"There's a little lad, G.o.d bless him!

And he's all the world to me; Guide him, Lord, through life's long journey, Guard him, keep him safe to Thee.

REFRAIN:

"You're my only little laddie, Golden hair, and eyes of blue; G.o.d, who made the birds and flowers, Chose the best when He made you.

"Streams may ripple, birds may carol, Twinkling-stars may dance and shine, But life's sweetest joy and rapture Is to know that you are mine.

REFRAIN:

"You're my only little laddie, etc.

"Parted, though, by time and distance, Hearts can never sundered be.

Love Divine, oh, still unite us, Strong to each, and strong in Thee.

REFRAIN:

"You're my only little laddie, Golden hair, and eyes of blue; G.o.d, who made the birds and flowers, Chose the best when He made you."

Rod paid little heed to the storm of applause which greeted this song, and when it was repeated he did not follow the words as closely as before. He was thinking about that boy, and wondering where he was.

He was sure that the woman was almost crying when she got through.

What made her feel so badly? Was her boy away from her somewhere, and if she wanted him so much, why didn't she go to see him?

At last the curtain dropped, and the concert was over. As the people began to go out, Rod overheard what those nearest to him were saying.

They were loud in their praise of the singer.

"It was that last piece which caught me," he heard one man say. "It wasn't the words so much as the way she sang it."

"I was crying when she got through," his companion, a woman, replied.

"I just couldn't help it. She's had trouble in her life, mark my word."

Rod and Phil now were uncertain what to do. They remained where they were until the people in front of them had all pa.s.sed out. They felt very helpless and forlorn there in that big place. The curtain was down, and the singer had disappeared. But they must find her, and she was somewhere on the stage in the background. They knew nothing about the regular way of entrance, and, so, after a moment's consultation, they hurried forward down the long central aisle. Coming to the stage, they clambered upon this, made their way along the edge, and slipped quickly about the left-hand corner of the curtain. Behind this no one was to be seen, but observing a door to the right, they made straight toward it. They had scarcely reached it, when they were met by a pompous little man, who demanded what they were doing there.

"We want to see Miss Royanna," Rod replied, shrinking back somewhat from the man's fierce look.

"See Miss Royanna!" the man shouted in surprise. "If that isn't the limit! Well, she can't be seen, that's all there is about it."

"But we have come all the way to see her," Rod insisted.

"All the way from where?"

"From Hillcrest."

"Ho, ho! that's a good one. D'ye think she'd gee such bushies as you?

Get out of this, or I'll chuck you."

"But we must see her," and Rod stepped boldly forward. "It's very important."

"Get out of this, I say," and the man caught him roughly by the shoulders, wheeled him around, and was about to send him headlong out upon the stage, when a stern voice arrested him.

"What's all this about, Ben?"

"I'm kicking these two bushies out, sir, for their impudence in coming here," the little man replied, letting go of his grip upon the boy.

As Rod turned, his heart gave a great leap, for there before him stood the very man with "the splendid eyes and grey hair," who had so won Miss Arabella's heart.

For a few seconds John Markham eyed the two boys. Rod's face looked familiar, but he could not recall where he had seen it before. He was always meeting so many people that it was hard for him to remember them all. Perhaps this was one of the newsboys, and that was the reason why he recognised his face.

"What do you want, my lad?" he kindly enquired.

"We want to see Miss Royanna," was the reply.

A smile pa.s.sed over the manager's face at the idea of the famous singer entertaining such company.

"I am afraid that Miss Royanna is too tired to see you to-night," he replied. "She gave strict instructions that no one was to be admitted."

"But we have come all the way from Hillcrest to see her," and Rod lilted his blue eyes appealingly to the man's face. "It's very important, sir."

"From Hillcrest, did you say," and light now began to dawn upon Mr.

Markham's mind. "And how is Miss Arabella?" he asked, while an amused twinkle shone in his eyes.

"Oh, she's well, I guess. But may we see Miss Royanna? It's so important, and we won't tire her very much."

John Markham remained silent for a while. He did not wish to turn these little lads away now, but he wondered whether the singer would mind if he should take them in. He had a great respect for Miss Royanna, for it was seldom that he was able to obtain such a notable person, and from the time that she had accepted his invitation to come he had been greatly puzzled. Why should she have been so willing to come to St. John, when cities four to five times the size were clamouring for her? But she had written, accepting at once, and had seemed really glad to come.

"Wait here," he at last ordered, as he turned on his heel, "and I shall see what I can do with Miss Royanna."

CHAPTER XVIII

THE WAY OF THE HEART

Anna Royanna was very tired, and she was sitting in an old easy chair waiting for the manager to come to take her to the hotel. She leaned back in a listless manner, with her inclined head leaning upon her right hand. It was a small hand, and very white. Her dark hair partly shrouded her face of singular beauty and sweetness. But lines of care were plainly visible, and as she waited there this night those lines deepened. She was much depressed, notwithstanding the reception she had received from the crowded house. She had been told that she was expected to sing at the matinee on the morrow, and this was not at all to her liking. She had been planning something of a far different nature. She had engagements for weeks ahead, and she had only come to St. John when asked to do so that she might carry out an idea which had long been in her mind. But now this must be abandoned for the present if she consented to sing at the matinee, as she must leave the city early the next morning.

While she was thinking over these things, the door softly opened, and John Markham entered.

"Are you ready to go?" she enquired.

"You are very tired," was the reply, "and it is no wonder. But you made a great hit to-night, and I have been almost swamped with requests from visitors who wish to see you. Some were determined to enter, especially women, and I had to be very firm, in fact almost rude."

"You were quite right, Mr. Markham," and the woman lifted her eyes to his face. "I have no desire to see such people. I know them only too well. They are quite willing to fawn upon me now when I have met with some success. But one time when I was poor and struggling they treated me like a dog. I suppose Mrs. Featson, Mrs. Juatty, Mrs. Merden, and other women of their set were there."

"Oh, yes, and they were most insistent. But how do you know of them?"

and the manager looked astonished. "I thought that you were an entire stranger here."