most any thing for that flute," he murmured to himself. "I
feel that I should like to play the flute. I wonder who it is playing
it, and whether he'd sell it?"

The unseen performer, at this juncture, burst forth into such a
powerfully shrill cadence that the orphan was quite thrilled with
delight.

"A railway whistle's a fool to it!" he cried, as he clapped his hands
in ecstasy. "Bravo, bravo! Encore!"

Having shouted his applause till he was hoarse, he walked along by the
side of the wall, seeking anxiously for some place of entrance.

At length he came to an open gate.

A stout gentleman--unmistakably a Turk--with a crimson cap on his head,
ornamented with a tassel, and a long, reed-like instrument in his hand,
was looking cautiously forth.

It was evidently the musician, who, having been interrupted in his
solo, had come to see who the delinquent was that had disturbed him.

The enthusiastic Figgins had caught sight of the flute, and that was
sufficient.

Forgetting his usual nervous timidity, he rushed forward.

"My dear sir," he exclaimed, "it was exquisite--delicious! Pray oblige
me with another tune--or, if you have no objection, let me attempt
one."

As he spoke, the excited Figgins stretched forth both his hands.

The owner of the flute, who evidently suspected an attempt at robbery,
quietly placed his instrument behind him, and looking hard at Figgins,
said sternly--

"What son of a dog art thou?"

To which Figgins replied mildly--

"You're mistaken, my dear sir; I'm the son of my father and mother, but
they--alas!--are no more, and I am now only a poor desolate orphan."

The tears trickled from his eyes as he spoke.

The Turk did not appear in the least affected.

"What bosh is all this?" he asked, after a moment, in a hard,
unsympathetic tone.

"It's no bosh at all, I assure you, my dear signor," replied Figgins,
earnestly; "the fact is, I heard you play on your flute, and its sweet
tones so soothed my spirits--which are at this moment extremely
low--that I am come to make several requests."

"Umph!" growled the Turk; "what are they?"

"First, that you will play me another of your charming airs, next, that
you will allow me to attempt one myself, and thirdly, that you will
sell me the instrument you hold in your hand.'"

The Turk glared for a moment fiercely at the proposer of these modest
requests, and then politely wishing the graves of his departed
relatives might be perpetual