Happy Days for Boys and Girls Part 45

[Ill.u.s.tration: NINO.]

Nino stood with his hat off until she returned and gave him a cake.

"You play such pretty tunes! and I know you now; for I've seen you twice," she said, folding her hands, and looking at him.

Nino murmured,--

"Thankee, pretty lady," and looked at her as if she was a being from another world.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Nino."

"Come, darling; don't stand out there," called her mother from the house.

"My name's Viola. Good by," she cried, as she ran in.

Nino sang one more song, and then kissing his hand to the little form at the window, went on his way happy. The money brought him a night's lodging and permission to leave his guitar. In the morning--for the following day was Sunday, and if he carried it with him, the police might arrest him for trying to play--he made a light breakfast on a roll, and went to the street where Viola lived, to see if he could meet her. As the bells were ringing, she came down the steps with her parents, and Nino followed at a respectful distance, until they went into church. Nino attempted to go in also; but the sombre s.e.xton at the door frightened him with a severe look, and he wandered on. After a time he came to a mission church, where, by a sign, all were invited to enter. Taking a back seat, and trying to understand the preacher, he fell asleep. When he awoke, the preacher was gone; but the room was full of ragged children, and for the first time Nino found himself in a Sunday school.

The teacher nearest to him was a sweet-faced lady, who spoke gently to the boys of being kind to others, and patient with those who had not the chance to learn that they had; she told them stories, to show them how kindness would return to them, and how happy it made them to have others gentle with them. Nino listened, and thought of Viola; and when all sang some hymns while a lady played the piano, a new life stirred in him.

When the services were over, the teacher gave him a paper, and asked him to come again. He sat on the steps after all were gone, looking at the pictures, and when he returned to his lodging went around by Viola's house, and was rewarded by seeing her sitting in the window with a book. When he reached the wretched place where he had spent the night, and looked for his guitar, he could not find it. Asking the woman about it, she said she was cleaning up, and it was somewhere on the floor. Nino's heart began to swell, and when he found it in one corner, snapped and broken, his grief and anger burst forth in a volley of Italian. He hugged it, and sobbed over it, called the woman a beast, and pointed to the ruin of his favorite in angry despair.

In the midst of this tumult of feeling the paper he had received dropped out of his bosom, and striking his feet, recalled the teacher's words and Viola sitting quietly by the window. Nino stopped, and for a moment was silent, then saying, "You didn't mean to," picked up the paper, folded his jacket over the guitar, and left the house.

His anger had vanished; but his grief remained. He spent the evening in tears and wretchedness, alternately gazing at his guitar, stroking it, and then giving way to pa.s.sionate crying. At last he slept, curled up in one corner, and in the morning awoke with a cough which hurt his side.

Now he had only his singing to depend on; he had not been taught any useful employment, and did not know how to work. He wandered about in the most disconsolate manner, his cough getting worse, and his grief for his guitar, which he always carried with him, still tormenting him. Sometimes, when people saw the poor boy crouching in a corner, hugging a broken guitar, and crying bitterly, they would give him a few cents. He would not beg; something held him back, and the thought of Viola would not let him steal.

On the Sat.u.r.day after he had been to Sunday school, as he was sitting on a step, sadly thinking, he saw Viola and her nurse crossing the street towards him. At that moment a carriage with wildly running horses turned the corner. Men on the sidewalk shouted and waved their arms. Viola, confused by their cries, turned back, and the horses, startled, dashed in the same direction. Nino threw aside his guitar, and sprang forward, drew Viola out of danger, but fell himself, and the carriage pa.s.sed over his foot, crus.h.i.+ng it, while in falling he hit his head against the pavement, and lay insensible. Some of the men ran after the horses, some helped the nurse carry Viola home,--for she was crying and trembling with fright,--and a policeman took Nino away.

When Viola was restored, she began to ask for Nino.

"It was Nino, mamma, and I want to see him," was her constant cry.

Her father and mother were also anxious to reward the brave boy who had saved their only child, and made many inquiries to find him. The policeman had taken him to the station-house, and there no one remembered anything about him.

"There are so many of those children brought in, madam, you have no idea. We don't pretend to keep track of them all," was the only information they could get.

At last they were obliged to give up their search; but Viola was much dissatisfied.

About a week after the accident Viola's mother was invited by a lady friend to visit one of the city hospitals. She took Viola with her, and as they walked by the white beds, the child held her mother's hand tightly, and felt quite subdued at the pale, sick faces about her. But suddenly she bounded away, and climbing on a little bed, cried,--

"O, I've found him! here he is--my dear Nino."

Nino--for it was he--shrank back into his pillows, and covering his face with his hands, cried aloud. From the station-house he had been taken to the hospital, where his foot had to be amputated, and he had lain for several days, with a bandaged head, in great pain. His guitar was lost, and he had been so lonely, though the nurses were kind, that at the sight of Viola his fort.i.tude gave way.

"Don't cry, and don't be frightened," said Viola, kissing him, and taking her handkerchief to wipe his tears. "I love you, dear Nino, and now I've found you."

"Is this your Nino, Viola?" asked her mother, while the nurses and other patients looked on with surprise.

"Yes, mamma; is he not pretty?" and she tried to remove his hands.

When he was a little more composed, Viola's mother thanked and praised him for saving her daughter's life, and persuaded him to tell her what he knew about himself. And the nurses told how patient he had been, and she gave him some fruit, and promised to come again. When Viola bade him good by, she put her arms about his neck and kissed him, and they left him quite happy.

A few days after they came again, and Viola cried when she saw him.

"You are going to come and live with us, and be my brother."

"If you would like to," said her mother; and Nino's eyes sparkled with joy at the thought.

Then he was carefully laid in the carriage, and taken to his beautiful new home. More than he had ever dreamed, or fancied, came to him--books, pictures, toys, kind care, love, and a fine new guitar, with the promise of learning to play it better. An artificial foot was to help him walk, and the wonders and delights of his home ever multiplied.

Best of all was his sister Viola. He almost wors.h.i.+pped her; and it was a long time before he could bring himself to treat her with any familiarity. When she caressed him, which was often,--for she loved him dearly, and he was a lovable boy,--he always kissed her hands. One day she shook her head at this, and said,--

"Nino, that is not the way; kiss me good;" and she turned her face, with its rosy mouth, towards him.

With reverence, as if he was saluting a queen, Nino leaned towards her, and then with a sudden impulse, caught her in his arms, and kissed her heartily. That was the seal of their affection, and from that time Nino a.s.sumed all a brother's pride, care, and tenderness.

After he had recovered, they were constantly together, and their mother was never so content as when Nino had the charge of Viola. He never spared himself to serve her, and she was ever an impulse to goodness and truth, s.h.i.+ning before him like a star, as she had from the first time he saw her. And she clung to him with the same love she had first felt, proud of her brother, who developed a n.o.ble character; and they all learned to thank the accident which had brought them so happily together.

SARA CONANT.

COMMON THINGS.

The suns.h.i.+ne is a glorious thing, That comes alike to all, Lighting the peasant's lowly cot, The n.o.ble's painted hall.

The moonlight is a gentle thing; It through the window gleams Upon the snowy pillow where The happy infant dreams;

It s.h.i.+nes upon the fisher's boat Out on the lovely sea, Or where the little lambkins lie Beneath the old oak tree.

The dewdrops on the summer morn Sparkle upon the gra.s.s; The village children brush them off, That through the meadows pa.s.s.

There are no gems in monarchs' crowns More beautiful than they; And yet we scarcely notice them, But tread them off in play.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SALLY SUNBEAM.]

SALLY SUNBEAM.

This is not her real name. Her real name is Sally Brown. Why, then, have I called her Sally Sunbeam? Why, because everybody else calls her so.

The reason is this: she is such a pleasant, happy, kind, sweet-tempered child that wherever she comes she comes like a sunbeam, gladdening and brightening all around her. It was her uncle Tom who first gave her her new name. He was spending a few days with the family for the first time for some years, for he lived a long way off and had not seen Sally since she was a baby. Sally became very fond of him at once, and so did he of Sally. As soon as he came down of a morning, there was Sally with her merry, laughing eyes to greet him.