The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1884-05-07


by playing the violin, and the slender brown
hands would contrive to get little melody
even out of the halfcracked "fiddle," as
his rough companions styled 1t. Then,
again, he would stand all day long at the
corner of the street selling flowers, and at
night he would creep back to his wretched
home and go to sleep on his little straw
mattress, with only bit of carpet for q
blanket, and perhaps crust of bread for
supper. His real name was Giovanni,
but it had been shortened to "Gio.'
One day Merry and her mamma were
walking along one of the crowded streets
of the city, when the child suddenly
pulled her mothers hand. "Oh, mamma
please buy some of those pretty May
flowers"
And, turning to look at them, Mrs.
Morton saw pair of dark eyes gazing at
her beseechingly from under a mass of
tangled hair. "Only fifteen cent, ma'am,"
said the little flower merchant, in low,
sweet voice, and, picking out the largest
bunch, he held it up to Merry with q
smile.
His calico shirt was open in front, show
ing his bare, brown chest his feet were
shoeless and stockingless and, as Mrs.
Morton afterward said to her husband,
"Of course he was very ragged, Or Merry
never would have taken fancy to him."
As long as the trailing arbutus lasted,
two or three times week the Mortons
made q purchase of the little 1ower-boy,
whose beautiful face won him many a
customer. One day when Mrs. Morton
wished to send some flowers to the poor
sick people in the hospital, at Merry's en-
treaty she went early to the street corner
and bought the entire contents of
Giovanni's basket. As they turned away
the boy ran after them, and, holding out
tiny bunch of lilies of the valley, said,
with his soft foreign accent, " They are 30
pretty, just like you, and l mean you
should hat the first" and then darted
shyly back to his stand.
Several times he came to the house for
clothing, and gradually Mrs. Morton drew
from him his pathetic story. With fash
ing eyes and hurried utterance he told
her how he had nothing but ugly words
money, and how, when his little heart was
nearly broken with the ill-trestment, he
would sit by small window in the hail.
and, with the beautiful moonlight shining
down on him, he would play for hours on
his dear little violin, and, somehow, that
always comforted him.
Mr.. Morton tried to persuade Clos fos-
ter-parents to send him to school, but his
plan met with such violent opposition that
he was forced to content himself with
another arrangement. Every night, after
Giovanni had finished his days work, he
was to spend an hour at Mr.. Morton's 4;
and as a return for this favor Mrs. Morton
was to give the boy basketful of the
odds and ends left from the days meals.
The pleasant room, with the nice supper
which Lizzie always had ready for him,
and Mrs. Morton's and Merry's gentle
voices and ways, seemed almost like heaven
to the poor, tired fower-boy.
"Only think, mammal" said Merry,
heaping Clos saucer with fruit, "he has
never read any pretty fairy stories, never
heard of Christmas or Santa Claus Poor,
poor Giol" and her eyes filled with tears.
"And, mamma, just think of it he has
never, never heard of the dear Christ"
"Who is he ?" asked Clio, looking up.
els he-like you? Oil then l know 1
shall love him ever so much /"
"Tell him, mamma" urged Merry and
Clio listened wonderingly as Mrs. Morton
told him of the little child's best Friend.
"That is sweet" said the boy, in his
low voice; "that is good; Just like what
my dear violin sometimes say to me when
1 sit playing softly in the dark"
When the Mortons went out of town for
the summer, Lizzie, who was left in care
of the house, was charged over and over
again to take good care Of Clio. The fam.
lily came back early in September, and
one day when Giovanni came as usual for
his supper and the evening lesson, he was
startled by Lizzie's sober face. Miss
Merry is sick" she said. 1t is scarlet
fever. Mrs. Morton says you must not
come to the house any more, for you
might take the fever too"
The next night, however, the boy made
his appearance, and, notwithstanding Liz
zie's remonstrances, persisted in coming
every night to hear how Meese Merry "
was getting along.
One evening, as Clio came in with an
anxious look on his face, Lizzie threw her
self down on the stairs, and, burying her
face in her apron sobbed aloud. "Tell
AO OACioAhCu, oukTllyS why
do you behave 80 silly? Isis she
worse ?"
"The doctor says she may not live
through it. She may be dying now. Oh,
my poor, poor lady /"
Giovanni said not word, but pressed
his little hands hard against his heart.
Then he took up his basket and went out
into the street again. When he reached
his miserable home he put the basket on
the table, and took out from its hiding.
place under his mattress violin which
had been lent to him by man living in
the adjoining room. This man, who be.
longed to an orchestra, had been attracted
by the child's really good playing, and had
given him some instruction, and finally
loaned him violin for practicing. Gro
ping his way upstairs, Giovanni sat down
by the little hall window and began play
ing in the moonlight. As the bow obeyed
the graceful movements of the slender
brown hands, the violin sobbed and sighed
and pleaded, now murmuring as softly as
a summer wind, and now wailing with
the plaintive melody of an Eolian harp
The halfdrunken men downstairs ceased
their brawling as the heavenly strains
fell upon their ears, and for moment a
softened expression stole across their
brutal faces. The dying woman on the
second story motioned upward with her
hand, and murmured something about
lasx AlaJ "a