Newport daily independent., 1903-03-28

AHS. NhSW vSNSN H1N"NhtJ AASiih NNiN broken toes of his shoes. lIaswell stared at his sad figure helplessly.
 "Where do you live?" he demand ed, abruptly.
 In Greenwich street, mister"
 "Down town, l presume. Mustyou go home tonight
 The boy shrugged his shoulders with gently depreciating smile. Nobody don't care if l don't, he an- swered
 Then you had better stay here. You can sleep on the couch, wonder, when you're all cleaned up. You are wringing wet and cold as ice. Tell you what, I'll run a tubful of warm water, and you can take your bath while l hunt up some dry things. After that you can tell me about your self"
 When the strange little figure emerged from the bathroom arrayed in Haswcll's spacious pajamas, with his black silken thatch washed and curling crisply all around his pale face, Haswell noticed that his deli cate, refined beauty was quite ex- traordinary ndaltogether irreconcil- able with his rags and misery. Haswell poured out the coffee he had steeped over his alcohol lamp, and set before his guest plate of crackers and cheese which he bade him eat, while he finished his work, but although the host made a creditable feint of writing, he did not for an instant take his eyes from the beautiful, pallid face which the mellow freglow threw into sharp relief. Why did that stranger child interest him so over whelmingly? he asked himself, grim ly; was it because of the possible story it held or had he touched the glossed- over springs of human sympathy which had lain dormant so long un- der the stolid indifference that cloaked the hermit of the flats?
 It was a pathetic little story that the lad had to tell, and he told 1t in faltering English, with now and then a word of his Servian mother tongue to offset its pathos; of his immigrant father, musician in the old country, who had been obliged 10 take work in a factory to avert starvation, whose death occurred shortly after through an explosion of the factory works; of the subsequent wanderings in a strange city. His only friends had lately been engaged to travel with a concert band, and he was trying to find a countryman who had promised him an insignificant part with his wan dering band. He was quite alone in the world, without kindred, or friends, or money. His only hope was 10 obtain work enough to pay his return passage to Seryia. Haswell asked many questions, but the lads story never deviated except to add some pathetic detail which showed how much toll and privation his young life had known.
 "I used to take great deal of pleas ure in music" " said Haswell, when the child had finished his story and drawn his chair closer to the blazing hearth. Suppose you play something for me if you are warm enough to handle your violin. Iwant to know what you can do"
 Rhuel tucked his old violin under his chin and frightened the slack strings, then he dried his bow care fully and began to play, very softly and dclicately, weird little melody unlike anything Haswell had ever heard, more sad, more beautiful and infinitely sweeter. There was lack of technique and defniteness in his touch which would bar a successful hearing with the coldly critical pub lie, but to Haskell, whose soul was stirred to its inmost depths by the spirit of pure melody, it seemed in- expressibly lovely. It brought new pictures to his mind, of unsuspected beauty, olives shadowed by want and poverty, toilers in the dark whom such as he, to whom much had been given, should minister comfort and cheer. He seated himself before his desk and began to write, without conscious effort or weariness, the story that the child's music inspired. The boy ,,1o,,J n,, ,,nnooe,,,r1 ,.1o,n,;,,rr ,, gv,.