young vagabonds like he always ucharged twice as much as they expected to get. So Benny was trudging home in a not very happy frame of mind. He had been tolerably fortunate, however, daring the early part of the day, and that compensated him to some extent for his bad afternoon's work.
As he was passing along a street in the neighbourhood of Falkner Square he was arrested by the sound of music and singing. Now, as we have hinted before, Benny was very sensitive to the influence of music, and, in fact, anything beautiful had a peculiar charm for him. The window of the house before which he stopped stood slightly open, so that he was not only able to hear the music, but also to distinguish the words that were being sung.
It was a pure childish voice that was singing to a simple accompaniment on the piano,—
"There is beauty all around,
When there's love at home;
There is joy in every sound,
When there's love at home.
Peace and plenty here abide,
Smiling sweet on every side;
Time doth softly, sweetly glide,
When there's love at home."
Benny waited, as if rooted to the ground, until the song ended; waited a minute longer in the hope that the singer would begin again. And in that minute the little singer came to the window and looked out and saw our hero; and Benny, looking up at the same moment, saw the face of his
