Even the doorknob of Dolly Moon’s room looked melancholy. So Doodles felt, and he turned a little in his chair, that it might not face him. Then, more lonely, he looked back, and, while he was looking, a man and a boy came up the stairs. Although less than an hour ago he had wished that somebody else would lodge there, when the two passed the kitchen and steered straight toward Dolly’s old room, resentment rose in his loyal heart.

“It’s hers!” he muttered. “They haven’t any right to go in!”

But go in they did, each with a “queer-shaped, green bundle,” he told Blue as soon as he came.

“And the boy is ’bout as big as me,” he went on. “Do you s’pose we shall ever get acquainted?”

“Sure,” returned his brother. “Why not? You must hello to him.”

Blue’s word was to be obeyed, and the first time that the strange boy passed the doorway alone Doodles let go his friendly greeting.

The lad turned quickly, showed two rows of exceedingly white teeth in a pleased smile, and responded with a soft, “’llo!”

“Will you come in and see me?” invited Doodles politely.

The boy halted and again flashed his bright smile. “I come—t’anks!” He stepped over the threshold, and stood hesitant, his mobile face tender with sympathy at sight of the helplessness of the occupant of the pillowed chair.

Before Doodles could speak, Caruso began his musical welcome, and the stranger did not move or shift his gaze from the singer until the little song was ended. Then he turned to Doodles, aglow with appreciation. His slim little hands made quick gestures as he came near. “Nice! nice!” he smiled, hunting through his small stock of English for a better word. “He sing—nice!”

“I think he does,” Doodles responded happily. “I wish he’d sing ‘Annie Laurie.’—Caruso!”

The bird answered promptly, and at once Doodles began softly the old song, carrying it through to the end of the verse. Then Caruso with a few trills, struck into the same air.

Doodles watched the visitor’s face, as the bird sang; nobody had ever listened to Caruso’s singing with that look. It was wonder, admiration, and joy, it was more than that—Doodles could not tell what it was. But he felt that the new boy appreciated his bird’s singing, and he was glad.

When the stranger turned, his eyes had a far-away look in them, as if he were still hearing music. Then came that brilliant smile.

“I—love heem!” pointing to Caruso. “I—no talk good. I—learn Eengleesh—I go school one, two, t’ree,” counting on his fingers—he shook his head sadly, and sighed. The word would not come. “One, two, t’ree,” he repeated, and halted again.

“Three years?” prompted Doodles.

The boy shook his head.

“Months?”

He smiled. “Yes, t’anks, t’ree months I go school here—America. I go school—Athens.”

“Oh! did you live in Athens?” Doodles was interested.

“Yes,” the boy nodded. Then a thought filled his eyes with light. “I play!” He darted off, across the hall, returning with a violin, which he began to finger in a way that roused Doodles’s admiration.

He lifted it to his shoulder, and drew his bow across the strings, holding the instrument caressingly, as if it were a living thing.

Doodles sat entranced through the playing. Never had he heard such music.

The player slipped into the tune of “Annie Laurie,” with a peremptory, “You sing!” And Doodles began, half shyly, but soon he was the chief performer, the violin playing a soft accompaniment.

On the second verse Caruso joined them with his mellow whistle, the effect being startlingly sweet and delightful.

“Where you learn?” asked the young violinist in the first pause.

“I?” repeated Doodles in surprise.

The other gave a smiling nod.

“Why, I guess I never learned. I’ve always sung.”

The boy looked the admiration he could not speak. “You sing—nice!” he said.

“You play beautifully!” declared Doodles.

The dark little face brightened. “Yes, that! You sing beau-tee-fully! I no get word—you sing beau-tee-fully!”

“Do you think so?” Doodles grew pink with pleasure. “I never heard anybody play the violin so well as you,” he went on. “I wish you’d play more.”

“I play—you sing.” The Greek boy waited expectantly.

After a moment’s thought Doodles began one of his favorite hymns, “The Ninety and Nine,” the other listening, his violin on his shoulder. He quickly caught the air, and was soon playing a charming accompaniment.

There was another who was not content to be silent. The boys had not counted on the mocking bird, but suddenly he started one of his amusing medleys. Discords increased, and at last, with a chuckle, the violinist dropped his instrument, Doodles doubled over in a laugh, and Caruso was left as star performer.

The new friends talked, the stranger telling, in his meager English, of his home in Athens, of the gentle mother whom he could barely remember, and of how she had named him Christarchus Apostus because she wished him to be an apostle of Christ; of the father who thought him better fitted for a musician than a preacher; of their dream of America, and, when money grew scarce and scarcer, of their resolve to seek their fortune across the wide sea. He told of their hopeful departure from the land of flowers and fruit and sunny skies, of the terrifying ocean voyage; and, lastly, of their engagement in the orchestra, where they played the violin every night.

After this recital came more music, Caruso being too busy at his food cup for interruption. The concert was still proceeding when the young visitor’s father appeared at the head of the stairs, and “My Old Kentucky Home” came to a sudden end.

“We had a lovely time,” Doodles told his mother, and at once launched into the history of his short acquaintance with “the new boy.” He had not finished when Mr. Gaylord arrived with delightful news—he had seen Dolly Moon, had actually been at her home in Pebbleton, and she had sent to Doodles a quart of cream, a basket of apples, and a jar of clover honey. She had been waiting for a letter, having overlooked the truth—that her Flatiron friends did not know where she lived, and she was very much ashamed of her forgetfulness and of her neglect to write to them. The young man had discovered her by accident. He had been taking his employer, Mrs. Graham, to an adjoining town, and in passing through Pebbleton he had spied the girl at a window. Feeling sure that he could not be mistaken, he had obtained permission, after leaving Mrs. Graham at her friend’s, to run back to Pebbleton. The result had justified his hopes, and he was in an unwonted elation of spirits that the Stickney family did not fail to observe.

Doodles ended his supper with honey and cream, and he thought he had never tasted anything half so nice.

“It has been a most wonderful day,” he confided to Caruso when he said good-night.