ld Treffy, meditatively;
"I don't rightly know what it is; they call it 'Marshal Lazy'
[Marseillaise], or something of that sort. I reckon it's called after
some man in the wars, maybe."

"You don't know who he was?" asked Christie.

"No," said old Treffy, "I don't bother my head about it. I expect he was
some lazy scoundrel who wouldn't do his duty, and so they made up a song
to mock at him. But that's as it may be, Christie; I don't know, I'm
sure. I expect he wasn't born when my organ was made; I expect not,
Christie."

"Well, Master Treffy, I'm ready," said Christy, putting the organ-strap
over his neck; "good-bye."

And, with an air of great importance, Christie carefully descended the
rickety stairs, and marched triumphantly across the court. A few
children who were there gathered round him with admiring eyes, and
escorted him down the street.

"Give us a tune, Christie; play away, Christie," they all cried out. But
Christie shook his head resolutely, and marched on. He was not sorry
when they grew tired of following him and turned back. Now he felt
himself a man; and he went on in a most independent manner.

And then he began to play. What a moment that was for him!

He had often turned the handle of the barrel-organ in the lonely old
attic, but that was a very different thing to playing it in the street.
There had been no one to hear him there except old Treffy, who used to
stand by most anxiously, saying, "Turn her gently, Christie; turn her
gently." But here there were crowds of people passing by, and sometimes
some one stopped for a minute, and then how proud Christie felt! There
was no barrel-organ like his, he felt sure. He did not care what the
folks said about Marshal Lazy; he was not so good as poor Mary Ann,
Christie felt sure; and as for "Home, sweet Home," Christie almost broke
down every time he played it. He did _so_ love his mother, and he could
not help thinking she was singing it still somewhere. He wondered very
much where she was, and where "Home, sweet Home," was. He must try to
find out somehow.

And thus the day wore away, and Christie's patience was rewarded by
quite a little store of pence. How proud he was to spend it on his way
home in comforts for old Treffy, and how much he enjoyed giving the old
man an account of his day's adventures!

Treffy gave Christie a warm welcome when he opened the attic door; but
it would be hard to say whether he was more pleased to see Christie,