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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE.
careful consideration, an orange was added, as a treat for the sick grandfather.
His little hands filled with his purchases, and his violin tucked safely under his arm, he started for home. Unfortunately, a crowd of boys were just coming from school, having in their midst the inevitable bully, who espied sport in the laden figure of the little musician. Shouting "Dago, dago !" and followed by his companions, he darted over to him, snatching the orange. Mario could only watch the precious fruit in despair as it vanished. The others grabbed the bundles, the flour scattering in a stream over the pavement, while the spaghetti new in every direction. Then, emboldened by his nonresistence, the bully snatched the beloved violin, holding it tauntingly above his head. Mario new at him, his little fists doubled, but with an oath, the violin was flung into the street, in the path of a big touring car.
Forgetful of all save The Beloved One, Mario darted into the street. There was a scream, a quick turn of the wheel, a sudden stop — but it was too late ! The little form lay crushed and still, one arm clasping the uninjured violin, the brown eyes staring unseeingly at the sky. As gentle hands lifted the limp figure into the tonneau, there was a scream from the sobbing, golden-haired girl, who was sitting by the chauffeur.
"Oh, daddy, daddy, it is the little
THE LITTLE FORM LAY CRUSHED AND STILL.
boy we gave the money to! Oh, we have killed him !"
The big machine, under Mr. Leonard's direction, sped to a hospital, where Mario was borne into the best room the institution afforded. Skillful surgeons set to work, but soon declared there was not the slightest chance of the lad's recovery. He might live a few hours, perhaps, and regain consciousness before he died, but that was all.
Dorothy, tenderly solicitous, remained by the bedside, while her father set out on the hard errand of notifying the grandfather. Mounting the rickety stairs of Mario's tenement home, his heart growing heavier at every step, he knocked at the door and entered the humble room, at an anxious and feeble "Come in." As gently as possible, the pitiful news was broken. The old man seemed dazed for a moment, then with an anguished cry, he sprang from the bed, given strength by his grief. Carefully Mr. Leonard helped Antonio down the steps, into the waiting cab. From the grandfather's lips came one moan, and a whisper of "My little Mario, can it be?" then the silence was broken only by the roar of the city, and the sound of the horse's galloning hoofs.
At the hospital, Dorothy's vigil was rewarded at last by seeing the great brown eyes slowly open and gaze in wonderment at the unfamiliar surroundings. Then came the painful realization of the accident, and a faint whisper :
"The Beloved One— where is it?"
"Here, my boy, it is safe," said the doctor, placing it on the bed.
Mario hugged the violin tightly as if satisfied, for a moment, then the white lips opened again. "Grandfather!" he murmured, and at that instant, Antonio, supported by pitying hands, bent over him. Again the white lips opened.
"Lift me up, that I may play," he begged.
"We will help him," said the doctor to the weeping nurse; "it can do no harm."
As the bow was placed in his hands