The first time he failed; a second time he was lucky and threw the man to the ground. The lad gasped like a bellows. His mother screamed at him to come away, but Edevart stood there. He seemed beside himself; he grimaced, baring his teeth.

“You come home this minute!” cried his mother, in despair. She was thin and sickly, a poor mite, who all her days had been quiet and religious. She had no authority.

The stranger picked himself up from the ground. He scowled at the boy but did not attempt to do anything to him. On the contrary, he looked embarrassed and brushed the snow off himself with exaggerated care. Then he spoke again to his companion, shook both fists threateningly at him, then slunk away and disappeared.

The musician remained behind. He sniveled a little, and wept. A red streak ran across one of his cheeks—a color strangely bluish to be blood, but that was doubtless because he was from a foreign land and was so dark-skinned.

“He should have had a stick across his back!” muttered the young woman, turning to look at the assailant. Then she went in to fetch a coin.

When the other women saw this, they, too, felt they wanted to do the same; and one after the other they went in to get money. God knows, the musician probably had more by way of worldly goods than those who gave. They were all so very poor, but their hearts were overflowing and they contributed their offering. They came with their small coins—though some were larger copper pieces, which in those days meant real money—and with these they comforted the weeping man.

But now it was the musician’s turn to be forthcoming. Suddenly he pressed down a catch on the barrel organ and a theater, a paradise, was revealed. Ah! breathed the audience. Never before had the likes of this been seen in the village: small figures, colored and gilded, stood on a platform. As the musician turned the handle, they moved. They turned and took a step forward, turned about, halted a moment, and turned around again.

“Napoleon!’’ said the musician and pointed to the central figure.

All of them had heard the name Napoleon; and they gazed at him, rapt.

He had two generals with him; they were also painted wearing their decorations, and the musician named them by name; but it was Napoleon they all looked at. He wore a gray cape and held a little short telescope in his hand; now and again he raised the telescope to his eye and let it fall again. In front of all these great men stood a strange figure of a lad, ragged and bareheaded, laughing. He held out a little empty bowl for money; when a coin was put in the bowl, the lad would give a jerk and empty the coin into a box. What a marvel! The lad was alive. He seemed to laugh more than ever when he held his bowl out again.

And the musician played on. Marches, waltzes, and other melodies went floating off over the people, over the houses. A black dog sat in the snow some distance away and howled at the sky. It was an unforgettable day.

When no more money was forthcoming and the lad had stopped his jerking, one little girl had the idea of putting a bright button into the bowl. It might well have been her one and only bright button, but it wasn’t money. And now came the greatest marvel of all.