olled on the handles of perambulators to listen, while
their charges pulled faces of fear at the supple Anita.

We three sat on the curb close to the organ, our small heads reeling with
the melodies that thundered from it. When Tony moved on, we rose and
followed him. At the next corner he rested his organ on its one leg and
looked down at us.

"You betta go home," he admonished, "your mamma not like."

"We're going to run the streets today," I said, manfully, "Mrs.
Handsomebody is away at a funeral."

"A funer-al," repeated Tony, "she know--about dis?"

"No--" I replied, "but Mary Ellen does."

"She a beeg lady--dis Marie Ellen?"

"Oh, yes. She's awfully big. Bigger than you, and strong--"

"Oh, all right," said Tony, "but don' you get los'." We helped him to carry
the organ. It was a new one he said, and very expensive to hire. We asked
him endless questions we had always been wanting to ask--about Italy, and
his parents, and sisters, and we told him about father in South America,
and about the party that night for Mr. Watlin.

From street to street we wandered till we were gloriously and irrevocably
lost. Angel and I helped to grind the organ and The Seraph even presented
himself at doors with Anita's little tin cup in his hand. And either
because he was so little or his eyelashes were so long, he never came back
empty-handed. Tony seemed well content with our company.

So the afternoon sped on. Narrow alleys we played in, and wide streets, and
once we passed through a crowded thoroughfare where we had to hug close to
the organ, and once we met Tony's brother Salvator, who gave us each a long
red banana.

At last Tony, looking down at us with a smile, said:

"Jus' one more tune here, then I tak' you home. See? De sun's gettin' low
and dat little one's gettin' tired. I tak' you home in a minute."

We, remembering the party, were nothing loath. Poor Mary Ellen would be in
a state by now, and our legs had almost given out.

This street was a quiet one. At the corner some untidy little girls danced
on the pavement, while a group of boys stood by, loafing against the window
of a small liquor shop, and occasionally scattering the girls by some
threat of hair-pulling or kissing.

The western sky was saffron. The eaves, that had been dripping all day, now
wore silent rows of icicles. Possibly the little girls danced to keep warm.
The Seraph began to whimper.

"This air stwikes cold on my legs," he murmured.