They chose a song he knew; and after one or two false starts they
got going, and violin, flute, and piano led a chorus of boyish voices
that made the old roof ring again. It was too much for Nat, more
feeble than he knew; and as the final shout died away, his face
began to work, he dropped the fiddle, and turning to the wall
sobbed like a little child.

"My dear, what is it?" asked Mrs. Bhaer, who had been singing
with all her might, and trying to keep little Rob from beating time
with his boots.

"You are all so kind and it's so beautiful I can't help it," sobbed
Nat, coughing till he was breathless.

"Come with me, dear; you must go to bed and rest; you are worn
out, and this is too noisy a place for you," whispered Mrs. Bhaer;
and took him away to her own parlor, where she let him cry
himself quiet.

Then she won him to tell her all his troubles, and listened to the
little story with tears in her own eyes, though it was not a new one
to her.

"My child, you have got a father and a mother now, and this is
home. Don't think of those sad times any more, but get well and
happy; and be sure you shall never suffer again, if we can help it.
This place is made for all sorts of boys to have a good time in, and
to learn how to help themselves and be useful men, I hope. You
shall have as much music as you want, only you must get strong