Ashtabula weekly telegraph. (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1880-1886, 1880-12-24
be q great bundle was in reality . aslosp-

Yea. q child, and little ons--a boy
Of not more than seven years, with oli-
ish brown locks, and eyelashos whick
swept the olive tint of his cheek An
curled up in q heap, in clothes which q
man might have worn, 80 bigand shape
less were they, with one arm under hia
head for n pillow, and the other tightly
grasping a violin. Far had he van
dered in the cold wintry air, until. at
traoted by the light and warmth Of the
great church, he had stolen IN for ahel-
ter, and then as his little ears drank in
the melody Of the rehearsing choir, and
tho warmth a~--f-T+ai 1 him, he fell fast
ssp. he wf dr ming now Of the
a1su sunny land u his birthi olive
rse and orchards, purple clusters Of
'la VInsyuds, d0Dkeys laden with
oranges, and ;he blue sky Of Nsples
shining oyer The blue bay. Then, in
tu drC ~ alH angel came floating down
ogt of pure ether, waiting sweet
perfume ita ~hHfs wings, and sing
i1g-oh. WIsJ heavenly strains!-tin
his little soul was filed with Joy; for the
angel seemed 90 bs bis mother who had
died, and her l1ud 70ice again saluted
him. and be answered softly, "Madre
mlam
"Poor clGdri said Mrs. Morton, soft
/ iy. lit seems a pity 10 waken him, but
we must do It; he cannot stay here all
night" The old organist touched him;
but his sleep was too sound for touch
TO arouse him, and Mrs. Morton had to
again and again lift his head and stroke
his little brown hand, before, with
amazed and widely fearful looks, he an
swered them.
"Who are you, child, and what are
you doing herem asked the organist.
'Tm Toni, Toni" was the answer,
and he began TO cry. "Oh, please let
me go; the Padrone will kin me-"
why will he kill you, and why are
you here?n
"He will kill me because / have no
money. have lost, also, my way
"Have you no home, no mother?"
asked Mrs. Morton, gently.
mo, signora, no, madame, no moth
er. We all live. Baptiste and Vincenzo
and /, with the Padrone. We play the
harp and the violin; but / was tired,
and they scolded me, oh, so sharply
and | was weary and cold, and crept in
here where the angels sing, and it was
The organist muttered, Police" at
which the child again sobbed violently.
Yes, to the station house, of course,
he must 60"
But Mrs. Morton remembered the
three faces asleep on their pillows at
home, and as she looked at this tear
stained, dirty little gypsy, she said to
the organist, 81 will take care of him
tonight So, under the stars, the
Christmas stars, cleaning so brightly,
she led the little wanderer home.
All was still and safe in the little
house. mot a creature was stirring,
not even a mouse" The fire still
CLEANED in the kitchen and the sitting
room, and it was the work of only a
few moments to divest the little musi-
clan Of his uncOuth garments, to pop
him into the tub Of hot suds, to scrub
him well, until his lean little body
shOne like bronze, to slip him into a
night-gown, to give him a slice of bread
and butter, and then to tuck him up on
the cozy lounge.
The children slept like tops, and the
tired little mother was glad to say her
prayers, and lie down beside them.
The stars were still shining when she
awoke; for Christmas day would be a
busy one, and there were no moments
to lose. Already the milkman was at
door. and the hands of the kitchen
clock pointed to six.
Hark! what was that?
A long, low, sweet sound, like voice
calling her. She listened, and again it
came. "Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace, good will toward
men," so it seemed to breathe. Then
it rose in gay carol, sweet gushing
thanksgiving, and the children came
tumbling down in their nightgowns;
they rushed to the door of the sitting
room, and there beside his improvised
bed stood the young musician, playing
on his violin as if all the world were his
audience. His brown eyes flashed now
with light, and then grew dark and
tender as he drew the sweet sounds
out. The children gazel in wonder
ment: where had this child come FROM
had he dropped from the stars? had an
angel come among them? He played
on, and on, until, from sheer fatigue,
he put his instrument down. Then
| Teddie and Clover and Daisy came
about him; they touched his hands, his
curly locks, his violin, to see if all we're
real. Then they whirled round the
room in a mad dance of delight, for the
mother had uncovered the tree, and it
was really Christmas morning.
All, what a happy day for poor little
Toni! How nice he looked in Teddie's
clothes! how gentle he was with Daisy!
how he frOlicked with Clover! and
when Mrs. Morton came from church,
how softly he played all his pretty
melodies for heri 1t was day of feast
and gladness; and when, to her surprise
and pleasure. committee of church
people waited upon Mrs. Morton to
give her purse through the meshes of
which glittered gold pieces, she said
then and there that Toni should never
60 to the harsh and cruel Padrone
again.
Perhaps some time as you listen to a
sweet voice singing to the accompani-
ment of 4 violin you may think of Mrs.
Morton and Toni, and be glad that the
world bestows its applause and its gifts
upon them, and that the vision of his
mother and her love that came to Toni
on that Christmas-eve has been made
to him a reality.-Harper's Young
People.