CHAPTER II.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
Antonio did not stay out much longer in the snow. This enterprise of hishad not turned out a profitable one; no one on such a miserable day feltinclined to listen to his Italian airs, the snow seemed to be locking uppeople's hearts, and he went back to his attic hungry and cold, and quiteas penniless as when he started on his expedition. Still there was a glowin his heart, and he was not at all sorry that he had played for the prettychild for love.
He sat down in an old broken arm-chair and wrapped a tattered cloak abouthim, and indulged in what he called a reverie of Italy and old times. Thisreverie, as he said afterward, quite warmed him and took away his desirefor food.
"The child has brought all back to me like a golden dream," he murmured."Poor, poor Marcia! why do I think of her so much to-night? and there's nomoney in the little box, and no hope of going back to her, and it's fifteenyears ago now."
The next day Antonio went back to the quiet square off Bloomsbury, andplayed all his Italian airs opposite the house where he had played themyesterday; but though he looked longingly from one window to another, hecould not get any glimpse of the child who reminded him of Italy. As hewalked through the square on his way home he could see the people passingto the week-night service at the church, which stood in the center. But notrace of the little one could he catch. As far as money was concerned, hehad had a much better day than yesterday, but he went home, nevertheless,disappointed and with quite a blank at his old heart. The next day he hopedhe would see the child, and he again went slowly through the square, but hecould not catch a glimpse of her, and after doing this every day in vainhe soon came to the conclusion that she had gone.
"Her father has come for the pretty one, and she has gone back to the fairsouth," he murmured. "Ah, well! I never saw such eyes as hers on an Englishmaiden before."
On Christmas Day Antonio shouldered his organ, as usual, and went out.
On this morning he made quite a little harvest; people were so merry and sobright and so happy that even those who did not want his Italian airs gavehim a penny to get rid of him.
Quite early in the afternoon he turned his steps homeward. On his way hebought half a pound of sausages and a small bottle of thin and sour claret.
"Now," he said to himself, "I shall have a feast worthy of my Italy," andhe trudged cheerfully back, feeling all the better for his walk through thepleasant frosty air.
Antonio never indulged in fires, but he had a small paraffin stove in hisattic, and this he now lit, and spread out his thin hands before the poorlittle attempt at a fire. Then he drank his claret and ate his sausages andbread, and tried to believe that he was having quite a bright littleChristmas feast.
There were many voices in the room below, and cheerful sounds coming up nowand then from the court, and altogether there was a festive air abouteverything, and Antonio tried to believe himself one with a merrymultitude. But, poor old man, he failed to do so. He was a lonely and veryold man--he was an exile from his native country. No one in all this greatworld of London cared anything at all about him, and he was parted from hisgood wife Marcia.
Fifteen years ago now they had agreed to part; they both supposed that thisparting would be a matter of months, or a year at most.
"The good land of England is paved with gold," said Antonio. "I will gothere and collect some of the treasure and then come back for you andlittle Marcia."
"And in the mean time the good God will give me money enough to keep onthe little fruit stall and to support our little sweet one," said Marcia,bravely keeping back her tears.
Antonio came to England, and quickly discovered that the streets paved withgold and the abundant wealth lived only in his dreams. The little money hehad brought with him was quickly spent, and he had no means to enable himto return to Italy. Neither he nor his wife could write, and under thesecircumstances it was only too easy for the couple to lose sight of eachother.
Once, a few years back, an Italian had brought him word that little Marciawas dead, and that his wife was having a very poor time of it. When Antonioheard this he came home in a fit of desperation, and finding a small box,bored a hole in the lid, and into this hole he religiously dropped half ofall he earned, hoping by this means to secure a little fund to enable himto return to Naples and to Marcia.
The winter, however, set in with unusual severity, and the contents of thelittle box had to be spent, and poor Antonio seemed no nearer to the onlylonging he now had in his old heart.
On this particular Christmas Day, after his vain attempt at being merry andChristmas-like, he dropped his head into his hands and gave way to somevery gloomy thoughts.
There was no hope now of his ever seeing his old wife again. How tired shemust be of standing by that fruit stall and watching in vain for him toturn the corner of the gay and picturesque street!
There she would stand day after day, with her crimson petticoat, and hertidy bodice, and the bright yellow handkerchief twisted round her head. Herdark eyes would look out softly and longingly for the old man who was nevercoming back. Yes, since the child had gone back to God, Marcia must be avery lonely woman.
After thinking thus for some time, until all the short daylight had fadedand the lamps were lit one by one in the street below, Antonio began topace up and down his little attic.
He was feeling almost fierce in his longing and despair; the patientsubmission to what he believed an inevitable fate, which at most timescharacterized him, gave place to passionate utterances, the natural outcomeof his warm southern nature.
"Oh, God! give me back Marcia--let me see my old wife Marcia once againbefore I die," he pleaded several times.
After a little he thought he would change the current of his sad musings,and go out into the street with his hurdy-gurdy. As I have said before, hewas always a favorite with the children, and they now crowded round him andbegged for that merry Italian air to which they could dance. Antonio wasfeeling too unhappy to care about money, and it afforded him a passingpleasure to gratify the children, so he set down his barrel-organ in thedirty crowded street, and began to turn the handle.
The children, waiting for their own favorite air, collected closely roundthe old man; now it was coming, and they could dance, oh! so merrily, tothe strains they loved.
But--what was the matter? Antonio was looking straight before him, andturning the handle slowly and mechanically. Suddenly his whole face lit upwith an expression of wonder, of pleasure, of astonishment. He let go thehandle of the barrel organ, and the music went out with a little crash, andthe next instant he was pushing his way through the crowd of dirtychildren, and was bending over a little girl, with dark hair and dark,sweet, troubled eyes, who was standing without either bonnet or jacketspell-bound by the notes of the old hurdy-gurdy.
"Why, my little one--my little sweet one from the south, however did youcome to a dreadful place like this?" said old Antonio.
At the sound of his voice, the child seemed to be roused out of a spell ofterror; she trembled violently, she clasped her arms round his knees, andburst into sobs and cries.
"You are my organ-man--you are my own darling organ-man. Oh! I knew it mustbe you, and now you will take me home to my father."
"But however did you come here, my dear little missy?"
"My name is Mona. I am Mona Sinclair, and Janet my maid--oh! how cruel sheis; she was jealous of the dear Marcia I used to have in Italy, and shesaid she would punish me, and she would do it on Christmas Day. Father hasnot come home yet, and I have been so unhappy waiting for him, and Janetsaid she was tired of my always crying and missing my mamma, and she tookme for a walk this afternoon, and she met some grandly dressed people, andthey wanted her to go with them, and she said she would for a little, andshe told me to stand at the street corner, and she would be back in tenminutes, but it seemed like hours and hours," continued the childexcitedly, "and I was so cold, and so miserable, and I could not wait anylonger, and I thought I would find my own wa
y home, and I have been lookingfor it ever since, and I cannot find it. I asked one woman to tell me, butall she did was to hurry me into a corner and take off my fur cap and mywarm jacket, and she looked so wicked, and I've been afraid to ask any onesince; but now you will take me home, you won't be unkind to me, my dearorgan-man."
"Yes, I will take you home, my darling," said Antonio, and he lifted thelittle child tenderly into his arms.