A hard frost was on the ground. The shops were shut, for it was Boxing Day. Those who were not on enjoyment bent were snugly quartered by their own fireside, with the firm conviction that nothing would tempt them away. Some, however, had business to attend to in spite of its being a holiday, and old Joshua was one of these. He was known as "old" Joshua because his hair had turned prematurely white--as white as the rime which had gathered on his shabby hat as he hurried along the murky, dimly lighted street which led to the great theatre. The wind that entered so unceremoniously through his thin coat was biting cold--the violin he carried was more carefully muffled up than he. "One, two, three," he counted, as a neighbouring clock began chiming; "four, five, six!" He quickened his pace. He had to be in his place in the orchestra in extra good time, as it was the first night of the new pantomime. And before that, he had some one coming to meet him at the back entrance. "I shall be there all in good time," he muttered. "By Jupiter!" he exclaimed, as he tripped and nearly fell over something that was lying straight in his path. Only when he stooped down did he discover that on the pavement lay a small child, all cold to the touch, with fair curls dishevelled, and eyes wide open that seemed to see nothing. Old Joshua's heart filled with pity and indignation. "What a shame," he muttered, "to abandon such a treasure as this! And no one about who can help me." He looked anxiously around--no one was in sight; so he hurriedly went in search of a policeman. When he had succeeded in finding one, and the two reached the spot together, a crowd had collected and was gazing wonderingly at the tiny, prostrate form. "Stand back there!" commanded the man of law. The clock chimed the quarter-hour. Old Joshua felt the cold no more--he was in a nervous heat at the delay; nevertheless, he waited till a cab was hailed. Then the policeman tenderly lifted the helpless little creature into it, and the driver wrapped his rug around it. "To the 'orspital!" directed the policeman, stepping inside, and the vehicle was driven smartly away. The crowd dispersed, and with it old Joshua, as quickly as he could hurry through the throng. At the stage door he found his little Stella awaiting him with sparkling eyes, in anticipation of her annual treat. "Daddy, you're late," she said, holding up a finger in mock gravity; then she clapped her hands with delight at his arrival.