"Yes, yes," said the old man; "it's only the cold, boy; it's very chilly o' nights now, and I'm a poor lone old man. Good night." And so the old man fell asleep, and Christie lay down by his side and slept also. That was the beginning of a friendship between old Treffy and Christie. They were both alone in the world, both friendless and desolate, and it drew them to each other. Christie was a great comfort to Treffy. He went errands for him, he cleaned the old attic, and he carried the barrel-organ downstairs each morning when Treffy went on his rounds. And, in return, Treffy gave Christie a corner of the attic to sleep in and let him sit over his tiny fire whilst he played his dear old organ. And whenever he came to "Home, sweet Home," Christie thought of his mother, and of what she had said to him before she died. "Where is 'Home, sweet Home,' Master Treffy?" he asked one night. Treffy looked round the wretched little attic, with its damp, weather-stained roof, and its rickety rotten floor, and felt that he could not call _it_ "Home, sweet Home." "It's not here, Christie," he said. "No," said Christie, thoughtfully; "I expect it's a long way from here, Master Treffy." "Yes," said the old man; "there must be something better somewhere." "My mother used to talk about heaven," said Christie, doubtfully. "I wonder if that was the home she meant?" But old Treffy knew very little of heaven; no one had ever told him of the home above. Yet he thought of Christie's words many times that day, as he dragged himself about wearily, with his old organ. He was failing very fast, poor old man; his legs were becoming feeble, and he was almost fainting when he reached the attic. The cold wind had chilled him through and through. Christie was at home before him, and had lit the fire, and boiled the kettle, and put all ready for old Treffy's comfort. He wondered what was the matter with Treffy that night; he was so quiet and silent, and he never even asked for his old organ after tea, but went to bed as soon as possible. And the next day he was too weak and feeble to go out; and Christie watched beside him, and got him all he wanted, as tenderly as a woman could have done. And the next day it was the same, and the day after that, till the attic cupboard grew empty, and all poor old Treffy's pence were gone. "What are we to do, now, Christie?" he said, pitifully; "I can't go out to-day, my lad, can I?" "No," said Christie, "you mustn't think of it, Master Treffy. Let me see, what can we do? Shall _I_ take the organ out?"