'Nobody teached me, Mr. Jack,' he said; 'I teached my own self.'

'Teached your own self? Why, how did you manage that?' I asked.

'I turned him round and round and round, Mr. Jack, and the music came,
and I teached my own self,' he repeated.

'What is it, Jack?' I asked. 'Is it an old musical box?'

'No, it's an organ, a barrow-organ, Mr. Jack.'

'Oh, a barrel-organ you mean, little chappie; why, however in the world
did you get hold of a barrel-organ? Is it a little toy one?'

'No, it's big, ever so big,' he said, stretching out his hands to show
me its size.

'Why, whoever gave you it?' I asked.

'It isn't Jack's own organ,' said the child.

'Whose is it, then?'

'It's father's, father's own organ.'

It seemed to me a most extraordinary thing for the mission preacher of
Runswick Bay to have in his possession, but I did not like to ask any
more questions at that time.