meal, for in their hands they held great pieces of hard brown
bread, in various stages of consumption.

Eyes and mouths opened wide as the performance went on, and Bruin had
every reason to be satisfied with his share of the praise bestowed on
the entertainment, as well as on his personal appearance. He was a
young bear, and his brown coat looked as soft as plush, and it was no
wonder that two-year-old Sven whispered to his mother, "Me want to kiss
the pretty bear!"

Sven judged Bruin by his clothing, not by his wicked little eyes or his
ugly mouth, which was by no means kissable.

The performance over, bread and milk were liberally passed round to the
strangers, the bear having more than his fair portion.

"Come in and sit a bit," said the tidy mother to the dark young woman.

The answer was a pointing to the ear and a shaking of the head, which
said plainly, "I don't understand Swedish."

The kindly beckoning that followed could not be mistaken, and the
Italian woman went into the cottage, glad to sit down in the one room
of which the interior consisted. One room it was, but large, and