Millie Davis was the joint protege of Leslie and Winnie, a rustic with a pretty face, and scant knowledge of the world and its ways. Up and down the study flitted Millie, dusting, arranging, and pausing very often to admire some costly fabric, or bit of vivid color. Almost the last article to come under her brush was Alan's cabinet-arsenal, and her feminine curiosity prompted her to peep in at the door, which Alan had left ajar; and then Millie gasped and stood aghast. "Guns and pistols, and all manner of cuttin' and shootin' things," she soliloquized, as she drew back and prepared to close the door of the cabinet. "Well, it takes a good while to find _some folks_ out!" And then, as a tuneful sound smote her ears, she turned swiftly from the open cabinet to the window. A hand organ grinding out the "Sweet By-and-by", is a thing most of us fail to appreciate. But Millie both appreciated and understood. It was music, familiar music, and sweet; at least so thought Millie, and she hurried to the window nearest the cabinet, and looked out. "My," she said, half aloud, "but that sounds cheerful!" She leaned over the window-ledge and looked up and down the quiet side street. Ah, there he was; quite near the window, resting his organ against the iron railings, and playing, with his eyes turned toward her. Such beseeching eyes; such a good-looking, picturesque, sad-faced organ-grinder! Catching sight of Millie, he lifted his organ quickly, and without a break in the "Sweet By-and-by", came directly under the window, gazing up at her with a look that was a wondrous mixture of admiration and pathos. Poor fellow; how sorrowful, how distressed, and how respectful, was his look and attitude! "What a mournful-looking chap it is!" murmured Millie, drawing back a little when the tune came to an end. As the organ struck up a more cheerful strain, a new thought seized her, and she leaned out again over the sill. "Look here, my man," she began, in a tone of gentle remonstrance, "you shouldn't play, come to think of it, quite so near the house. It won't do; stop, stop." And, as the man stared, hesitated, and then ground away more vigorously than before, she indulged in a series of frantic gestures, seeing which the organ-grinder paused and stared wonderingly. Then, with a sudden gleam of comprehension, he smiled up at her, touched a stop in his organ, and complacently began a different tune. "_No! no! no!_" cried Millie; "not _that_; stop!" And she shook her head so violently that the little blue bow atop of her brown locks, flew off and fell at the feet of the minstrel, who, in obedience to the movement of her head and hand, stopped his instrument once more, stooped down, and picking up the blue bow, began to clamber up the iron railings, with his organ still strapped to his side, evidently intent upon restoring the bow in the most gallant manner.