Caruso was in fullest song now that spring was in town, and he did all that he could to cheer his best friends. His task was hard, and, whether he perceived its difficulties or not, he sang from dawn to dark, and did not even stop at night whenever the moon gave him light to sing by. Yet, much as they loved the songster and his music, the Stickney family could not be won over to forgetfulness of the real trouble that shadowed them.

The mother gained but slowly, the third week at home found her still unable to work, and the question that constantly confronted her was, “What will become of us?”

Granny O’Donnell, whose income was ample for her slender needs, had been an actual fairy godmother to the boys during those lonely hospital days, and now she was continually cooking more food than she could eat, and bringing the surplus up to the Stickney kitchen. Frequently, too, small bills would be discovered hiding under a plate of doughnuts, a pan of rice, or a pot of beans. Mrs. Stickney felt that this must not be allowed too long, and if she could not work—what then? The worry was kept from Doodles as much as possible, yet his mother saw with a heartache that he was graver than usual, and, in consequence, she sang when it would have been easier to cry, hoping night after night that the next morning would see the return of her old strength.

After a little she did gain sufficiently to permit her to resume her place in the shop; but she found it impossible to work at her former speed, and her weekly envelope sometimes held less than half her usual pay.

“Say, mother!” Blue burst in with, on a May afternoon, “Miss Holcomb wants to know if Doodles and Caruso can come up to the settlement to-night. They’re going to have a concert, and they want Doodles to play and Caruso to sing—yes, and Doodles to sing, too!”

“Why, I—don’t know,” Mrs. Stickney began, glancing uncertainly towards the cushioned chair. But the boy’s face decided it, radiant as it was with the sudden prospect. “I guess it won’t hurt him,” she finished.

They started at seven o’clock, Blue and Joseph Sitnitsky with Doodles between them, and Mrs. Stickney carrying Caruso and the violin. Fears that strange surroundings and the somewhat noisy crowd might frighten the little gray singer into silence were presently forgotten, for as soon as the lights went low and the cage was placed in the bright rays of the full moon the slim bird began his wonderful song.

The audience, having been warned against demonstrations, was almost mouselike in quietness, and the singer went on and on as carelessly merry as if he were caroling in the home kitchen. A few of his hearers knew what to expect from him, but to the majority his marvelous singing was as novel as it was entertaining. When, at last, he broke off suddenly to scold at a tiny girl who had strayed from her mother and too near his cage, the assembly burst into such applause as was unusual even at the concerts of the Cherry Street Settlement.

After that Doodles sang “Old Folks at Home,” and was encored so heartily and so long that he gave “Edinboro Town,” one of his mother’s favorites when she was in a gay mood. Further along on the programme he played several simple melodies on his violin, and as he slipped into “Annie Laurie” he glanced towards Caruso, whose cage had been set back into the shadow. Quite as if awaiting a signal, the bird struck into tune, and away they soared together, the mocker and the violin, to the uncontrolled delight of the audience.

After the entertainment Caruso held an impromptu reception, for everybody wanted a closer view of the slim gray bird with the astonishing powers of song. Many questions were asked for Doodles to answer, and the small boy reached home too excited to do anything but talk. It was long after midnight before he could sleep.

“I ought to have known better than to let him go,” regretted the mother; but Blue argued, “It won’t hurt him! Will it, old feller?” And Doodles, his eyes shining out of his weariness, declared in favor of his brother.

But in the early morning he awoke in unusual pain, and it was only after his mother had dosed him again and again with a soothing remedy that he fell into slumber. Yet he insisted on being dressed in time to eat breakfast with the others, especially that he might better enjoy the corn cake which Granny had brought up to them.

“This will fix you out all right,” Blue told him, his mouth full of the dainty.

Doodles nodded, with a brave, wan little smile. “It was nice for Granny to give it to us,” he said.

“Granny’s the girl for me!” declared Blue, swimming his own and Doodles’s piece in the maple syrup which had accompanied the cake.

“She’s the best friend we have,” his mother agreed. “Don’t pour on so much, Blue! We must be careful—”

Blue understood the unfinished sentence. Yet he said, “Doodles and I like ‘much,’ don’t we, kiddie?” Then he set the pitcher aside, and ate his second helping without replenishment of the sweet.

Doodles dozed away an hour or two of the long forenoon, and was beginning to feel quite rested when a knock announced a caller.

To his cheery “Come in!” the door opened upon a woman,—a stocky, youngish woman, with pale blue eyes, heavy cheeks, and a double chin. She swept across to the cushioned chair.

“How d’ye do! I thought I’d find you at home,” with strong emphasis. “I was at the concert last night,” she went on, seating herself somewhat laboriously in the offered chair; “perhaps you remember me.”

Doodles gave a smiling assent. He could hardly have forgotten that plumed hat with its gorgeous pins, the shimmering green satin gown, and,—when she had drawn off one of her long white gloves,—those stubby red fingers, sparkling to the knuckles with diamonds.

She abruptly introduced her errand.

“I have come to talk about your bird. I took a fancy to him last night, and I want to know what you’ll sell him for.”

“Oh!” It was a frightened, pitiful little cry, and, all in an instant, Doodles’s face matched it. “I—don’t want to sell him—I wouldn’t sell him for anything!”

The woman laughed, a cold, hateful laugh that flashed fear through the boy’s heart.

“I guess you will,”—she winked coaxingly,—“when you know what I’ll pay for him. I’ll give you twenty dollars! Just think, tw-en-ty bright silver dollars!”

She smiled quite as if the matter were settled, but there was no response on the scared white face opposite. Doodles looked straight past her to the cluster of faded red roses on the wall paper back of her chair.

“Tw-en-ty beautiful bright silver dollars!” she reiterated in a wheedling tone.

“I don’t want to sell him!” Doodles insisted firmly, his eyes still on the roses.

“Well, now,” she resumed, “I know you’re a sensible little boy, and you listen while I tell you how it looks to me. I understand that your mother is in rather straitened circumstances, being just out of the hospital, and not very well, and all. So, you see, twenty dollars would help her wonderfully. Of course, you love her dearly, better than anything else in the whole world, don’t you?”

Doodles bowed his head miserably.

“I knew you did. And if you could give her a lift with twenty dollars—now, when she needs it most, how beautiful it would be! You know you are not able to work as your brother does; but you can do this, and then your dear mother will stop worrying and grow strong and well again. I am sure you are not a selfish boy, to want to keep all the good things to yourself.”

She paused, noting with almost a start the effect of her cruel words.

The drawn little face had grown whiter and stiller with every fling, until she feared he was going to faint. But as he sat rigidly in his chair she went on.

“You’ll let me have the bird, won’t you?” she coaxed. “And those twenty silver dollars will make your mother so happy! I can imagine how she will kiss you and call you her darling, blessed little boy!”

Suddenly Doodles fixed his big brown eyes on the woman’s own, and involuntarily she recoiled. Their misery and reproach stabbed her soul. She dropped her glove, and stooped to pick it up, fumbling with its buttons. When she looked again, Doodles had turned away, and her composure came back.

“You want those bright silver dollars, I know, so I’ll count them over for you.”

She opened her bag, and tore apart a paper roll. Out poured the coins in a shining heap.

“See!” she cried. “Aren’t they pretty? And they’re all yours!” She began counting,—“One, two, three, four, five,”—they dropped one by one into the boy’s passive hand.

“I don’t want them!” he choked, and threw them passionately back into her lap. Then, with an overpowering sob, he turned from her and hid his face in his pillows.

“Why, now, you mustn’t do that!” she exclaimed. “I thought you wanted to help your mother and keep her well, so she wouldn’t have to go back to the hospital—”

He looked up in terror.

“Will she have to go again, if—”

“Why, of course,” she broke in glibly, “if she worries and don’t get strong, her trouble may come on—”

“P’raps I’ll—let you have him to-morrow,” he said hurriedly. “Blue will know what is best.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say anything to your brother about it!” she hastily advised. “He might say you’d better keep the bird, without realizing how much good the money would do your mother; because he would wish to please you on account of your—your lameness, you know. Oh, if you really want to help your mother, as I’m sure you do, you’ll let it come as a surprise to her and Blue—that will be the very best way.”

She glanced at the clock. It was almost noon. She had no wish to meet that shrewd-eyed brother of Doodles, in fact she was frantically anxious to avoid him, and she quickly pulled on her glove.

“You’d better let me take the bird along,” she smiled, “and then you can give the money to your mother when she comes home to dinner. Won’t that be nice?” She arose, and poured the coins on the table.

“No! Oh, no!” cried Doodles wretchedly. “I can’t—now! I want to think! You wait—wait till to-morrow! Then—maybe—” he began to sob again.

The town clocks started to strike. Blue might be in at any minute!

“Well, well!” she said soothingly, “stop crying, and I’ll come again to-morrow. I must be going now. Remember not to say anything about this, if you really wish to help your mother! I know you’ll want those twenty dollars to give her to-morrow! My, how happy they’ll make her! Good-bye, darling!” She threw him a kiss from the doorway, which he did not see. His eyes were too full of tears.

At dinner he was unusually quiet, and he ate but little.

“You’d better begin on that tonic again,” his mother decided, and after the meal she fetched a bottle from the cupboard and prepared him a dose. Poor Doodles! What tonic could reach this new and startling trouble! But he swallowed it meekly, and did not know whether it were bitter or sweet.

Next morning he was pale and haggard, and confessed, on being questioned, that he had lain awake a long time in the night.

Mrs. Stickney shook her head gravely, and reproached herself again for having allowed him to go to the settlement concert. “I ought to have known better!” she said over and over.

After she had gone to the shop, and while Blue was washing the breakfast dishes, Caruso began to sing. The accompanying rattle of the knives and plates seemed to spur him on, for he put in all his usual notes and many others, and sang “Annie Laurie” twice through without stopping.

“Don’t he go it, this morning!” exclaimed Blue, as the bird stopped suddenly, and hopped down to his water cup, to refresh his throat.

There was no response from Doodles, and the elder boy turned to see his brother with head towards the window.

“That was a dandy performance, wasn’t it, kiddie?” Blue persisted.

No answer.

“What’s the matter, old man? Feel worse?”

A soft, suspicious-sounding “No” sent Blue over to the window, hands dripping.

With a little protesting gesture Doodles turned to the doubtful comfort of his pillows, and began to sob.

“Why, kiddie!” Blue drew him into his arms. “Is the pain so bad?”

The fair head shook decidedly.

“What in the world is it then?”

The sobbing increased.

“If you won’t tell me, how can I do anything for you?” Blue gave a soft laugh. “Shall I get some medicine?”

“N—no.”

Caruso started to sing again, and Doodles pressed his head close against his brother, as if striving to shut out the sounds.

“Does his singing hurt you?” Blue asked in some surprise.

“N—no—yes—o—h!”

“Here, then, shut up, you!” commanded Blue, flinging a hand in the direction of the cage.

There was instant silence.

“Oh, don’t stop him! Let him sing! Dear, dear birdie!”

“Why, I thought the noise made you feel bad!”

“No,—oh, no!”

“Well, what does ail you?” cried Blue, almost with impatience. Then he patted the small shoulder tenderly. “Can’t you tell brother?”

Doodles still shook his head, but he reached for Blue’s hand, and stroked it.

“Whew! ’most school time! I must finish those dishes in a jiffy!”

Left to himself, Doodles lay limply against the cushions, now and then giving way to a long, heavy sigh.

“Wish you’d tell me before I go,” urged Blue, halting beside the little brother’s chair, cap in hand. “I’ve only a minute—speak quick!” he prodded playfully.

“Oh, don’t go! don’t! don’t!” pleaded Doodles with sudden passion, holding to Blue’s coat with gripping fingers.

The boy tossed his cap on the table.

“’Course I’ll stay, if you want me to; but if I do, you’ve got to tell me what ails you! And you might’s well soon as late.”

“I—can’t!”

“Yes, you can! Why not?”

“She said—”

“Who said?”

“The woman—she—”

“What woman?”

“I do’ know—oh, she said I mustn’t tell you!”

“Well, you must! Where was she?”

“Here.”

“When?”

“Yesterday forenoon.”

“What’d she come for?”

“She wants—Caruso!”

“Does she! Well, she can’t have him! You do’ know who ’twas?”

“No. She was at the concert.”

“Oh! Then ’twasn’t Mis’ Sweeney!”

“Why, you saw her! That fat one with diamonds all over her fingers.”

“Aw!” Blue’s expression told the rest. “So she come sneakin’ round to try to get that bird!”

“She said ’t would help mother.”

“Help mother?” Blue was mystified.

“The money,” Doodles explained. “She’ll give twenty dollars for him!”

“Twenty dollars!” scorned Blue. “Not much! Why, Sandy Gillespie said he was worth two hundred!”

Doodles sat up straight, his eyes big with wonder.

“Two hundred! You never told that before!”

Blue laughed. “Didn’t mean to now. I thought it was safer not to.”

“Two hundred dollars!” repeated Doodles under his breath. He looked across at the mocking bird with incredulous eyes.

“Wha’ ’d you say to her?” Blue queried.

Doodles repeated as much of the talk as he could recollect.

“And she’s comin’ again this morning?”

“I s’pose so—oh, don’t leave me alone, don’t!”

“’Course I won’t, kiddie! Wha’ d’ ye think I’m made of? I’ll like the fun o’ tendin’ to her! I ain’t afraid!”

Doodles drew a sigh of relief. Then his eyes grew anxious.

“You don’t think we ought to sell him—to help mother?”

“Naw! We’re gett’n’ along all right.”

Doodles settled back against his cushions and Blue’s assertion. How comforting it was to have a brother equal to emergencies!

Ten o’clock came before the be-plumed caller appeared. According to agreement, Blue was not in sight until she was seated. Then he sauntered in from the bedroom. That the woman was greatly disconcerted by his sudden entrance was plain, and Blue inwardly chuckled.

“I supposed you were in school,” she began indiscreetly.

“No, I thought I’d stay out and see you,” grinned Blue.

“Ah? Then your brother has spoken of me?”

“Oh, yes! He and I are great chums.”

“That’s very nice—just as all brothers should be,” she purred sweetly. “And then, of course, you agree with him about selling me the mocking bird,” she added tentatively, with a fluttering smile.

“Sure!” beamed Blue.

“Oh, I’m so glad! I do like to see boys ready to help their mother, and those twenty silver dollars will do her no end of good.”

“Ye—es,” drawled the boy, “I s’pose she or anybody’d like twenty dollars well enough; but I guess they’d like two hundred better, wouldn’t they?” His eyes sparkled.

“Two—hundred?” she repeated, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” and Blue’s eyes met her own squarely, “that we shan’t sell Caruso for less than two hundred dollars.”

The woman gathered herself together. “Absurd!” she cried. “You’ll never get it, never!”

“All right!” smiled Blue. “We’re satisfied.”

“But—but haven’t you any regard for your mother?” she exclaimed, still clinging to her original tactics. “Think what that twenty dollars would buy! And she slaving herself for you! It’s an extravagance for you to keep such a bird!”

“That’s our business!” returned the boy quietly.

“Well,” she flung out with rising anger, “I hope you’re saucy enough! I might have expected it from anybody that lived in The Flatiron!” She rose hurriedly. “You’ll see the day that you’ll regret this!”

A retort was upon Blue’s lips, but the face of his brother, white and troubled, held it back, and the woman swept from the room in silence.