ht in the
evening. I suppose you don't remember my picking you up?"

"No, sir."

"You were insensible. I was afraid at first you were frozen. But I
brought you home, and, thanks to Providence, you are all right again."

"Where is my fiddle?" asked Phil, anxiously.

"It is safe. There it is on the piano."

Phil was relieved to see that his faithful companion was safe. He looked
upon it as his stock in trade, for without it he would not have known
how to make his livelihood.

He dressed quickly, and was soon seated at the doctor's well-spread
table. He soon showed that, in spite of his exposure and narrow escape
from death, he had a hearty appetite. Mrs. Drayton saw him eat with true
motherly pleasure, and her natural love of children drew her toward our
young hero, and would have done so even had he been less attractive.

"Joseph," she said, addressing her husband, "I want to speak to you a
moment."

He followed her out of the room.

"Well, my dear?" he said.

"I want to ask a favor."

"It is granted in advance."

"Perhaps you will not say so when you know what it is."

"I can guess it. You want to keep this boy."

"Are you willing?"

"I would have proposed it, if you had not. He is without friends and
poor. We have enough and to spare. We will adopt him in place of our
lost Walter."

"Thank you, Joseph. It will make me happy. Whatever I do for him, I will
do for my lost darling."

They went back into the room. They found Phil with his cap on and his
fiddle under his arm.

"Where are you going, Philip?" asked the doctor.

"I am going into the street. I thank you for your kindness."

"Would you not rather stay with us?"

Phil looked up, uncertain of his meaning.

"We had a boy once, but he is dead. Will you stay with us and be our
boy?"

Phil looked in the kind faces of the doctor and his wife, and his face
lighted up with joy at the unexpected prospect of such a home, with
people who would be kind to him.

"I will stay," he said. "You are very kind to me."

So our little hero had drifted into a snug harbor. His toils and
privations were over. And for the doctor and his wife it was a glad day
also. On Christmas Day four years before they had lost a child. On this
Christmas, God had sent them another to fill the void in their hearts.

CHAPTER XXVI

CONCLUSION

It was a strange thing for the homeless fiddler to find himself the
object of affectionate care and solicitude--to feel, w