d scarcely passed as they were playing, when a
poor old man, who had a fiddle, came into the yard.

He had a very long white beard, and, being blind, was guided by a little
dog, who went before him with a collar round his neck. To this a cord
was fastened, which the poor blind man held in his hand.

It was noticed with how much dexterity the little dog conducted him, and
how he shook a bell, which, I forgot to say, hung underneath his collar,
when he came near anyone, as if he had designed to say by such an
action, 'Do not throw down or run against my master.' Being come into
the yard, he sat him down upon a stone, and, hearing several children
talking round him, 'My dear little gentlemen,' said he, 'I will play you
all the pretty tunes that I know, if you will give me leave.' The
children wished for nothing half so much. He put his violin in tune, and
then thrummed over several jigs and other scraps of music, which, it was
easy to conjecture, had been new in former times.

Little Gratian saw that while he played his merriest airs, a tear would
now and then roll down his cheeks, on which he stopped to ask him why he
wept?

'Because,' said the musician, 'I am very hungry. I have no one in the
world that will give my dog or me a bit of anything to eat. I wish I
could but work, and get for both of us a morsel of something; but I have
lost my strength and sight. Alas! I laboured hard till I was old, and
now I want bread.'

The generous Gratian, hearing this, wept too. He did not say a word, but
ran to fetch the cake which he had designed to eat himself. He brought
it out with joy, and, as he ran along, began: 'Here, good old man, here
is some cake for you.'

'Where?' replied the poor musician, feeling with his hands; 'where is
it? For I am blind, and cannot see you.'

Gratian put the cake into his hand, when, laying down his fiddle on the
ground, he wiped his eyes, and then began to eat. At every piece he put
into his mouth, he gave his faithful little dog a bit, who came and ate
out of his hand; and Gratian, standing by him, smiled with pleasure at
the thought of having fed the poor old man when he was hungry.

_Percival._ Oh, the good, good Gratian! Let me have your knife, father.

_Mr. G._ Here, Percival; but why my knife?

[Illustration: _'I will play you all the pretty tunes that I know, if
you will give me leave.'--Page 132._]

_Percival._ I will tell you. I have only nibbled here a little of my
cake, so