Dickie Dorn calls it an “All-The-Time Party,” for there is always someone out in front of Dickie Dorn’s house eating from the candy and the ice cream box and filling their pockets with golden pennies.

Some day I hope to see you there.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THE FAIRY RING

A little old man with a violin tucked under his arm shuffled down the attic steps and the many flights of stairs until finally he reached the streets.

As he shuffled down the street, he clutched his coat tightly about his throat, for the air was chill and he felt the cold.

At the first street corner he stopped and placed his violin to his shoulder to play, but catching a glance from the policeman across the street he hastily tucked his violin under his arm and shuffled on.

He walked a great distance before he again stopped.

It was a busy corner where hundreds of people passed every few minutes, but when he played no one stopped to listen to his music, much less to drop anything in the tiny tin cup he had placed on the sidewalk before him.

Tears came to the poor little old man’s eyes; everyone was too busy to stop to hear his music.

So in the evening when he slowly retraced his steps towards his attic home, his feet were very tired and he shuffled more than he had in the morning.  His back humped and his head drooped more, and the tears nearly blinded him.  He had to stop and rest at each flight of stairs and he fell to his knees just as he reached the attic door.

He sat there and rested awhile, then caught hold of the doorknob and raised himself to his feet.

A quaint little white-haired woman greeted him with a cheery smile as he entered, then, seeing his sad face, she turned her head and tears came to her eyes.

“Honey!” the little old man sobbed, as he stumbled towards her chair and fell to his knees before her, burying his face in her lap.

Neither could say a word for a long time, then the little old man told her he had been unable to make a single penny by playing.

“No one cares to hear an old man play the violin!” he said.  “No one cares that we go hungry and cold!  And I can still play,” he added fiercely, “just as well as ever I could!  Listen to this!” and the little old man stood up and drew his bow across the violin strings in a sure, fiery manner, so that the lamp chimney rattled and sang with the vibrations of the strings.

And in his fierceness he improvised a melody so wild and beautiful his sister sat entranced.

As the little old man finished the melody he stood still more upright.  Then straightening his old shoulders and pulling his hat firmly on his head, he stooped and kissed the old lady and walked with a firm tread to the door.

“I shall make them take notice tonight!” he cried.  “I shall return with success!”