The old face had grown less dull and weary.  A slow light seemed to illumine it.  As the little stream of pennies dripped into the tremulous, wrinkled old hand, it suddenly flashed into a smile.  Then a stream of strange words issued from the old man’s lips.  They tripped over each other and made weird, indistinguishable combinations of sound, but the boys translated them by the light of that smile.  How pleased the old fellow was!  How he fingered over the pennies exultantly!

“Tell the whole story, old man,” Old Tilly said quietly as they mounted their wheels and glided off.  “It looks like a reg’lar novel!”

“Yes, hurry up, can’t you!” impatiently Jot urged.  “Begin at the beginning, and go clear through to the end.”

“You’ve helped folks.  Why shouldn’t I?  There weren’t any old ladies with empty water pails, or any cows in corn lots, so I had to take up with the poor old organ-grinder.  That’s all.”

“All!” scoffed Jot, “Go on with the rest of it, Kent Eddy!”

“Isn’t any ‘rest,’” grunted Kent, “unless you count the organ-grinder; he had some-looked as if he’d rested.  Well, sir”—­Kent suddenly woke up—­“but without any fooling, you ought to have seen that old chap when I came on him.  He was all used up—­heat, you know.  There was a creek, back a ways, and the water kind of pulled him up.  He couldn’t talk English, but he offered me a black two-cent piece for pay.  He turned his pocket out to find it.  That set me to thinking I’d make him a little richer.”

“Of course!  Go on!” hurried Jot.

“Isn’t any ‘on.’”

“There’s honor,” Old Tilly cried softly.  “I say that was splendid, Kentie!  I like that!”

Kent flushed uneasily.  Old Tilly’s face looked like father’s when he said his rare, hearty words of commendation.

“Well, the organ-grinder likes it, too!” Kent laughed.  “Now he can have something to eat.  Poor old fellow!  He couldn’t have gone through all those dooryards to save his life!  He was ’most sunstruck.  I told a motherly old lady about him, at one of the houses, and she’s going to be on the lookout for him, and give him a snack of meat and bread.”

They went on for half a mile quite silently.  Then, without warning.  Jot suddenly began to laugh.  He tumbled off his bicycle and collapsed in a feeble heap.

“Don’t anybody st-op me !” he cried.  “It’s dangerous!  I’m having one o’ my ’attacks’!”

The others joined in, and, for a little, the woods rang with boyish mirth.

“It was rich!” stammered Jot.  “Passing the hat round capped it!”

“It was great!” laughed Old Tilly.  “You’re an actor, Kentie!”

“Me!  What are you?”

“Well, I can’t grind a hand-organ and pass round the hat like that!”

“I could!” Jot cried, suddenly sobering down and going through the motions of turning a crank with airy ease.  “It’s ’most too easy for me!”