o."

"Come, darling; don't stand out there," called her mother from the
house.

"My name's Viola. Good by," she cried, as she ran in.

Nino sang one more song, and then kissing his hand to the little form
at the window, went on his way happy. The money brought him a night's
lodging and permission to leave his guitar. In the morning--for the
following day was Sunday, and if he carried it with him, the police
might arrest him for trying to play--he made a light breakfast on a
roll, and went to the street where Viola lived, to see if he could
meet her. As the bells were ringing, she came down the steps with her
parents, and Nino followed at a respectful distance, until they went
into church. Nino attempted to go in also; but the sombre sexton at
the door frightened him with a severe look, and he wandered on. After
a time he came to a mission church, where, by a sign, all were invited
to enter. Taking a back seat, and trying to understand the preacher,
he fell asleep. When he awoke, the preacher was gone; but the room was
full of ragged children, and for the first time Nino found himself in
a Sunday school.

The teacher nearest to him was a sweet-faced lady, who spoke gently to
the boys of being kind to others, and patient with those who had not
the chance to learn that they had; she told them stories, to show them
how kindness would return to them, and how happy it made them to have
others gentle with them. Nino listened, and thought of Viola; and when
all sang some hymns while a lady played the piano, a new life stirred
in him.

When the services were over, the teacher gave him a paper, and asked
him to come again. He sat on the steps after all were gone, looking at
the pictures, and when he returned to his lodging went around by
Viola's house, and was rewarded by seeing her sitting in the window
with a book. When he reached the wretched place where he had spent the
night, and looked for his guitar, he could not find it. Asking the
woman about it, she said she was cleaning up, and it was somewhere on
the floor. Nino's heart began to swell, and when he found it in one
corner, snapped and broken, his grief and anger burst forth in a
volley of Italian. He hugged it, and sobbed over it, called the woman
a beast, and pointed to the ruin of his favorite in angry despair.

In the midst of this tumult of feeling the paper he had received
dropped out of his bosom, and striking his feet, recalled the
teacher's words and Vio