“It was a dream,” she mused; “but it was a beautiful one!  Perhaps the spirits gave it to me for my Christmas gift.  Perhaps the Gesu bade them give it me for my Christmas gift;” and just as a glorious burst of sunshine struck through the illuminated windows, she took up her little fiddle, raised her bow and her voice at the same time, and sang out in worshipful gratitude,—­

  “Mira, cuor mio durissimo,
    Il bel Bambin Gesu,
  Che in quel presepe asprissimo,
    Or lo fai nascer tu!”

She did not hear a distant door open, nor did she see through it the man who had unconsciously lured her into the church the evening before by the power of his playing.  No; she was conscious of nothing but her singing and the sweet, long notes she was drawing with her bow from the strings of her beloved violin.

But she did hear, after she had finished, a low exclamation, and then she did see that same man hastening toward her with outstretched hands.

“Child, child,” he cried, “how came you here!  And such a voice! such a voice!  Why, it is a gift from Heaven!”

And amid all the excitement that followed,—­the excitement of telling who she was and hearing that she was to be taken care of and given a home and trained to sing,—­that, in fact, she was never to be tired nor cold nor sad-hearted any more,—­she had time to think,—­

“Ah! now I know.  It was not a dream; it was the truth.  I have all my gifts in my heart for safe keeping.  And my voice—­hear! the player-man says it is a gift from Heaven.  And oh, I will always use it with love and good-will, as the spirits bade me.  They said it every one did so it would be a festa all the year.”