The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1881-01-01

singing, there was hush upon all, as
if they had been carried near to the ce-
lestial portals.
One by one they pressed her hand in
quiet congratulation, and with "Mer-
ry Christmas" babe her goodnight.
Mrs. Morton was little excited with
her unusual efforts. and while the old
organist was locking up, thought she
would run down and warm herself in
the church. AS she fastened toward
the great heater, she tripped over some-
thing, which, to her great surprise and
alarm, she perceived what appeared to
be great bundle was in reality sleep.
ing child.
Yes, child, and little one-a boy
of not more than seven years, with elf.
ish brown locks, and eyelashes which
swept the olive tint of his cheek. All
curled up in heap, in clothes which a
man might have worn, so big and shape
less were they, with one arm under his
head for pillow, and the other tightly
grasping a violin. Far had he wan
dered in the cold wintry air, until, at.
tracted by the light and warmth of the
great church, he had stolen in for shell.
ter, and then as his little ears drank in
the melody of the rehearsing choir, and
the warmth comforted him, he fell fast
asleep. He was dreaming now of the
warm sunny land of his birth: olive.
trees and orchards, purple clusters Of
the vineyards, donkeys laden with
oranges, and the blue sky of Naples
shining over the blue bay. Then, in
his dream, an angel came floating down
out of the pure ether, waiting sweet
perfumes on its white wings, and sing
ing-oh! what heavenly strains!-till
his little soul was filled with Joy; for the
angel seemed to be his mother who had
died, and her kind voice again saluted
him. and he answered softly, "Madre
miar'
"Poor childr said Mrs. Morton, soft
ly, sit seems pity to 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 here?" asked the organist.
'Tm Toni, Toni" was the answer,
and he began to cry. "Oh, please let
me go; the Padrone will kill me-"
why will he kill you, and why are
you here?"
''He will kill me because l have no
money. 1 have lost, also, my way"
"Have you no home, no mother?"
asked Mrs. Morton, gently.
''No, signora, no, madame, no moth
er. We all live, Baptiste and Vincenzo
and 1, with the Padrone. We play the
harp and the violin; but 1 was tired,
and could not keep with the others,
and they scolded me, oh, so sharply!
and | was weary and cold, and crept in
here where the angels sing, and it was
SO beautiful l could not go away"
The organist muttered, 'Police," at
which the child again sobbed violently.
Eyes, to the station house, of course,
he must CO."
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. "Not a creature was stirring,
not even 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
i i,1fo fbo +,,h - lot L. 10
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 coy 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
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.
Hank! what was thatP
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, a 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 gazed in wonder
ment: where. had this child come fromP
had he dropped from the stars? had an
angel come among themp He played
on, and on, until, from sheer fatigue,
he put his instrument down. Then
Teddio and Clover and Daisy came
about him; they touched his hands, his
curly locks, his violin, to see if all were
real. Then they whirled round the
room ina 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 nlaved all hia nrattv