The Little Princess of Tower Hill

by L. T. Meade

  CHAPTER I.

  PLAYING FOR LOVE.

  He was always called old Antonio, and though he doubtless possessed asurname of some sort, no one seemed to know anything about it. He had whitehair, and a bronzed face, and kindly soft brown eyes, and he got his livingby pacing up and down the streets and turning a hurdy-gurdy.

  This instrument was a rather good one of its class--it could play sixdifferent airs, and all the airs were Italian, and even played by thehurdy-gurdy had a little of the sweet cadence and soft pathetic melody ofthat land of music.

  Antonio lived in an attic all by himself, and the grown people wondered athim and asked each other what his history could be, but the children lovedhim and his music, and were to be seen about him wherever he went.

  He looked like a man with a story, but no one had ever troubled themselvesto find it out or to ask him any questions. He did, however, receive straypennies enough to keep him alive, and the street children loved him, andwhenever they had a chance danced merrily to his music.

  One cold and snowy afternoon, about a week before Christmas Day, oldAntonio sat up in his attic and looked gloomily out at the snow-ladenclouds.

  Nothing but the fact that there was no oil for his stove, and no pennies inhis pockets, would have induced the old Italian to brave such inclementweather. But no fire and no food will make a man do harder things thanAntonio was now thinking about. He must get something to eat and some fireto warm himself by. He shouldered his hurdy-gurdy and went out.

  "Poor Marcia," he said to himself as he trudged along. "Well, well, we ofthe south are mistaken in the generous land of England. The milk andhoney-bah, they are nowhere. The inhabitants--they freeze like their frozenskies. Poor Marcia, no doubt she has long ceased to look for the footfallof her Antonio."

  The old man, feeling very melancholy and depressed, walked down severalstreets without once pausing or attempting to commence his music. At lasthe stopped at the entrance of a very dull square. He had never yet receiveda penny in this square, and had often said to himself that its inhabitantshad not a note of music among them. He took the square now as a short cut,meaning to strike out toward Holborn and the neighborhood of the shops.

  Half-way through the square he stopped. A house which used to be all overplacards and notices to let presented a different appearance. It was nolonger dead and lifeless. From its windows lights gleamed, and lie couldsee people flitting to and fro.

  He stopped for a moment to look at the house and comment on its changedappearance, then with a slight little start, and a look of pleasedexpectation, he put down his hurdy-gurdy and began softly to turn thehandle and to bring out one by one his beloved Italian melodies.

  The first, a well-known air from "Il Trovatore," was scarcely finishedbefore a little dark head was popped up from behind a window-blind, and twosoft eyes gazed eagerly across the street at the old organ-grinder.

  "Bless her! what a depth of color, what eyes, what hair! she comes from thesouth, the pretty one."

  Antonio nodded his head to her as he made these remarks, and the child,with her face pressed against the pane, gazed steadily back at him, now andthen smiling in an appreciative manner.

  The six airs were all played out and repeated a second time, and thenAntonio, looking up at the sky, from which the snow was still steadilyfalling, began to think of moving on. In his pleasure at playing for thechild he had forgotten all about the money part of his profession. He wasindeed indulging in a happy dream, in which Marcia, and a certain littleMarcia, who had long ago gone back to God, were again by his side.

  He threw a cloth over his hurdy-gurdy and prepared to mount it on hisshoulder.

  The moment he did so the child disappeared from the window. There was aquick, eager patter of little feet in the hall, the front door was opened,and the next moment the little dark child was standing by his side.

  "Here's sixpence of my very own, and you shall have it, poor man, and thankyou for your lovely, lovely music."

  "You liked it, dearie?" said Antonio, not touching the sixpence, butlooking down at the pretty child with reverence.

  "Oh! didn't I just? I used to hear those airs in Italy, and they remind meof my dear mamma."

  "Little missy has got eyes dark and long like almonds; perhaps she comesfrom our sunny south?" said Antonio eagerly.

  "No, I am a little English girl; but my mamma was ill, and they took her toItaly, and Marcia nursed her. God has taken my mamma away, and now I am inEngland, and I don't like it; but I shall only stay here until my fathercomes home."

  "Missy, you make my heart beat when you talk of Italy and of Marcia--butyour Marcia, was she young?--the name is a common one, and mine, if thegood Lord has not removed her, must be very old now."

  "My Marcia was young and good," said the little girl. "I loved her, and Icry for her still. I am so sorry your Marcia is old, poor man. Thank youfor the music. I must run in now, or Janet will scold. Good-by. Here's yoursixpence."

  "No, no, missy. I'll get some pence in the other streets. Let me feel thatI played the old airs for you only for love."