Blue joined his mother in the little dark bedroom, whither she had stealthily beckoned him.

She closed the door, and pulled him to a farther corner, beyond the keen ears of Doodles.

“You mustn’t spend a penny for anything you can get along without!” she whispered. “I’m sorry you bought that orange.”

“Why?” queried the boy, surprised. “Doodles said the other day he’d like one.”

“You asked him.”

“Yes,” admitted Blue. “But it’s good for him—he don’t eat much anyway.”

“I know,” sighed the mother, and stopped.

“What’s up?” demanded the boy.

“’Sh!”

“He can’t hear! He’s talkin’ to the bird.”

“Well,” she softened her voice, “I haven’t said anything—and they’ve kept it pretty whist; but we’re ordered out on strike to-morrow noon, unless the company come to our terms—and they won’t!”

“Whew!”

“I’m awfully sorry. I hoped they’d patch things up.” She put her hand to her eyes.

“It’s a shame!” cried Blue.

“’Sh! I don’t want him to know any more than is necessary.”

“He isn’t goin’ to hear! What’s the muss anyhow?”

“Oh! it’s about those hands that they discharged, and then they’ve asked for more wages.”

“I’ll try to git some extry jobs,” decided the boy.

“Please don’t say git,” corrected his mother, “and remember that extra is spelled with an a.”

“Oh, I for—get!” laughed Blue.

“You’re a good boy anyway,” the mother replied with a catch in her voice. “What should I do without you!” She clasped him there in the dark, while he made an impulsive resolve to be more worthy of her love and praise. Nevertheless he laughed.

“You haven’t got to do without me!” he told her, and ran back into the kitchen.

The next day Mrs. Stickney walked out of the big silver shop with the other workers, inwardly rebelling at the command that forced her to give up the daily wages so needful for the comfort of herself and her family. Only a little money was in the emergency purse. Six dollars a week left not much to spare, and women hands in the silver shop were not allowed to earn more than a dollar a day. If by dint of nerve and skill a toiler in skirts was able to add a few cents to the customary one hundred her work was so arranged that she must keep to her task more closely to compass even her regular pay. Yet Mrs. Stickney never complained; six dollars paid the rent, bought plain food, a slender amount of fuel, and enough clothing for actual need. But now? The mother had pondered the question through all the working hours, she had carried it to bed with her night after night, and it was no nearer the answer than when it had first dismayed her. She must get something to do—anything! But with hundreds of unemployed women ready to pounce upon every little odd job would there be any chance for her? On her way home she called at the settlement, not far from The Flatiron, hoping that one of the girls, whom she slightly knew, could direct her to somebody in need of a seamstress. But the friendly answer was disappointing.

“I am sorry I can’t give you any encouragement, Mrs. Stickney. We have more applications than we know what to do with. I will put your name on the waiting list, and there may be something later.”

So she went home to Doodles burdened with forebodings, though resolved that he should not suspect her worry. He was delighted at thought of having her with him all day long, and she fostered his pleasure by filling that first afternoon with song and stories and gay talk.

Just before six o’clock, Granny O’Donnell, shrewd as kind, toiled up the stairs with a little loaf of hot gingerbread—gingerbread such as only Granny knew how to make.

Then Blue came in, late and jubilant. He had earned an extra quarter by delivering some parcels for a paper customer, and more errands were promised.

Thus the supper hour went blithely, and afterwards the dishes in the pan rattled merrily to the tune of “Edinburgh Town.”

The prepared food which Mr. Gillespie had generously sent home with the mocking bird was now nearly gone. Blue looked sadly into the little box every time he filled Caruso’s cup. How could they spare half a dollar for more! Yet the Scotchman had said that the bird’s health depended on it. Happily, carrots were cheap, and patiently the boy grated them, mixing as much with the other food as he dared, often going beyond the prescribed proportion. He also went hunting through obscure corners of The Flatiron for dead flies and live spiders, making a fortunate find, one rainy Saturday, in a vacant room in the second story. Scores of lifeless flies dotted the floor and window sills, and Blue brushed them up with delighted hands. Treated with boiling water, they would make dainty tidbits for the gray bird. In these ways the dreaded day of famine was postponed.

Meanwhile Christarchus Apostus Geanskakes came to be the daily comrade of Doodles. As the strike continued, and Mrs. Stickney obtained employment in a restaurant kitchen, which kept her from home all of the daylight hours, this was especially satisfactory.

“I tell you how play,” the Greek boy had proposed on an early visit, and Doodles was blissfully ready to learn. So the daily lessons went on, the pupil making rare progress, and happy beyond anything he had ever known. Music was his joy, and to be able to cause such wonderful harmonies with—according to Blue—“just some horse hairs and those four fiddle strings” was an unending marvel and delight. If only he could have a violin of his own—a little one! Christarchus said you could get them cheap. But when he had suggested it to his mother she became so strangely grave that he did not speak of it again. Perhaps she was thinking of Uncle Jim. Christarchus urged his own instrument upon him whenever he was not practicing himself, and it was far better than any he could hope to buy. So side by side with the increasing anxiety of his mother and brother his happiness grew. And then, one sunny forenoon, when Doodles supposed him to be at school, Christarchus walked slowly in. His face foreboded ill.

“I go,” he said drearily. “My fader he go New York—get more pay—I haf go.” His big black eyes, usually brimming with sparkles of glee, were shadowy and mournful, as if, at any instant, they might melt into tears.

Doodles was dumb with anguish. He stared mistily. His bliss, which a moment before had seemed so secure, had vanished like a bubble. He clinched his little fists, and sat waiting.

“I go,” Christarchus repeated dully, gazing at Doodles with a yearning that would have broken one’s heart, if anybody had been there to see. But they were alone, and when the Greek boy became sure of the fact he crossed over and took his comrade’s cold little hand in his.

“I—love—ever!” came brokenly from his quivering lips.

Doodles roused at last, and clung to him, still silent and tearless.

The voice of the father was in the hall, and the boy ran to answer. Later he returned with his small suit case.

Doodles, his grieving brown eyes full of unspeakable things, let go a few words that tried to be brave, whereupon Christarchus caught up his violin and began a sad, sweet melody, ending with a glorious strain of triumph—the good-bye that he could not put into an unfamiliar tongue. It stayed with Doodles, to comfort him, long after the player was gone.

To cap this sorrow came a new trouble. The restaurant man disappeared, leaving little behind him but debts and an unsavory reputation. The bulk of Mrs. Stickney’s well-earned wages would never be paid, and the mother was too disheartened even to sing. Caruso shared the family gloom, and moped on his perch. Some days he would eat scarcely anything.

“I’m afraid he misses the violin,” Doodles confided to his brother; but the boy wondered, secretly, if he had put too much carrot in his food, and went on a hunt for spiders, which the Scotchman had said were good for the appetite.

It was at this point of time that Blue brought home a beautiful red sweet apple, given him by Joseph Sitnitsky for the “little brother with the not-taking sickness, who couldn’t to never walk.”

Doodles clasped the gift smilingly. “What did make him send it?” he questioned. “How did he know there was any me? I never saw him.”

“Oh! he’s heard me mention you,” answered Blue discreetly.

“He must be a very nice boy,” Doodles decided. “I should like to know him. You tell him I thank him ever, ever so much. I think I will eat it right away, wouldn’t you?”

Blue agreed that it was a good time.

“A quarter for mother, and a quarter for you, and I guess one for Granny O’Donnell—oh, and one for Caruso! He likes sweet apple! Perhaps it will make him sing.”

Blue laughed. “Where’s your quarter coming from?” he asked.

“Oh, did I forget me?” smiled Doodles innocently. “Well, you can give me one, too.”

“There aren’t but four quarters in an apple, old feller—mother, Caruso, Granny, and I would take ’em all.” His eyes twinkled.

“That’s so! I forgot about the quarters! Well, Caruso won’t mind if he doesn’t have a whole one, he’s so little; one will do for both of us.”

Blue’s lips puckered as he cut the fruit in range of the watchful brown eyes; but he saw to it that the owner of the apple received his full share.

To the delight of Doodles, the bird ate with unusual zest what Blue scraped for him, and then danced about, eyeing that outside the cage.

“Oh, he wants some more!” cried his little master, thereupon feeding him from his own piece. And Caruso thanked him with a song—the first in many days.