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diff --git a/old/jusdv10.txt b/old/jusdv10.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c9e71d3..0000000 --- a/old/jusdv10.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8216 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg Etext of Just David, by Eleanor H. Porter -#3 in our series by Eleanor H. Porter - - -Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check -the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! - -Please take a look at the important information in this header. -We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an -electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. - - -**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** - -**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** - -*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* - -Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and -further information is included below. We need your donations. - - -Just David - -by Eleanor H. 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If you - don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are - payable to "Project Gutenberg Association / Illinois - Benedictine College" within the 60 days following each - date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) - your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. - -WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? -The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, -scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty -free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution -you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg -Association / Illinois Benedictine College". - -*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* - - - - - - -JUST DAVID - -BY -ELEANOR H.{HODGMAN} PORTER - -AUTHOR POLLYANNA, MISS BILLY MARRIED, ETC. - - - -TO -MY FRIEND -Mrs. James Harness - - - - -CONTENTS - - -I. THE MOUNTAIN HOME -II. THE TRAIL -III. THE VALLEY -IV. TWO LETTERS -V. DISCORDS -VI. NUISANCES, NECESSARY AND OTHERWISE -VII. "YOU'RE WANTED--YOU'RE WANTED!" -VIII. THE PUZZLING "DOS" AND "DON'TS" -IX. JOE -X. THE LADY OF THE ROSES -XI. JACK AND JILL -XII. ANSWERS THAT DID NOT ANSWER -XIII. A SURPRISE FOR MR. JACK -XIV. THE TOWER WINDOW -XV. SECRETS -XVI. DAVID'S CASTLE IN SPAIN -XVII. "THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER" -XVIII. DAVID TO THE RESCUE -XIX. THE UNBEAUTIFUL WORLD -XX. THE UNFAMILIAR WAY -XXI. HEAVY HEARTS -XXII. AS PERRY SAW IT -XXIII. PUZZLES -XXIV. A STORY REMODELED -XXV. THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE MOUNTAIN HOME - -Far up on the mountain-side stood alone in the clearing. It was -roughly yet warmly built. Behind it jagged cliffs broke the north -wind, and towered gray-white in the sunshine. Before it a tiny -expanse of green sloped gently away to a point where the mountain -dropped in another sharp descent, wooded with scrubby firs and -pines. At the left a footpath led into the cool depths of the -forest. But at the right the mountain fell away again and -disclosed to view the picture David loved the best of all: the -far-reaching valley; the silver pool of the lake with its ribbon -of a river flung far out; and above it the grays and greens and -purples of the mountains that climbed one upon another's -shoulders until the topmost thrust their heads into the wide dome -of the sky itself. - -There was no road, apparently, leading away from the cabin. There -was only the footpath that disappeared into the forest. Neither, -anywhere, was there a house in sight nearer than the white specks -far down in the valley by the river. - -Within the shack a wide fireplace dominated one side of the main -room. It was June now, and the ashes lay cold on the hearth; but -from the tiny lean-to in the rear came the smell and the sputter -of bacon sizzling over a blaze. The furnishings of the room were -simple, yet, in a way, out of the common. There were two bunks, a -few rude but comfortable chairs, a table, two music-racks, two -violins with their cases, and everywhere books, and scattered -sheets of music. Nowhere was there cushion, curtain, or -knickknack that told of a woman's taste or touch. On the other -hand, neither was there anywhere gun, pelt, or antlered head that -spoke of a man's strength and skill. For decoration there were a -beautiful copy of the Sistine Madonna, several photographs signed -with names well known out in the great world beyond the -mountains, and a festoon of pine cones such as a child might -gather and hang. - -From the little lean-to kitchen the sound of the sputtering -suddenly ceased, and at the door appeared a pair of dark, wistful -eyes. - -"Daddy!" called the owner of the eyes. - -There was no answer. - -"Father, are you there?" called the voice, more insistently. - -From one of the bunks came a slight stir and a murmured word. At -the sound the boy at the door leaped softly into the room and -hurried to the bunk in the corner. He was a slender lad with -short, crisp curls at his ears, and the red of perfect health in -his cheeks. His hands, slim, long, and with tapering fingers like -a girl's, reached forward eagerly. - -"Daddy, come! I've done the bacon all myself, and the potatoes -and the coffee, too. Quick, it's all getting cold!" - -Slowly, with the aid of the boy's firm hands, the man pulled -himself half to a sitting posture. His cheeks, like the boy's, -were red--but not with health. His eyes were a little wild, but -his voice was low and very tender, like a caress. - -"David--it's my little son David!" - -"Of course it's David! Who else should it be?" laughed the boy. -"Come!" And he tugged at the man's hands. - -The man rose then, unsteadily, and by sheer will forced himself -to stand upright. The wild look left his eyes, and the flush his -cheeks. His face looked suddenly old and haggard. Yet with fairly -sure steps he crossed the room and entered the little kitchen. - -Half of the bacon was black; the other half was transparent and -like tough jelly. The potatoes were soggy, and had the -unmistakable taste that comes from a dish that has boiled dry. -The coffee was lukewarm and muddy. Even the milk was sour. - -David laughed a little ruefully. - -"Things aren't so nice as yours, father," he apologized. "I'm -afraid I'm nothing but a discord in that orchestra to-day! -Somehow, some of the stove was hotter than the rest, and burnt up -the bacon in spots; and all the water got out of the potatoes, -too,--though THAT didn't matter, for I just put more cold in. I -forgot and left the milk in the sun, and it tastes bad now; but -I'm sure next time it'll be better--all of it." - -The man smiled, but he shook his head sadly. - -"But there ought not to be any 'next time,' David." - -"Why not? What do you mean? Aren't you ever going to let me try -again, father?" There was real distress in the boy's voice. - -The man hesitated. His lips parted with an indrawn breath, as if -behind them lay a rush of words. But they closed abruptly, the -words still unsaid. Then, very lightly, came these others:-- - -"Well, son, this isn't a very nice way to treat your supper, is -it? Now, if you please, I'll take some of that bacon. I think I -feel my appetite coming back." - -If the truant appetite "came back," however, it could not have -stayed; for the man ate but little. He frowned, too, as he saw -how little the boy ate. He sat silent while his son cleared the -food and dishes away, and he was still silent when, with the boy, -he passed out of the house and walked to the little bench facing -the west. - -Unless it stormed very hard, David never went to bed without this -last look at his "Silver Lake," as he called the little sheet of -water far down in the valley. - -"Daddy, it's gold to-night--all gold with the sun!" he cried -rapturously, as his eyes fell upon his treasure. "Oh, daddy!" - -It was a long-drawn cry of ecstasy, and hearing it, the man -winced, as with sudden pain. - -'Daddy, I'm going to play it--I've got to play it!" cried the -boy, bounding toward the cabin. In a moment he had returned, -violin at his chin. - -The man watched and listened; and as he watched and listened, his -face became a battle-ground whereon pride and fear, hope and -despair, joy and sorrow, fought for the mastery. - -It was no new thing for David to "play" the sunset. Always, when -he was moved, David turned to his violin. Always in its quivering -strings he found the means to say that which his tongue could not -express. - -Across the valley the grays and blues of the mountains had become -all purples now. Above, the sky in one vast flame of crimson and -gold, was a molten sea on which floated rose-pink cloud-boats. -Below, the valley with its lake and river picked out in rose and -gold against the shadowy greens of field and forest, seemed like -some enchanted fairyland of loveliness. - -And all this was in David's violin, and all this, too, was on -David's uplifted, rapturous face. - -As the last rose-glow turned to gray and the last strain quivered -into silence, the man spoke. His voice was almost harsh with -self-control. - -"David, the time has come. We'll have to give it up--you and I." - -The boy turned wonderingly, his face still softly luminous. - -"Give what up?" - -"This--all this." - -"This! Why, father, what do you mean? This is home!" - -The man nodded wearily. - -"I know. It has been home; but, David, you didn't think we could -always live here, like this, did you?" - -David laughed softly, and turned his eyes once more to the -distant sky-line. - -Why not?" he asked dreamily. "What better place could there be? I -like it, daddy." - -The man drew a troubled breath, and stirred restlessly. The -teasing pain in his side was very bad to-night, and no change of -position eased it. He was ill, very ill; and he knew it. Yet he -also knew that, to David, sickness, pain, and death meant -nothing--or, at most, words that had always been lightly, almost -unconsciously passed over. For the first time he wondered if, -after all, his training--some of it--had been wise. - -For six years he had had the boy under his exclusive care and -guidance. For six years the boy had eaten the food, worn the -clothing, and studied the books of his father's choosing. For six -years that father had thought, planned, breathed, moved, lived -for his son. There had been no others in the little cabin. There -had been only the occasional trips through the woods to the -little town on the mountain-side for food and clothing, to break -the days of close companionship. - -All this the man had planned carefully. He had meant that only -the good and beautiful should have place in David's youth. It was -not that he intended that evil, unhappiness, and death should -lack definition, only definiteness, in the boy's mind. It should -be a case where the good and the beautiful should so fill the -thoughts that there would be no room for anything else. This had -been his plan. And thus far he had succeeded--succeeded so -wonderfully that he began now, in the face of his own illness, -and of what he feared would come of it, to doubt the wisdom of -that planning. - -As he looked at the boy's rapt face, he remembered David's -surprised questioning at the first dead squirrel he had found in -the woods. David was six then. - -"Why, daddy, he's asleep, and he won't wake up!" he had cried. -Then, after a gentle touch: "And he's cold--oh, so cold!" - -The father had hurried his son away at the time, and had evaded -his questions; and David had seemed content. But the next day the -boy had gone back to the subject. His eyes were wide then, and a -little frightened. - -"Father, what is it to be--dead?" - -"What do you mean, David?" - -"The boy who brings the milk--he had the squirrel this morning. -He said it was not asleep. It was--dead." - -"It means that the squirrel, the real squirrel under the fur, has -gone away, David." - -"Where?" - -"To a far country, perhaps." - -"Will he come back?" - -"No." - -"Did he want to go?" - -"We'll hope so." - -"But he left his--his fur coat behind him. Didn't he -need--that?" - -"No, or he'd have taken it with him." - -David had fallen silent at this. He had remained strangely silent -indeed for some days; then, out in the woods with his father one -morning, he gave a joyous shout. He was standing by the -ice-covered brook, and looking at a little black hole through -which the hurrying water could be plainly seen. - -"Daddy, oh, daddy, I know now how it is, about being--dead." - -"Why--David!" - -"It's like the water in the brook, you know; THAT'S going to a -far country, and it isn't coming back. And it leaves its little -cold ice-coat behind it just as the squirrel did, too. It does -n't need it. It can go without it. Don't you see? And it's -singing--listen!--it's singing as it goes. It WANTS to go!" - -"Yes, David." And David's father had sighed with relief that his -son had found his own explanation of the mystery, and one that -satisfied. - -Later, in his books, David found death again. It was a man, this -time. The boy had looked up with startled eyes. - -"Do people, real people, like you and me, be dead, father? Do -they go to a far country? - -"Yes, son in time--to a far country ruled over by a great and -good King they tell us. - -David's father had trembled as he said it, and had waited -fearfully for the result. But David had only smiled happily as he -answered: - -"But they go singing, father, like the little brook. You know I -heard it!" - -And there the matter had ended. David was ten now, and not yet -for him did death spell terror. Because of this David's father -was relieved; and yet--still because of this--he was afraid. - -"David," he said gently. "Listen to me." - -The boy turned with a long sigh. - -"Yes, father." - -"We must go away. Out in the great world there are men and women -and children waiting for you. You've a beautiful work to do; and -one can't do one's work on a mountain-top." - -"Why not? I like it here, and I've always been here." - -"Not always, David; six years. You were four when I brought you -here. You don't remember, perhaps." - -David shook his head. His eyes were again dreamily fixed on the -sky. - -"I think I'd like it--to go--if I could sail away on that little -cloud-boat up there," he murmured. - -The man sighed and shook his head. - -"We can't go on cloud-boats. We must walk, David, for a way--and -we must go soon--soon," he added feverishly. "I must get you -back--back among friends, before--" - -He rose unsteadily, and tried to walk erect. His limbs shook, and -the blood throbbed at his temples. He was appalled at his -weakness. With a fierceness born of his terror he turned sharply -to the boy at his side. - -"David, we've got to go! We've got to go--TO-MORROW!" - -"Father!" - -"Yes, yes, come!" He stumbled blindly, yet in some way he reached -the cabin door. - -Behind him David still sat, inert, staring. The next minute the -boy had sprung to his feet and was hurrying after his father. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE TRAIL - - -A curious strength seemed to have come to the man. With almost -steady hands he took down the photographs and the Sistine -Madonna, packing them neatly away in a box to be left. From -beneath his bunk he dragged a large, dusty traveling-bag, and in -this he stowed a little food, a few garments, and a great deal of -the music scattered about the room. - -David, in the doorway, stared in dazed wonder. Gradually into his -eyes crept a look never seen there before. - -"Father, where are we going?" he asked at last in a shaking -voice, as he came slowly into the room. - -"Back, son; we're going back." - -"To the village, where we get our eggs and bacon?" - -"No, no, lad, not there. The other way. We go down into the -valley this time." - -"The valley--MY valley, with the Silver Lake?" - -"Yes, my son; and beyond--far beyond." The man spoke dreamily. He -was looking at a photograph in his hand. It had slipped in among -the loose sheets of music, and had not been put away with the -others. It was the likeness of a beautiful woman. - -For a moment David eyed him uncertainly; then he spoke. - -"Daddy, who is that? Who are all these people in the pictures? -You've never told me about any of them except the little round -one that you wear in your pocket. Who are they?" - -Instead of answering, the man turned faraway eyes on the boy and -smiled wistfully. - -"Ah, David, lad, how they'll love you! How they will love you! -But you mustn't let them spoil you, son. You must -remember--remember all I've told you." - -Once again David asked his question, but this time the man only -turned back to the photograph, muttering something the boy could -not understand. - -After that David did not question any more. He was too amazed, -too distressed. He had never before seen his father like this. -With nervous haste the man was setting the little room to rights, -crowding things into the bag, and packing other things away in an -old trunk. His cheeks were very red, and his eyes very bright. He -talked, too, almost constantly, though David could understand -scarcely a word of what was said. Later, the man caught up his -violin and played; and never before had David heard his father -play like that. The boy's eyes filled, and his heart ached with a -pain that choked and numbed--though why, David could not have -told. Still later, the man dropped his violin and sank exhausted -into a chair; and then David, worn and frightened with it all, -crept to his bunk and fell asleep. - -In the gray dawn of the morning David awoke to a different world. -His father, white-faced and gentle, was calling him to get ready -for breakfast. The little room, dismantled of its decorations, -was bare and cold. The bag, closed and strapped, rested on the -floor by the door, together with the two violins in their cases, -ready to carry. - -"We must hurry, son. It's a long tramp before we take the cars." - -"The cars--the real cars? Do we go in those?" David was fully -awake now. - -"Yes." - -"And is that all we're to carry?" - -"Yes. Hurry, son." - -"But we come back--sometime?" - -There was no answer. - -"Father, we're coming back--sometime?" David's voice was -insistent now. - -The man stooped and tightened a strap that was already quite -tight enough. Then he laughed lightly. - -"Why, of course you're coming back sometime, David. Only think of -all these things we're leaving!" - -When the last dish was put away, the last garment adjusted, and -the last look given to the little room, the travelers picked up -the bag and the violins, and went out into the sweet freshness of -the morning. As he fastened the door the man sighed profoundly; -but David did not notice this. His face was turned toward the -east--always David looked toward the sun. - -"Daddy, let's not go, after all! Let's stay here," he cried -ardently, drinking in the beauty of the morning. - -"We must go, David. Come, son." And the man led the way across -the green slope to the west. - -It was a scarcely perceptible trail, but the man found it, and -followed it with evident confidence. There was only the pause now -and then to steady his none-too-sure step, or to ease the burden -of the bag. Very soon the forest lay all about them, with the -birds singing over their heads, and with numberless tiny feet -scurrying through the underbrush on all sides. Just out of sight -a brook babbled noisily of its delight in being alive; and away -up in the treetops the morning sun played hide-and-seek among the -dancing leaves. - -And David leaped, and laughed, and loved it all, nor was any of -it strange to him. The birds, the trees, the sun, the brook, the -scurrying little creatures of the forest, all were friends of -his. But the man--the man did not leap or laugh, though he, too, -loved it all. The man was afraid. - -He knew now that he had undertaken more than he could carry out. -Step by step the bag had grown heavier, and hour by hour the -insistent, teasing pain in his side had increased until now it -was a torture. He had forgotten that the way to the valley was so -long; he had not realized how nearly spent was his strength -before he even started down the trail. Throbbing through his -brain was the question, what if, after all, he could not--but -even to himself he would not say the words. - -At noon they paused for luncheon, and at night they camped where -the chattering brook had stopped to rest in a still, black pool. -The next morning the man and the boy picked up the trail again, -but without the bag. Under some leaves in a little hollow, the -man had hidden the bag, and had then said, as if casually:-- - -"I believe, after all, I won't carry this along. There's nothing -in it that we really need, you know, now that I've taken out the -luncheon box, and by night we'll be down in the valley." - -"Of course!" laughed David. "We don't need that." And he laughed -again, for pure joy. Little use had David for bags or baggage! - -They were more than halfway down the mountain now, and soon they -reached a grass-grown road, little traveled, but yet a road. -Still later they came to where four ways crossed, and two of them -bore the marks of many wheels. By sundown the little brook at -their side murmured softly of quiet fields and meadows, and David -knew that the valley was reached. - -David was not laughing now. He was watching his father with -startled eyes. David had not known what anxiety was. He was -finding out now--though he but vaguely realized that something -was not right. For some time his father had said but little, and -that little had been in a voice that was thick and -unnatural-sounding. He was walking fast, yet David noticed that -every step seemed an effort, and that every breath came in short -gasps. His eyes were very bright, and were fixedly bent on the -road ahead, as if even the haste he was making was not haste -enough. Twice David spoke to him, but he did not answer; and the -boy could only trudge along on his weary little feet and sigh for -the dear home on the mountain-top which they had left behind them -the morning before. - -They met few fellow travelers, and those they did meet paid scant -attention to the man and the boy carrying the violins. As it -chanced, there was no one in sight when the man, walking in the -grass at the side of the road, stumbled and fell heavily to the -ground. - -David sprang quickly forward. - -"Father, what is it? WHAT IS IT?" - -There was no answer. - -"Daddy, why don't you speak to me? See, it's David!" - -With a painful effort the man roused himself and sat up. For a -moment he gazed dully into the boy's face; then a half-forgotten -something seemed to stir him into feverish action. With shaking -fingers he handed David his watch and a small ivory miniature. -Then he searched his pockets until on the ground before him lay a -shining pile of gold-pieces--to David there seemed to be a -hundred of them. - -"Take them--hide them--keep them. David, until you--need them," -panted the man. "Then go--go on. I can't." - -"Alone? Without you?" demurred the boy, aghast. "Why, father, I -couldn't! I don't know the way. Besides, I'd rather stay with -you," he added soothingly, as he slipped the watch and the -miniature into his pocket; "then we can both go." And he dropped -himself down at his father's side. - -The man shook his head feebly, and pointed again to the -gold-pieces. - -"Take them, David,--hide them," he chattered with pale lips. - -Almost impatiently the boy began picking up the money and tucking -it into his pockets. - -"But, father, I'm not going without you," he declared stoutly, as -the last bit of gold slipped out of sight, and a horse and wagon -rattled around the turn of the road above. - -The driver of the horse glanced disapprovingly at the man and the -boy by the roadside; but he did not stop. After he had passed, -the boy turned again to his father. The man was fumbling once -more in his pockets. This time from his coat he produced a pencil -and a small notebook from which he tore a page, and began to -write, laboriously, painfully. - -David sighed and looked about him. He was tired and hungry, and -he did not understand things at all. Something very wrong, very -terrible, must be the matter with his father. Here it was almost -dark, yet they had no place to go, no supper to eat, while far, -far up on the mountain-side was their own dear home sad and -lonely without them. Up there, too, the sun still shone, -doubtless,--at least there were the rose-glow and the Silver Lake -to look at, while down here there was nothing, nothing but gray -shadows, a long dreary road, and a straggling house or two in -sight. From above, the valley might look to be a fairyland of -loveliness, but in reality it was nothing but a dismal waste of -gloom, decided David. - -David's father had torn a second page from his book and was -beginning another note, when the boy suddenly jumped to his feet. -One of the straggling houses was near the road where they sat, -and its presence had given David an idea. With swift steps he -hurried to the front door and knocked upon it. In answer a tall, -unsmiling woman appeared, and said, "Well?" - -David removed his cap as his father had taught him to do when one -of the mountain women spoke to him. - -"Good evening, lady; I'm David," he began frankly. "My father is -so tired he fell down back there, and we should like very much to -stay with you all night, if you don't mind." - -The woman in the doorway stared. For a moment she was dumb with -amazement. Her eyes swept the plain, rather rough garments of the -boy, then sought the half-recumbent figure of the man by the -roadside. Her chin came up angrily. - -"Oh, would you, indeed! Well, upon my word!" she scouted. "Humph! -We don't accommodate tramps, little boy." And she shut the door -hard. - -It was David's turn to stare. Just what a tramp might be, he did -not know; but never before had a request of his been so angrily -refused. He knew that. A fierce something rose within him--a -fierce new something that sent the swift red to his neck and -brow. He raised a determined hand to the doorknob--he had -something to say to that woman!--when the door suddenly opened -again from the inside. - -"See here, boy," began the woman, looking out at him a little -less unkindly, "if you're hungry I'll give you some milk and -bread. Go around to the back porch and I'll get it for you." And -she shut the door again. - -David's hand dropped to his side. The red still stayed on his -face and neck, however, and that fierce new something within him -bade him refuse to take food from this woman.... But there was -his father--his poor father, who was so tired; and there was his -own stomach clamoring to be fed. No, he could not refuse. And -with slow steps and hanging head David went around the corner of -the house to the rear. - -As the half-loaf of bread and the pail of milk were placed in his -hands, David remembered suddenly that in the village store on the -mountain, his father paid money for his food. David was glad, -now, that he had those gold-pieces in his pocket, for he could -pay money. Instantly his head came up. Once more erect with -self-respect, he shifted his burdens to one hand and thrust the -other into his pocket. A moment later he presented on his -outstretched palm a shining disk of gold. - -"Will you take this, to pay, please, for the bread and milk?" he -asked proudly. - -The woman began to shake her head; but, as her eyes fell on the -money, she started, and bent closer to examine it. The next -instant she jerked herself upright with an angry exclamation. - -"It's gold! A ten-dollar gold-piece! So you're a thief, too, are -you, as well as a tramp? Humph! Well, I guess you don't need this -then," she finished sharply, snatching the bread and the pail of -milk from the boy's hand. - -The next moment David stood alone on the doorstep, with the sound -of a quickly thrown bolt in his ears. - -A thief! David knew little of thieves, but he knew what they -were. Only a month before a man had tried to steal the violins -from the cabin; and he was a thief, the milk-boy said. David -flushed now again, angrily, as he faced the closed door. But he -did not tarry. He turned and ran to his father. - -"Father, come away, quick! You must come away," he choked. - -So urgent was the boy's voice that almost unconsciously the sick -man got to his feet. With shaking hands he thrust the notes he -had been writing into his pocket. The little book, from which he -had torn the leaves for this purpose, had already dropped -unheeded into the grass at his feet. - -"Yes, son, yes, we'll go," muttered the man. "I feel better now. -I can--walk." - -And he did walk, though very slowly, ten, a dozen, twenty steps. -From behind came the sound of wheels that stopped close beside -them. - -"Hullo, there! Going to the village?" called a voice. - -"Yes, sir." David's answer was unhesitating. Where "the village" -was, he did not know; he knew only that it must be somewhere away -from the woman who had called him a thief. And that was all he -cared to know. - -"I'm going 'most there myself. Want a lift?" asked the man, still -kindly. - -"Yes, sir. Thank you!" cried the boy joyfully. And together they -aided his father to climb into the roomy wagon-body. - -There were few words said. The man at the reins drove rapidly, -and paid little attention to anything but his horses. The sick -man dozed and rested. The boy sat, wistful-eyed and silent, -watching the trees and houses flit by. The sun had long ago set, -but it was not dark, for the moon was round and bright, and the -sky was cloudless. Where the road forked sharply the man drew his -horses to a stop. - -"Well, I'm sorry, but I guess I'll have to drop you here, -friends. I turn off to the right; but 't ain't more 'n a quarter -of a mile for you, now" he finished cheerily, pointing with his -whip to a cluster of twinkling lights. - -"Thank you, sir, thank you," breathed David gratefully, steadying -his father's steps. "You've helped us lots. Thank you!" - -In David's heart was a wild desire to lay at his good man's feet -all of his shining gold-pieces as payment for this timely aid. -But caution held him back: it seemed that only in stores did -money pay; outside it branded one as a thief! - -Alone with his father, David faced once more his problem. Where -should they go for the night? Plainly his father could not walk -far. He had begun to talk again, too,--low, half-finished -sentences that David could not understand, and that vaguely -troubled him. There was a house near by, and several others down -the road toward the village; but David had had all the experience -he wanted that night with strange houses, and strange women. -There was a barn, a big one, which was nearest of all; and it was -toward this barn that David finally turned his father's steps. - -"We'll go there, daddy, if we can get in," he proposed softly. -"And we'll stay all night and rest." - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE VALLEY - - -The long twilight of the June day had changed into a night that -was scarcely darker, so bright was the moonlight. Seen from the -house, the barn and the low buildings beyond loomed shadowy and -unreal, yet very beautiful. On the side porch of the house sat -Simeon Holly and his wife, content to rest mind and body only -because a full day's work lay well done behind them. - -It was just as Simeon rose to his feet to go indoors that a long -note from a violin reached their ears. - -"Simeon!" cried the woman. "What was that?" - -The man did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the barn. - -"Simeon, it's a fiddle!" exclaimed Mrs. Holly, as a second tone -quivered on the air "And it's in our barn!" - -Simeon's jaw set. With a stern ejaculation he crossed the porch -and entered the kitchen. - -In another minute he had returned, a lighted lantern in his hand. - -"Simeon, d--don't go," begged the woman, tremulously. "You--you -don't know what's there." - -"Fiddles are not played without hands, Ellen," retorted the man -severely. "Would you have me go to bed and leave a half-drunken, -ungodly minstrel fellow in possession of our barn? To-night, on -my way home, I passed a pretty pair of them lying by the -roadside--a man and a boy with two violins. They're the culprits, -likely,--though how they got this far, I don't see. Do you think -I want to leave my barn to tramps like them?" - -"N--no, I suppose not," faltered the woman, as she rose -tremblingly to her feet, and followed her husband's shadow across -the yard. - -Once inside the barn Simeon Holly and his wife paused -involuntarily. The music was all about them now, filling the air -with runs and trills and rollicking bits of melody. Giving an -angry exclamation, the man turned then to the narrow stairway and -climbed to the hayloft above. At his heels came his wife, and so -her eyes, almost as soon as his fell upon the man lying back on -the hay with the moonlight full upon his face. -Instantly the music dropped to a whisper, and a low voice came -out of the gloom beyond the square of moonlight which came from -the window in the roof. - -"If you'll please be as still as you can, sir. You see he's -asleep and he's so tired," said the voice. - -For a moment the man and the woman on the stairway paused in -amazement, then the man lifted his lantern and strode toward the -voice. - -"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he demanded sharply. - -A boy's face, round, tanned, and just now a bit anxious, flashed -out of the dark. - -"Oh, please, sir, if you would speak lower," pleaded the boy. -"He's so tired! I'm David, sir, and that's father. We came in -here to rest and sleep." - -Simeon Holly's unrelenting gaze left the boy's face and swept -that of the man lying back on the hay. The next instant he -lowered the lantern and leaned nearer, putting forth a cautious -hand. At once he straightened himself, muttering a brusque word -under his breath. Then he turned with the angry question:-- - -"Boy, what do you mean by playing a jig on your fiddle at such a -time as this?" - -"Why, father asked me to play" returned the boy cheerily. "He -said he could walk through green forests then, with the ripple of -brooks in his ears, and that the birds and the squirrels--" - -"See here, boy, who are you?" cut in Simeon Holly sternly. "Where -did you come from?" - -"From home, sir." - -"Where is that?" - -"Why, home, sir, where I live. In the mountains, 'way up, up, -up--oh, so far up! And there's such a big, big sky, so much nicer -than down here." The boy's voice quivered, and almost broke, and -his eyes constantly sought the white face on the hay. - -It was then that Simeon Holly awoke to the sudden realization -that it was time for action. He turned to his wife. - -"Take the boy to the house," he directed incisively. "We'll have -to keep him to-night, I suppose. I'll go for Higgins. Of course -the whole thing will have to be put in his hands at once. You -can't do anything here," he added, as he caught her questioning -glance. "Leave everything just as it is. The man is dead." - -"Dead?" It was a sharp cry from the boy, yet there was more of -wonder than of terror in it. "Do you mean that he has gone--like -the water in the brook--to the far country?" he faltered. - -Simeon Holly stared. Then he said more distinctly:-- - -"Your father is dead, boy." - -"And he won't come back any more?" David's voice broke now. - -There was no answer. Mrs. Holly caught her breath convulsively -and looked away. Even Simeon Holly refused to meet the boy's -pleading eyes. - -With a quick cry David sprang to his father's side. - -"But he's here--right here," he challenged shrilly. "Daddy, -daddy, speak to me! It's David!" Reaching out his hand, he gently -touched his father's face. He drew back then, at once, his eyes -distended with terror. "He isn't! He is--gone," he chattered -frenziedly. "This isn't the father-part that KNOWS. It's the -other--that they leave. He's left it behind him--like the -squirrel, and the water in the brook." - -Suddenly the boy's face changed. It grew rapt and luminous as he -leaped to his feet, crying joyously: "But he asked me to play, so -he went singing--singing just as he said that they did. And I -made him walk through green forests with the ripple of the brooks -in his ears! Listen--like this!" And once more the boy raised the -violin to his chin, and once more the music trilled and rippled -about the shocked, amazed ears of Simeon Holly and his wife. - -For a time neither the man nor the woman could speak. There was -nothing in their humdrum, habit-smoothed tilling of the soil and -washing of pots and pans to prepare them for a scene like this--a -moonlit barn, a strange dead man, and that dead man's son -babbling of brooks and squirrels, and playing jigs on a fiddle -for a dirge. At last, however, Simeon found his voice. - -"Boy, boy, stop that!" he thundered. "Are you mad--clean mad? Go -into the house, I say!" And the boy, dazed but obedient, put up -his violin, and followed the woman, who, with tear-blinded eyes, -was leading the way down the stairs. - -Mrs. Holly was frightened, but she was also strangely moved. From -the long ago the sound of another violin had come to her--a -violin, too, played by a boy's hands. But of this, all this, Mrs. -Holly did not like to think. - -In the kitchen now she turned and faced her young guest. - -"Are you hungry, little boy?" - -David hesitated; he had not forgotten the woman, the milk, and -the gold-piece. - -"Are you hungry--dear?" stammered Mrs. Holly again; and this time -David's clamorous stomach forced a "yes" from his unwilling lips; -which sent Mrs. Holly at once into the pantry for bread and milk -and a heaped-up plate of doughnuts such as David had never seen -before. - -Like any hungry boy David ate his supper; and Mrs. Holly, in the -face of this very ordinary sight of hunger being appeased at her -table, breathed more freely, and ventured to think that perhaps -this strange little boy was not so very strange, after all. - -"What is your name?" she found courage to ask then. - -"David." - -"David what?" - -"Just David." - -"But your father's name?" Mrs. Holly had almost asked, but -stopped in time. She did not want to speak of him. "Where do you -live?" she asked instead. - -"On the mountain, 'way up, up on the mountain where I can see my -Silver Lake every day, you know." - -"But you didn't live there alone?" - -"Oh, no; with father--before he--went away" faltered the boy. - -The woman flushed red and bit her lip. - -"No, no, I mean--were there no other houses but yours?" she -stammered. - -"No, ma'am." - -"But, wasn't your mother--anywhere?" - -"Oh, yes, in father's pocket." - -"Your MOTHER--in your father's POCKET!" - -So plainly aghast was the questioner that David looked not a -little surprised as he explained. - -"You don't understand. She is an angel-mother, and angel-mothers -don't have anything only their pictures down here with us. And -that's what we have, and father always carried it in his pocket." - -"Oh----h," murmured Mrs. Holly, a quick mist in her eyes. Then, -gently: "And did you always live there--on the mountain?" - -"Six years, father said." - -"But what did you do all day? Weren't you ever--lonesome?" - -"Lonesome?" The boy's eyes were puzzled. - -"Yes. Didn't you miss things--people, other houses, boys of your -own age, and--and such things?" - -David's eyes widened. - -"Why, how could I?" he cried. "When I had daddy, and my violin, -and my Silver Lake, and the whole of the great big woods with -everything in them to talk to, and to talk to me?" - -"Woods, and things in them to--to TALK to you!" - -"Why, yes. It was the little brook, you know, after the squirrel, -that told me about being dead, and--" - -"Yes, yes; but never mind, dear, now," stammered the woman, -rising hurriedly to her feet--the boy was a little wild, after -all, she thought. "You--you should go to bed. Haven't you a--a -bag, or--or anything?" - -"No, ma'am; we left it," smiled David apologetically. "You see, -we had so much in it that it got too heavy to carry. So we did -n't bring it." - -"So much in it you didn't bring it, indeed!" repeated Mrs. -Holly, under her breath, throwing up her hands with a gesture of -despair. "Boy, what are you, anyway?" - -It was not meant for a question, but, to the woman's surprise, -the boy answered, frankly, simply:-- - -"Father says that I'm one little instrument in the great -Orchestra of Life, and that I must see to it that I'm always in -tune, and don't drag or hit false notes." - -"My land!" breathed the woman, dropping back in her chair, her -eyes fixed on the boy. Then, with an effort, she got to her feet. - -"Come, you must go to bed," she stammered. "I'm sure bed is--is -the best place you. I think I can find what--what you need," she -finished feebly. - -In a snug little room over the kitchen some minutes later, David -found himself at last alone. The room, though it had once -belonged to a boy of his own age, looked very strange to David. -On the floor was a rag-carpet rug, the first he had ever seen. On -the walls were a fishing-rod, a toy shotgun, and a case full of -bugs and moths, each little body impaled on a pin, to David's -shuddering horror. The bed had four tall posts at the corners, -and a very puffy top that filled David with wonder as to how he -was to reach it, or stay there if he did gain it. Across a chair -lay a boy's long yellow-white nightshirt that the kind lady had -left, after hurriedly wiping her eyes with the edge of its hem. -In all the circle of the candlelight there was just one familiar -object to David's homesick eyes--the long black violin case which -he had brought in himself, and which held his beloved violin. - -With his back carefully turned toward the impaled bugs and moths -on the wall, David undressed himself and slipped into the -yellow-white nightshirt, which he sniffed at gratefully, so like -pine woods was the perfume that hung about its folds. Then he -blew out the candle and groped his way to the one window the -little room contained. - -The moon still shone, but little could be seen through the thick -green branches of the tree outside. From the yard below came the -sound of wheels, and of men's excited voices. There came also the -twinkle of lanterns borne by hurrying hands, and the tramp of -shuffling feet. In the window David shivered. There were no wide -sweep of mountain, hill, and valley, no Silver Lake, no restful -hush, no daddy,--no beautiful Things that Were. There was only -the dreary, hollow mockery of the Things they had Become. - -Long minutes later, David, with the violin in his arms, lay down -upon the rug, and, for the first time since babyhood, sobbed -himself to sleep--but it was a sleep that brought no rest; for in -it he dreamed that he was a big, white-winged moth pinned with a -star to an ink-black sky. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -TWO LETTERS - - -In the early gray dawn David awoke. His first sensation was the -physical numbness and stiffness that came from his hard bed on -the floor. - -"Why, daddy," he began, pulling himself half-erect, "I slept all -night on--" He stopped suddenly, brushing his eyes with the backs -of his hands. "Why, daddy, where--" Then full consciousness came -to him. - -With a low cry he sprang to his feet and ran to the window. -Through the trees he could see the sunrise glow of the eastern -sky. Down in the yard no one was in sight; but the barn door was -open, and, with a quick indrawing of his breath, David turned -back into the room and began to thrust himself into his clothing. - -The gold in his sagging pockets clinked and jingled musically; -and once half a dozen pieces rolled out upon the floor. For a -moment the boy looked as if he were going to let them remain -where they were. But the next minute, with an impatient gesture, -he had picked them up and thrust them deep into one of his -pockets, silencing their jingling with his handkerchief. - -Once dressed, David picked up his violin and stepped softly into -the hall. At first no sound reached his ears; then from the -kitchen below came the clatter of brisk feet and the rattle of -tins and crockery. Tightening his clasp on the violin, David -slipped quietly down the back stairs and out to the yard. It was -only a few seconds then before he was hurrying through the open -doorway of the barn and up the narrow stairway to the loft above. - -At the top, however, he came to a sharp pause, with a low cry. -The next moment he turned to see a kindly-faced man looking up at -him from the foot of the stairs. - -"Oh, sir, please--please, where is he? What have you done with -him?" appealed the boy, almost plunging headlong down the stairs -in his haste to reach the bottom. - -Into the man's weather-beaten face came a look of sincere but -awkward sympathy. - -"Oh, hullo, sonny! So you're the boy, are ye?" he began -diffidently. - -"Yes, yes, I'm David. But where is he-- my father, you know? I -mean the--the part he--he left behind him?" choked the boy. "The -part like--the ice-coat?" - -The man stared. Then, involuntarily, he began to back away. - -"Well, ye see, I--I--" - -"But, maybe you don't know," interrupted David feverishly. "You -aren't the man I saw last night. Who are you? Where is he--the -other one, please?" - -"No, I--I wa'n't here--that is, not at the first," spoke up the -man quickly, still unconsciously backing away. "Me--I'm only -Larson, Perry Larson, ye know. 'T was Mr. Holly you see last -night--him that I works for." - -"Then, where is Mr. Holly, please?" faltered the boy, hurrying -toward the barn door. "Maybe he would know--about father. Oh, -there he is!" And David ran out of the barn and across the yard -to the kitchen porch. - -It was an unhappy ten minutes that David spent then. Besides Mr. -Holly, there were Mrs. Holly, and the man, Perry Larson. And they -all talked. But little of what they said could David understand. -To none of his questions could he obtain an answer that -satisfied. - -Neither, on his part, could he seem to reply to their questions -in a way that pleased them. - -They went in to breakfast then, Mr. and Mrs. Holly, and the man, -Perry Larson. They asked David to go--at least, Mrs. Holly asked -him. But David shook his head and said "No, no, thank you very -much; I'd rather not, if you please--not now." Then he dropped -himself down on the steps to think. As if he could EAT--with that -great choking lump in his throat that refused to be swallowed! - -David was thoroughly dazed, frightened, and dismayed. He knew now -that never again in this world would he see his dear father, or -hear him speak. This much had been made very clear to him during -the last ten minutes. Why this should be so, or what his father -would want him to do, he could not seem to find out. Not until -now had he realized at all what this going away of his father was -to mean to him. And he told himself frantically that he could not -have it so. HE COULD NOT HAVE IT SO! But even as he said the -words, he knew that it was so--irrevocably so. - - David began then to long for his mountain home. There at least -he would have his dear forest all about him, with the birds and -the squirrels and the friendly little brooks. There he would have -his Silver Lake to look at, too, and all of them would speak to -him of his father. He believed, indeed, that up there it would -almost seem as if his father were really with him. And, anyway, -if his father ever should come back, it would be there that he -would be sure to seek him--up there in the little mountain home -so dear to them both. Back to the cabin he would go now, then. -Yes; indeed he would! - -With a low word and a passionately intent expression, David got -to his feet, picked up his violin, and hurried, firm-footed, down -the driveway and out upon the main highway, turning in the -direction from whence he had come with his father the night -before. - -The Hollys had just finished breakfast when Higgins, the coroner, -drove into the yard accompanied by William Streeter, the town's -most prominent farmer,--and the most miserly one, if report was -to be credited. - -"Well, could you get anything out of the boy? " demanded Higgins, -without ceremony, as Simeon Holly and Larson appeared on the -kitchen porch. - -"Very little. Really nothing of importance," answered Simeon -Holly. - -"Where is he now?" - -"Why, he was here on the steps a few minutes ago." Simeon Holly -looked about him a bit impatiently. - -"Well, I want to see him. I've got a letter for him." - -"A letter!" exclaimed Simeon Holly and Larson in amazed unison. - -"Yes. Found it in his father's pocket," nodded the coroner, with -all the tantalizing brevity of a man who knows he has a choice -morsel of information that is eagerly awaited. "It's addressed to -'My boy David,' so I calculated we'd better give it to him first -without reading it, seeing it's his. After he reads it, though, I -want to see it. I want to see if what it says is any nearer being -horse-sense than the other one is." - -"The other one!" exclaimed the amazed chorus again. - -"Oh, yes, there's another one," spoke up William Streeter -tersely. "And I've read it-- all but the scrawl at the end. There -couldn't anybody read that!" Higgins laughed. - -"Well, I'm free to confess 't is a sticker--that name," he -admitted." And it's the name we want, of course, to tell us who -they are--since it seems the boy don't know, from what you said -last night. I was in hopes, by this morning, you'd have found out -more from him." - -Simeon Holly shook his head. - -"'T was impossible." - -"Gosh! I should say 't was," cut in Perry Larson, with emphasis. -"An' queer ain't no name for it. One minute he'd be talkin' good -common sense like anybody: an' the next he'd be chatterin' of -coats made o' ice, an' birds an' squirrels an' babbling brooks. -He sure is dippy! Listen. He actually don't seem ter know the -diff'rence between himself an' his fiddle. We was tryin' ter find -out this mornin' what he could do, an' what he wanted ter do, -when if he didn't up an' say that his father told him it didn't -make so much diff'rence WHAT he did so long as he kept hisself in -tune an' didn't strike false notes. Now, what do yer think o' -that?" - -"Yes, I, know" nodded Higgins musingly. "There WAS something -queer about them, and they weren't just ordinary tramps. Did I -tell you? I overtook them last night away up on the Fairbanks -road by the Taylor place, and I gave 'em a lift. I particularly -noticed what a decent sort they were. They were clean and -quiet-spoken, and their clothes were good, even if they were -rough. Yet they didn't have any baggage but them fiddles." - -"But what was that second letter you mentioned?" asked Simeon -Holly. - -Higgins smiled oddly, and reached into his pocket. - -"The letter? Oh, you're welcome to read the letter," he said, as -he handed over a bit of folded paper. - -Simeon took it gingerly and examined it. - -It was a leaf torn apparently from a note book. It was folded -three times, and bore on the outside the superscription "To whom -it may concern." The handwriting was peculiar, irregular, and not -very legible. But as near as it could be deciphered, the note ran -thus:-- - - -Now that the time has come when I must give David back to the -world, I have set out for that purpose. - -But I am ill--very ill, and should Death have swifter feet than -I, I must leave my task for others to complete. Deal gently with -him. He knows only that which is good and beautiful. He knows -nothing of sin nor evil. - - -Then followed the signature--a thing of scrawls and flourishes -that conveyed no sort of meaning to Simeon Holly's puzzled eyes. - -"Well?" prompted Higgins expectantly. - -Simeon Holly shook his head. - -"I can make little of it. It certainly is a most remarkable -note." - -"Could you read the name?" - -"No." - -"Well, I couldn't. Neither could half a dozen others that's seen -it. But where's the boy? Mebbe his note'll talk sense." - -"I'll go find him," volunteered Larson. "He must be somewheres -'round." - -But David was very evidently not "somewheres'round." At least he -was not in the barn, the shed, the kitchen bedroom, nor anywhere -else that Larson looked; and the man was just coming back with a -crestfallen, perplexed frown, when Mrs. Holly hurried out on to -the porch. - -"Mr. Higgins," she cried, in obvious excitement, "your wife has -just telephoned that her sister Mollie has just telephoned HER -that that little tramp boy with the violin is at her house." - -"At Mollie's!" exclaimed Higgins. "Why, that's a mile or more -from here." - -"So that's where he is!" interposed Larson, hurrying forward. -"Doggone the little rascal! He must 'a' slipped away while we was -eatin breakfast." - -"Yes. But, Simeon,--Mr. Higgins,--we hadn't ought to let him go -like that," appealed Mrs. Holly tremulously. "Your wife said -Mollie said she found him crying at the crossroads, because he -didn't know which way to take. He said he was going back home. -He means to that wretched cabin on the mountain, you know; and we -can't let him do that alone--a child like that!" - -"Where is he now?" demanded Higgins. - -"In Mollie's kitchen eating bread and milk; but she said she had -an awful time getting him to eat. And she wants to know what to -do with him. That's why she telephoned your wife. She thought you -ought to know he was there." - -"Yes, of course. Well, tell her to tell him to come back." - -"Mollie said she tried to have him come back, but that he said, -no, thank you, he'd rather not. He was going home where his -father could find him if he should ever want him. Mr. Higgins, -we--we CAN'T let him go off like that. Why, the child would die -up there alone in those dreadful woods, even if he could get -there in the first place--which I very much doubt." - -"Yes, of course, of course," muttered Higgins, with a thoughtful -frown. "There's his letter, too. Say!" he added, brightening, -"what'll you bet that letter won't fetch him? He seems to think -the world and all of his daddy. Here," he directed, turning to -Mrs. Holly, "you tell my wife to tell--better yet, you telephone -Mollie yourself, please, and tell her to tell the boy we've got a -letter here for him from his father, and he can have it if he'll -come back.". - -"I will, I will," called Mrs. Holly, over her shoulder, as she -hurried into the house. In an unbelievably short time she was -back, her face beaming. - -"He's started, so soon," she nodded. "He's crazy with joy, Mollie -said. He even left part of his breakfast, he was in such a hurry. -So I guess we'll see him all right." - -"Oh, yes, we'll see him all right," echoed Simeon Holly grimly. -"But that isn't telling what we'll do with him when we do see -him." - -"Oh, well, maybe this letter of his will help us out on that," -suggested Higgins soothingly. "Anyhow, even if it doesn't, I'm -not worrying any. I guess some one will want him--a good healthy -boy like that." - -"Did you find any money on the body?" asked Streeter. - -"A little change--a few cents. Nothing to count. If the boy's -letter doesn't tell us where any of their folks are, it'll be up -to the town to bury him all right." - -"He had a fiddle, didn't he? And the boy had one, too. Wouldn't -they bring anything?" Streeter's round blue eyes gleamed -shrewdly. - -Higgins gave a slow shake of his head. - -"Maybe--if there was a market for 'em. But who'd buy 'em? There -ain't a soul in town plays but Jack Gurnsey; and he's got one. -Besides, he's sick, and got all he can do to buy bread and butter -for him and his sister without taking in more fiddles, I guess. -HE wouldn't buy 'em." - -"Hm--m; maybe not, maybe not," grunted Streeter. "An', as you -say, he's the only one that's got any use for 'em here; an' like -enough they ain't worth much, anyway. So I guess 't is up to the -town all right." - -"Yes; but--if yer'll take it from me,"--interrupted -Larson,--"you'll be wise if ye keep still before the boy. It's no -use ASKIN' him anythin'. We've proved that fast enough. An' if he -once turns 'round an' begins ter ask YOU questions, yer done -for!" - -"I guess you're right," nodded Higgins, with a quizzical smile. -"And as long as questioning CAN'T do any good, why, we'll just -keep whist before the boy. Meanwhile I wish the little rascal -would hurry up and get here. I want to see the inside of that -letter to HIM. I'm relying on that being some help to unsnarl -this tangle of telling who they are." - -"Well, he's started," reiterated Mrs. Holly, as she turned back -into the house; "so I guess he'll get here if you wait long -enough." - -"Oh, yes, he'll get here if we wait long enough," echoed Simeon -Holly again, crustily. - -The two men in the wagon settled themselves more comfortably in -their seats, and Perry Larson, after a half-uneasy, -half-apologetic glance at his employer, dropped himself onto the -bottom step. Simeon Holly had already sat down stiffly in one of -the porch chairs. Simeon Holly never "dropped himself" anywhere. -Indeed, according to Perry Larson, if there were a hard way to do -a thing, Simeon Holly found it--and did it. The fact that, this -morning, he had allowed, and was still allowing, the sacred -routine of the day's work to be thus interrupted, for nothing -more important than the expected arrival of a strolling urchin, -was something Larson would not have believed had he not seen it. -Even now he was conscious once or twice of an involuntary desire -to rub his eyes to make sure they were not deceiving him. - -Impatient as the waiting men were for the arrival of David, they -were yet almost surprised, so soon did he appear, running up the -driveway. - -"Oh, where is it, please?" he panted. "They said you had a letter -for me from daddy!" - -"You're right, sonny; we have. And here it is," answered Higgins -promptly, holding out the folded paper. - -Plainly eager as he was, David did not open the note till he had -first carefully set down the case holding his violin; then he -devoured it with eager eyes. - -As he read, the four men watched his face. They saw first the -quick tears that had to be blinked away. Then they saw the -radiant glow that grew and deepened until the whole boyish face -was aflame with the splendor of it. They saw the shining wonder -of his eyes, too, as he looked up from the letter. - -"And daddy wrote this to me from the far country?" he breathed. - -Simeon Holly scowled. Larson choked over a stifled chuckle. -William Streeter stared and shrugged his shoulders; but Higgins -flushed a dull red. - -"No, sonny," he stammered. "We found it on the--er--I mean, -it--er--your father left it in his pocket for you," finished the -man, a little explosively. - -A swift shadow crossed the boy's face. - -"Oh, I hoped I'd heard--" he began. Then suddenly he stopped, his -face once more alight. "But it's 'most the same as if he wrote it -from there, isn't it? He left it for me, and he told me what to -do." - -"What's that, what's that?" cried Higgins, instantly alert. "DID -he tell you what to do? Then, let's have it, so WE'LL know. You -will let us read it, won't you, boy?" - -"Why, y--yes," stammered David, holding it out politely, but with -evident reluctance. - -"Thank you," nodded Higgins, as he reached for the note. - -David's letter was very different from the other one. It was -longer, but it did not help much, though it was easily read. In -his letter, in spite of the wavering lines, each word was formed -with a care that told of a father's thought for the young eyes -that would read it. It was written on two of the notebook's -leaves, and at the end came the single word "Daddy." - - -David, my boy [read Higgins aloud], in the far country I am -waiting for you. Do not grieve, for that will grieve me. I shall -not return, but some day you will come to me, your violin at your -chin, and the bow drawn across the strings to greet me. See that -it tells me of the beautiful world you have left--for it is a -beautiful world, David; never forget that. And if sometime you -are tempted to think it is not a beautiful world, just remember -that you yourself can make it beautiful if you will. - -You are among new faces, surrounded by things and people that are -strange to you. Some of them you will not understand; some of -them you may not like. But do not fear, David, and do not plead -to go back to the hills. Remember this, my boy,--in your violin -lie all the things you long for. You have only to play, and the -broad skies of your mountain home will be over you, and the dear -friends and comrades of your mountain forests will be about you. - - DADDY. - - -"Gorry! that's worse than the other," groaned Higgins, when he -had finished the note. "There's actually nothing in it! Wouldn't -you think--if a man wrote anything at such a time--that he'd 'a' -wrote something that had some sense to it--something that one -could get hold of, and find out who the boy is?" - -There was no answering this. The assembled men could only grunt -and nod in agreement, which, after all, was no real help. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -DISCORDS - - -The dead man found in Farmer Holly's barn created a decided stir -in the village of Hinsdale. The case was a peculiar one for many -reasons. First, because of the boy--Hinsdale supposed it knew -boys, but it felt inclined to change its mind after seeing this -one. Second, because of the circumstances. The boy and his father -had entered the town like tramps, yet Higgins, who talked freely -of his having given the pair a "lift" on that very evening, did -not hesitate to declare that he did not believe them to be -ordinary tramps at all. - -As there had been little found in the dead man's pockets, save -the two notes, and as nobody could be found who wanted the -violins, there seemed to be nothing to do but to turn the body -over to the town for burial. Nothing was said of this to David; -indeed, as little as possible was said to David about anything -after that morning when Higgins had given him his father's -letter. At that time the men had made one more effort to "get -track of SOMETHING," as Higgins had despairingly put it. But the -boy's answers to their questions were anything but satisfying, -anything but helpful, and were often most disconcerting. The boy -was, in fact, regarded by most of the men, after that morning, as -being "a little off"; and was hence let severely alone. - -Who the man was the town authorities certainly did not know, -neither could they apparently find out. His name, as written by -himself, was unreadable. His notes told nothing; his son could -tell little more--of consequence. A report, to be sure, did come -from the village, far up the mountain, that such a man and boy -had lived in a hut that was almost inaccessible; but even this -did not help solve the mystery. - -David was left at the Holly farmhouse, though Simeon Holly -mentally declared that he should lose no time in looking about -for some one to take the boy away. - -On that first day Higgins, picking up the reins preparatory to -driving from the yard, had said, with a nod of his head toward -David:-- - -"Well, how about it, Holly? Shall we leave him here till we find -somebody that wants him?" - -"Why, y--yes, I suppose so," hesitated Simeon Holly, with -uncordial accent. - -But his wife, hovering in the background, hastened forward at -once. - -"Oh, yes; yes, indeed," she urged. "I'm sure he--he won't be a -mite of trouble, Simeon." - -"Perhaps not," conceded Simeon Holly darkly. "Neither, it is safe -to say, will he be anything else--worth anything." - -"That's it exactly," spoke up Streeter, from his seat in the -wagon. "If I thought he'd be worth his salt, now, I'd take him -myself; but--well, look at him this minute," he finished, with a -disdainful shrug. - -David, on the lowest step, was very evidently not hearing a word -of what was being said. With his sensitive face illumined, he was -again poring over his father's letter. - -Something in the sudden quiet cut through his absorption as the -noisy hum of voices had not been able to do, and he raised his -head. His eyes were starlike. - -"I'm so glad father told me what to do," he breathed. "It'll be -easier now." - -Receiving no answer from the somewhat awkwardly silent men, he -went on, as if in explanation:-- - -"You know he's waiting for me--in the far country, I mean. He -said he was. And when you've got somebody waiting, you don't mind -staying behind yourself for a little while. Besides, I've GOT to -stay to find out about the beautiful world, you know, so I can -tell him, when _I_ go. That's the way I used to do back home on -the mountain, you see,--tell him about things. Lots of days we'd -go to walk; then, when we got home, he'd have me tell him, with -my violin, what I'd seen. And now he says I'm to stay here." - -"Here!" It was the quick, stern voice of Simeon Holly. - -"Yes," nodded David earnestly; "to learn about the beautiful -world. Don't you remember? And he said I was not to want to go -back to my mountains; that I would not need to, anyway, because -the mountains, and the sky, and the birds and squirrels and -brooks are really in my violin, you know. And--" But with an -angry frown Simeon Holly stalked away, motioning Larson -to follow him; and with a merry glance and a low chuckle Higgins -turned his horse about and drove from the yard. A moment later -David found himself alone with Mrs. Holly, who was looking at him -with wistful, though slightly fearful eyes. - -"Did you have all the breakfast you wanted?" she asked timidly, -resorting, as she had resorted the night before, to the everyday -things of her world in the hope that they might make this strange -little boy seem less wild, and more nearly human. - -"Oh, yes, thank you." David's eyes had strayed back to the note -in his hand. Suddenly he looked up, a new something in his eyes. -"What is it to be a--a tramp?" he asked. "Those men said daddy -and I were tramps." - -"A tramp? Oh--er--why, just a--a tramp," stammered Mrs. Holly. -"But never mind that, David. I--I wouldn't think any more about -it." - -"But what is a tramp?" persisted David, a smouldering fire -beginning to show in his eyes. "Because if they meant THIEVES--" - -"No, no, David," interrupted Mrs. Holly soothingly. "They never -meant thieves at all." - -"Then, what is it to be a tramp?" - -"Why, it's just to--to tramp," explained Mrs. Holly -desperately;--"walk along the road from one town to another, -and--and not live in a house at all." - -"Oh!" David's face cleared. "That's all right, then. I'd love to -be a tramp, and so'd father. And we were tramps, sometimes, too, -'cause lots of times, in the summer, we didn't stay in the cabin -hardly any--just lived out of doors all day and all night. Why, I -never knew really what the pine trees were saying till I heard -them at night, lying under them. You know what I mean. You've -heard them, haven't you?" - -"At night? Pine trees?" stammered Mrs. Holly helplessly. - -"Yes. Oh, haven't you ever heard them at night?" cried the boy, -in his voice a very genuine sympathy as for a grievous loss. -"Why, then, if you've only heard them daytimes, you don't know a -bit what pine trees really are. But I can tell you. Listen! This -is what they say," finished the boy, whipping his violin from its -case, and, after a swift testing of the strings, plunging into a -weird, haunting little melody. - -In the doorway, Mrs. Holly, bewildered, yet bewitched, stood -motionless, her eyes half-fearfully, half-longingly fixed on -David's glorified face. She was still in the same position when -Simeon Holly came around the corner of the house. - -"Well, Ellen," he began, with quiet scorn, after a moment's stern -watching of the scene before him, "have you nothing better to do -this morning than to listen to this minstrel fellow?" - -"Oh, Simeon! Why, yes, of course. I--I forgot--what I was doing," -faltered Mrs. Holly, flushing guiltily from neck to brow as she -turned and hurried into the house. - -David, on the porch steps, seemed to have heard nothing. He was -still playing, his rapt gaze on the distant sky-line, when Simeon -Holly turned upon him with disapproving eyes. - -"See here, boy, can't you do anything but fiddle?" he demanded. -Then, as David still continued to play, he added sharply: "Did -n't you hear me, boy?" - -The music stopped abruptly. David looked up with the slightly -dazed air of one who has been summoned as from another world. - -"Did you speak to me, sir?" he asked. - -"I did--twice. I asked if you never did anything but play that -fiddle." - -"You mean at home?" David's face expressed mild wonder without a -trace of anger or resentment. "Why, yes, of course. I couldn't -play ALL the time, you know. I had to eat and sleep and study my -books; and every day we went to walk--like tramps, as you call -them," he elucidated, his face brightening with obvious delight -at being able, for once, to explain matters in terms that he felt -sure would be understood. - -"Tramps, indeed!" muttered Simeon Holly, under his breath. Then, -sharply: "Did you never perform any useful labor, boy? Were your -days always spent in this ungodly idleness?" - -Again David frowned in mild wonder. - -"Oh, I wasn't idle, sir. Father said I must never be that. He -said every instrument was needed in the great Orchestra of Life; -and that I was one, you know, even if I was only a little boy. -And he said if I kept still and didn't do my part, the harmony -wouldn't be complete, and--" - -"Yes, yes, but never mind that now, boy," interrupted Simeon -Holly, with harsh impatience. "I mean, did he never set you to -work--real work?" - -"Work?" David meditated again. Then suddenly his face cleared. -"Oh, yes, sir, he said I had a beautiful work to do, and that it -was waiting for me out in the world. That's why we came down from -the mountain, you know, to find it. Is that what you mean?" - -"Well, no," retorted the man, "I can't say that it was. I was -referring to work--real work about the house. Did you never do -any of that?" - -David gave a relieved laugh. - -"Oh, you mean getting the meals and tidying up the house," he -replied. "Oh, yes, I did that with father, only"--his face grew -wistful--"I'm afraid I didn't do it very well. My bacon was -never as nice and crisp as father's, and the fire was always -spoiling my potatoes." - -"Humph! bacon and potatoes, indeed!" scorned Simeon Holly. "Well, -boy, we call that women's work down here. We set men to something -else. Do you see that woodpile by the shed door?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Very good. In the kitchen you'll find an empty woodbox. Do you -think you could fill it with wood from that woodpile? You'll find -plenty of short, small sticks already chopped." - -"Oh, yes, sir, I'd like to," nodded David, hastily but carefully -tucking his violin into its case. A minute later he had attacked -the woodpile with a will; and Simeon Holly, after a sharply -watchful glance, had turned away. - -But the woodbox, after all, was not filled. At least, it was not -filled immediately. for at the very beginning of gathering the -second armful of wood, David picked up a stick that had long -lain in one position on the ground, thereby disclosing sundry and -diverse crawling things of many legs, which filled David's soul -with delight, and drove away every thought of the empty woodbox. - -It was only a matter of some strength and more patience, and -still more time, to overturn other and bigger sticks, to find -other and bigger of the many-legged, many-jointed creatures. One, -indeed, was so very wonderful that David, with a whoop of glee, -summoned Mrs. Holly from the shed doorway to come and see. - -So urgent was his plea that Mrs. Holly came with hurried -steps--but she went away with steps even more hurried; and David, -sitting back on his woodpile seat, was left to wonder why she -should scream and shudder and say "Ugh-h-h!" at such a beautiful, -interesting thing as was this little creature who lived in her -woodpile. - -Even then David did not think of that empty woodbox waiting -behind the kitchen stove. This time it was a butterfly, a big -black butterfly banded with gold; and it danced and fluttered all -through the back yard and out into the garden, David delightedly -following with soft-treading steps, and movements that would not -startle. From the garden to the orchard, and from the orchard -back to the garden danced the butterfly--and David; and in the -garden, near the house, David came upon Mrs. Holly's pansy-bed. -Even the butterfly was forgotten then, for down in the path by -the pansy-bed David dropped to his knees in veritable worship. - -"Why, you're just like little people," he cried softly. "You've -got faces; and some of you are happy, and some of you are sad. -And you--you big spotted yellow one--you're laughing at me. Oh, -I'm going to play you--all of you. You'll make such a pretty -song, you're so different from each other!" And David leaped -lightly to his feet and ran around to the side porch for his -violin. - -Five minutes later, Simeon Holly, coming into the kitchen, heard -the sound of a violin through the open window. At the same moment -his eyes fell on the woodbox, empty save for a few small sticks -at the bottom. With an angry frown he strode through the outer -door and around the corner of the house to the garden. At once -then he came upon David, sitting Turk-fashion in the middle of -the path before the pansy-bed, his violin at his chin, and his -whole face aglow. - -"Well, boy, is this the way you fill the woodbox?" demanded the -man crisply. - -David shook his head. - -"Oh, no, sir, this isn't filling the woodbox," he laughed, -softening his music, but not stopping it. "Did you think that was -what I was playing? It's the flowers here that I'm playing--the -little faces, like people, you know. See, this is that big yellow -one over there that's laughing," he finished, letting the music -under his fingers burst into a gay little melody. - -Simeon Holly raised an imperious hand; and at the gesture David -stopped his melody in the middle of a run, his eyes flying wide -open in plain wonderment. - -"You mean--I'm not playing--right?" he asked. - -"I'm not talking of your playing," retorted Simeon Holly -severely. "I'm talking of that woodbox I asked you to fill." - -David's face cleared. - -"Oh, yes, sir. I'll go and do it," he nodded, getting cheerfully -to his feet. - -"But I told you to do it before." - -David's eyes grew puzzled again. - -"I know, sir, and I started to," he answered, with the obvious -patience of one who finds himself obliged to explain what should -be a self-evident fact; "but I saw so many beautiful things, one -after another, and when I found these funny little flower-people -I just had to play them. Don't you see?" - -"No, I can't say that I do, when I'd already told you to fill the -woodbox," rejoined the man, with uncompromising coldness. - -"You mean--even then that I ought to have filled the woodbox -first?" - -"I certainly do." - -David's eyes flew wide open again. - -"But my song--I'd have lost it!" he exclaimed. "And father said -always when a song came to me to play it at once. Songs are like -the mists of the morning and the rainbows, you know, and they -don't stay with you long. You just have to catch them quick, -before they go. Now, don't you see?" - -But Simeon Holly, with a despairingly scornful gesture, had -turned away; and David, after a moment's following him with -wistful eyes, soberly walked toward the kitchen door. Two minutes -later he was industriously working at his task of filling the -woodbox. - -That for David the affair was not satisfactorily settled was -evidenced by his thoughtful countenance and preoccupied air, -however; nor were matters helped any by the question David put to -Mr. Holly just before dinner. - -"Do you mean," he asked, "that because I didn't fill the woodbox -right away, I was being a discord?" - -"You were what?" demanded the amazed Simeon Holly. - -"Being a discord--playing out of tune, you know," explained -David, with patient earnestness. "Father said--" But again Simeon -Holly had turned irritably away; and David was left with his -perplexed questions still unanswered. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -NUISANCES, NECESSARY AND OTHERWISE - - -For some time after dinner, that first day, David watched Mrs. -Holly in silence while she cleared the table and began to wash -the dishes. - -"Do you want me to--help?" he asked at last, a little wistfully. - -Mrs. Holly, with a dubious glance at the boy's brown little -hands, shook her head. - -"No, I don't. No, thank you," she amended her answer. - -For another sixty seconds David was silent; then, still more -wistfully, he asked:-- - -"Are all these things you've been doing all day 'useful labor'?" - -Mrs. Holly lifted dripping hands from the dishpan and held them -suspended for an amazed instant. - -"Are they--Why, of course they are! What a silly question! What -put that idea into your head, child?" - -"Mr. Holly; and you see it's so different from what father used -to call them." - -"Different?" - -"Yes. He said they were a necessary nuisance,--dishes, and -getting meals, and clearing up,--and he didn't do half as many -of them as you do, either." - -"Nuisance, indeed!" Mrs. Holly resumed her dishwashing with some -asperity. "Well, I should think that might have been just about -like him." - -"Yes, it was. He was always that way," nodded David pleasantly. -Then, after a moment, he queried: "But aren't you going to walk -at all to-day?" - -"To walk? Where?" - -"Why, through the woods and fields--anywhere." - -"Walking in the woods, NOW--JUST WALKING? Land's sake, boy, I've -got something else to do!" - -"Oh, that's too bad, isn't it?" David's face expressed -sympathetic regret." And it's such a nice day! Maybe it'll rain -by tomorrow." - -"Maybe it will," retorted Mrs. Holly, with slightly uplifted -eyebrows and an expressive glance. "But whether it does or does -n't won't make any difference in my going to walk, I guess." - -"Oh, won't it?" beamed David, his face changing. "I'm so glad! I -don't mind the rain, either. Father and I used to go in the rain -lots of times, only, of course, we couldn't take our violins -then, so we used to like the pleasant days better. But there are -some things you find on rainy days that you couldn't find any -other time, aren't there? The dance of the drops on the leaves, -and the rush of the rain when the wind gets behind it. Don't you -love to feel it, out in the open spaces, where the wind just gets -a good chance to push?" - -Mrs. Holly stared. Then she shivered and threw up her hands with -a gesture of hopeless abandonment. - -"Land's sake, boy!" she ejaculated feebly, as she turned back to -her work. - -From dishes to sweeping, and from sweeping to dusting, hurried -Mrs. Holly, going at last into the somber parlor, always -carefully guarded from sun and air. Watching her, mutely, David -trailed behind, his eyes staring a little as they fell upon the -multitude of objects that parlor contained: the haircloth chairs, -the long sofa, the marble-topped table, the curtains, -cushions, spreads, and "throws," the innumerable mats and tidies, -the hair-wreath, the wax flowers under their glass dome, the -dried grasses, the marvelous bouquets of scarlet, green, and -purple everlastings, the stones and shells and many-sized, -many-shaped vases arranged as if in line of battle along the -corner shelves. - -"Y--yes, you may come in," called Mrs. Holly, glancing back at -the hesitating boy in the doorway. "But you mustn't touch -anything. I'm going to dust." - -"But I haven't seen this room before," ruminated David. - -"Well, no," deigned Mrs. Holly, with just a touch of superiority. -"We don't use this room common, little boy, nor the bedroom -there, either. This is the company room, for ministers and -funerals, and--" She stopped hastily, with a quick look at David; -but the boy did not seem to have heard. - -"And doesn't anybody live here in this house, but just you and -Mr. Holly, and Mr. Perry Larson?" he asked, still looking -wonderingly about him. - -"No, not--now." Mrs. Holly drew in her breath with a little -catch, and glanced at the framed portrait of a little boy on the -wall. - -"But you've got such a lot of rooms and--and things," remarked -David. "Why, daddy and I only had two rooms, and not hardly any -THINGS. It was so--different, you know, in my home." - -"I should say it might have been!" Mrs. Holly began to dust -hurriedly, but carefully. Her voice still carried its hint of -superiority. - -"Oh, yes," smiled David. "But you say you don't use this room -much, so that helps." - -"Helps!" In her stupefaction Mrs. Holly stopped her work and -stared. - -"Why, yes. I mean, you've got so many other rooms you can live in -those. You don't HAVE to live in here." - -" 'Have to live in here'!" ejaculated the woman, still too -uncomprehending to be anything but amazed. - -"Yes. But do you have to KEEP all these things, and clean them -and clean them, like this, every day? Couldn't you give them to -somebody, or throw them away?" - -"Throw--these--things--away!" With a wild sweep of her arms, the -horrified woman seemed to be trying to encompass in a protective -embrace each last endangered treasure of mat and tidy. "Boy, are -you crazy? These things are--are valuable. They cost money, and -time and--and labor. Don't you know beautiful things when you see -them?" - -"Oh, yes, I love BEAUTIFUL things," smiled David, with -unconsciously rude emphasis. "And up on the mountain I had them -always. There was the sunrise, and the sunset, and the moon and -the stars, and my Silver Lake, and the cloud-boats that sailed--" - -But Mrs. Holly, with a vexed gesture, stopped him. - -"Never mind, little boy. I might have known--brought up as you -have been. Of course you could not appreciate such things as -these. Throw them away, indeed!" And she fell to work again; but -this time her fingers carried a something in their touch that was -almost like the caress a mother might bestow upon an aggrieved -child. - -David, vaguely disturbed and uncomfortable, watched her with -troubled eyes; then, apologetically, he explained:-- - -"It was only that I thought if you didn't have to clean so many -of these things, you could maybe go to walk more--to-day, and -other days, you know. You said--you didn't have time," he -reminded her. - -But Mrs. Holly only shook her head and sighed:-- - -"Well, well, never mind, little boy. I dare say you meant all -right. You couldn't understand, of course." - -And David, after another moment's wistful eyeing of the caressing -fingers, turned about and wandered out onto the side porch. A -minute later, having seated himself on the porch steps, he had -taken from his pocket two small pieces of folded paper. And then, -through tear-dimmed eyes, he read once more his father's letter. - -"He said I mustn't grieve, for that would grieve him," murmured -the boy, after a time, his eyes on the far-away hills. "And he -said if I'd play, my mountains would come to me here, and I'd -really be at home up there. He said in my violin were all those -things I'm wanting--so bad!" - -With a little choking breath, David tucked the note back into his -pocket and reached for his violin. - -Some time later, Mrs. Holly, dusting the chairs in the parlor, -stopped her work, tiptoed to the door, and listened breathlessly. -When she turned back, still later, to her work, her eyes were -wet. - -"I wonder why, when he plays, I always get to thinking of--John," -she sighed to herself, as she picked up her dusting-cloth. - -After supper that night, Simeon Holly and his wife again sat on -the kitchen porch, resting from the labor of the day. Simeon's -eyes were closed. His wife's were on the dim outlines of the -shed, the barn, the road, or a passing horse and wagon. David, -sitting on the steps, was watching the moon climb higher and -higher above the tree-tops. After a time he slipped into the -house and came out with his violin. - -At the first long-drawn note of sweetness, Simeon Holly opened -his eyes and sat up, stern-lipped. But his wife laid a timid hand -on his arm. - -"Don't say anything, please," she entreated softly. "Let him -play, just for to-night. He's lonesome--poor little fellow." And -Simeon Holly, with a frowning shrug of his shoulders, sat back in -his chair. - -Later, it was Mrs. Holly herself who stopped the music by saying: -"Come, David, it's bedtime for little boys. I'll go upstairs with -you." And she led the way into the house and lighted the candle -for him. - -Upstairs, in the little room over the kitchen, David found -himself once more alone. As before, the little yellow-white -nightshirt lay over the chair-back; and as before, Mrs. Holly had -brushed away a tear as she had placed it there. As before, too, -the big four-posted bed loomed tall and formidable in the corner. -But this time the coverlet and sheet were turned back -invitingly--Mrs. Holly had been much disturbed to find that David -had slept on the floor the night before. - -Once more, with his back carefully turned toward the impaled bugs -and moths on the wall, David undressed himself. Then, before -blowing out the candle, he went to the window kneeled down, and -looked up at the moon through the trees. - -David was sorely puzzled. He was beginning to wonder just what -was to become of himself. - -His father had said that out in the world there was a beautiful -work for him to do; but what was it? How was he to find it? Or -how was he to do it if he did find it? And another thing; where -was he to live? Could he stay where he was? It was not home, to -be sure; but there was the little room over the kitchen where he -might sleep, and there was the kind woman who smiled at him -sometimes with the sad, far-away look in her eyes that somehow -hurt. He would not like, now, to leave her--with daddy gone. - -There were the gold-pieces, too; and concerning these David was -equally puzzled. What should he do with them? He did not need -them--the kind woman was giving him plenty of food, so that he -did not have to go to the store and buy; and there was nothing -else, apparently, that he could use them for. They were heavy, -and disagreeable to carry; yet he did not like to throw them -away, nor to let anybody know that he had them: he had been -called a thief just for one little piece, and what would they say -if they knew he had all those others? - -David remembered now, suddenly, that his father had said to hide -them--to hide them until he needed them. David was relieved at -once. Why had he not thought of it before? He knew just the -place, too,--the little cupboard behind the chimney there in this -very room! And with a satisfied sigh, David got to his feet, -gathered all the little yellow disks from his pockets, and tucked -them well out of sight behind the piles of books on the cupboard -shelves. There, too, he hid the watch; but the little miniature -of the angel-mother he slipped back into one of his pockets. - -David's second morning at the farmhouse was not unlike the first, -except that this time, when Simeon Holly asked him to fill the -woodbox, David resolutely ignored every enticing bug and -butterfly, and kept rigorously to the task before him until it -was done. - -He was in the kitchen when, just before dinner, Perry Larson came -into the room with a worried frown on his face. - -"Mis' Holly, would ye mind just steppin' to the side door? -There's a woman an' a little boy there, an' somethin' ails 'em. -She can't talk English, an' I'm blest if I can make head nor tail -out of the lingo she DOES talk. But maybe you can." - -"Why, Perry, I don't know--" began Mrs. Holly. But she turned at -once toward the door. - -On the porch steps stood a very pretty, but frightened-looking -young woman with a boy perhaps ten years old at her side. Upon -catching sight of Mrs. Holly she burst into a torrent of -unintelligible words, supplemented by numerous and vehement -gestures. - -Mrs. Holly shrank back, and cast appealing eyes toward her -husband who at that moment had come across the yard from the -barn. - -"Simeon, can you tell what she wants?" - -At sight of the newcomer on the scene, the strange woman began -again, with even more volubility. - -"No," said Simeon Holly, after a moment's scowling scrutiny of -the gesticulating woman. "She's talking French, I think. And she -wants--something." - -"Gosh! I should say she did," muttered Perry Larson. "An' -whatever 't is, she wants it powerful bad." - -"Are you hungry?" questioned Mrs. Holly timidly. - -"Can't you speak English at all?" demanded Simeon Holly. - -The woman looked from one to the other with the piteous, pleading -eyes of the stranger in the strange land who cannot understand or -make others understand. She had turned away with a despairing -shake of her head, when suddenly she gave a wild cry of joy and -wheeled about, her whole face alight. - -The Hollys and Perry Larson saw then that David had come out onto -the porch and was speaking to the woman--and his words were just -as unintelligible as the woman's had been. - -Mrs. Holly and Perry Larson stared. Simeon Holly interrupted -David with a sharp-- - -"Do you, then, understand this woman, boy?" - -"Why, yes! Didn't you? She's lost her way, and--" But the woman -had hurried forward and was pouring her story into David's ears. - -At its conclusion David turned to find the look of stupefaction -still on the others' faces. - -"Well, what does she want?" asked Simeon Holly crisply. - -"She wants to find the way to Francois Lavelle's house. He's her -husband's brother. She came in on the train this morning. Her -husband stopped off a minute somewhere, she says, and got left -behind. He could talk English, but she can't. She's -only been in this country a week. She came from France." - -"Gorry! Won't ye listen ter that, now?" cried Perry Larson -admiringly. "Reads her just like a book, don't he? There's a -French family over in West Hinsdale--two of 'em, I think. What'll -ye bet 't ain't one o' them?" - -"Very likely," acceded Simeon Holly, his eyes bent disapprovingly -on David's face. It was plain to be seen that Simeon Holly's -attention was occupied by David, not the woman. - -"An', say, Mr. Holly," resumed Perry Larson, a little excitedly, -"you know I was goin' over ter West Hinsdale in a day or two ter -see Harlow about them steers. Why can't I go this afternoon an' -tote her an' the kid along?" - -"Very well," nodded Simeon Holly curtly, his eyes still on -David's face. - -Perry Larson turned to the woman, and by a flourish of his arms -and a jumble of broken English attempted to make her understand -that he was to take her where she undoubtedly wished to go. The -woman still looked uncomprehending, however, and David promptly -came to the rescue, saying a few rapid words that quickly brought -a flood of delighted understanding to the woman's face. - -"Can't you ask her if she's hungry?" ventured Mrs. Holly, then. - -"She says no, thank you," translated David, with a smile, when he -had received his answer. "But the boy says he is, if you please." - -"Then, tell them to come into the kitchen," directed Mrs. Holly, -hurrying into the house. - -"So you're French, are you?" said Simeon Holly to David. - -"French? Oh, no, sir," smiled David, proudly. "I'm an American. -Father said I was. He said I was born in this country." - -"But how comes it you can speak French like that?" - -"Why, I learned it." Then, divining that his words were still -unconvincing, he added: "Same as I learned German and other -things with father, out of books, you know. Didn't you learn -French when you were a little boy?" - -"Humph!" vouchsafed Simeon Holly, stalking away without answering -the question. - -Immediately after dinner Perry Larson drove away with the woman -and the little boy. The woman's face was wreathed with smiles, -and her last adoring glance was for David, waving his hand to her -from the porch steps. - -In the afternoon David took his violin and went off toward the -hill behind the house for a walk. He had asked Mrs. Holly to -accompany him, but she had refused, though she was not sweeping -or dusting at the time. She was doing nothing more important, -apparently, than making holes in a piece of white cloth, and -sewing them up again with a needle and thread. - -David had then asked Mr. Holly to go; but his refusal was even -more strangely impatient than his wife's had been. - -"And why, pray, should I go for a useless walk now--or any time, -for that matter?" he demanded sharply. - -David had shrunk back unconsciously, though he had still smiled. - -"Oh, but it wouldn't be a useless walk, sir. Father said nothing -was useless that helped to keep us in tune, you know." - -"In tune!" - -"I mean, you looked as father used to look sometimes, when he -felt out of tune. And he always said there was nothing like a -walk to put him back again. I--I was feeling a little out of tune -myself to-day, and I thought, by the way you looked, that you -were, too. So I asked you to go to walk." - -"Humph! Well, I--That will do, boy. No impertinence, you -understand!" And he had turned away in very obvious anger. - -David, with a puzzled sorrow in his heart had started alone then, -on his walk. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -"YOU'RE WANTED--YOU'RE WANTED!" - - -It was Saturday night, and the end of David's third day at the -farmhouse. Upstairs, in the hot little room over the kitchen, the -boy knelt at the window and tried to find a breath of cool air -from the hills. Downstairs on the porch Simeon Holly and his wife -discussed the events of the past few days, and talked of what -should be done with David. - -"But what shall we do with him?" moaned Mrs. Holly at last, -breaking a long silence that had fallen between them. "What can -we do with him? Doesn't anybody want him?" - -"No, of course, nobody wants him," retorted her husband -relentlessly. - -And at the words a small figure in a yellow-white nightshirt -stopped short. David, violin in hand, had fled from the little -hot room, and stood now just inside the kitchen door. - -"Who can want a child that has been brought up in that heathenish -fashion?" continued Simeon Holly. "According to his own story, -even his father did nothing but play the fiddle and tramp through -the woods day in and day out, with an occasional trip to the -mountain village to get food and clothing when they had -absolutely nothing to eat and wear. Of course nobody wants him!" - -David, at the kitchen door, caught his breath chokingly. Then he -sped across the floor to the back hall, and on through the long -sheds to the hayloft in the barn--the place where his father -seemed always nearest. - -David was frightened and heartsick. NOBODY WANTED HIM. He had -heard it with his own ears, so there was no mistake. What now -about all those long days and nights ahead before he might go, -violin in hand, to meet his father in that far-away country? How -was he to live those days and nights if nobody wanted him? How -was his violin to speak in a voice that was true and pure and -full, and tell of the beautiful world, as his father had said -that it must do? David quite cried aloud at the thought. Then he -thought of something else that his father had said: "Remember -this, my boy,--in your violin lie all the things you long for. -You have only to play, and the broad skies of your mountain home -will be over you, and the dear friends and comrades of your -mountain forests will be all about you." With a quick cry David -raised his violin and drew the bow across the strings. - -Back on the porch at that moment Mrs. Holly was saying:-- - -"Of course there's the orphan asylum, or maybe the poorhouse--if -they'd take him; but--Simeon," she broke off sharply, "where's -that child playing now?" - -Simeon listened with intent ears. - -"In the barn, I should say." - -"But he'd gone to bed!" - -"And he'll go to bed again," asserted Simeon Holly grimly, as he -rose to his feet and stalked across the moonlit yard to the barn. - -As before, Mrs. Holly followed him, and as before, both -involuntarily paused just inside the barn door to listen. No runs -and trills and rollicking bits of melody floated down the -stairway to-night. The notes were long-drawn, and plaintively -sweet; and they rose and swelled and died almost into silence -while the man and the woman by the door stood listening. - -They were back in the long ago--Simeon Holly and his wife--back -with a boy of their own who had made those same rafters ring with -shouts of laughter, and who, also, had played the violin--though -not like this; and the same thought had come to each: "What if, -after all, it were John playing all alone in the moonlight!" - -It had not been the violin, in the end, that had driven John -Holly from home. It had been the possibilities in a piece of -crayon. All through childhood the boy had drawn his beloved -"pictures" on every inviting space that offered,--whether it were -the "best-room" wall-paper, or the fly leaf of the big plush -album,--and at eighteen he had announced his determination to be -an artist. For a year after that Simeon Holly fought with all the -strength of a stubborn will, banished chalk and crayon from the -house, and set the boy to homely tasks that left no time for -anything but food and sleep--then John ran away. - -That was fifteen years ago, and they had not seen him since; -though two unanswered letters in Simeon Holly's desk testified -that perhaps this, at least, was not the boy's fault. - -It was not of the grown-up John, the willful boy and runaway son, -however, that Simeon Holly and his wife were thinking, as they -stood just inside the barn door; it was of Baby John, the little -curly-headed fellow that had played at their knees, frolicked in -this very barn, and nestled in their arms when the day was done. - -Mrs. Holly spoke first--and it was not as she had spoken on the -porch. - -"Simeon," she began tremulously, "that dear child must go to -bed!" And she hurried across the floor and up the stairs, -followed by her husband. "Come, David," she said, as she reached -the top; "it's time little boys were asleep! Come!" - -Her voice was low, and not quite steady. To David her voice -sounded as her eyes looked when there was in them the far-away -something that hurt. Very slowly he came forward into the -moonlight, his gaze searching the woman's face long and -earnestly. - -"And do you--want me?" he faltered. - -The woman drew in her breath with a little sob. Before her stood -the slender figure in the yellow-white gown--John's gown. Into -her eyes looked those other eyes, dark and wistful,--like John's -eyes. And her arms ached with emptiness. - -"Yes, yes, for my very own--and for always!" she cried with -sudden passion, clasping the little form close. "For always!" - -And David sighed his content. - -Simeon Holly's lips parted, but they closed again with no words -said. The man turned then, with a curiously baffled look, and -stalked down the stairs. - -On the porch long minutes later, when once more David had gone to -bed, Simeon Holly said coldly to his wife:-- - -"I suppose you realize, Ellen, just what you've pledged yourself -to, by that absurd outburst of yours in the barn to-night--and -all because that ungodly music and the moonshine had gone to your -head!" - -"But I want the boy, Simeon. He--he makes me think of--John." - -Harsh lines came to the man's mouth, but there was a perceptible -shake in his voice as he answered:-- - -"We're not talking of John, Ellen. We're talking of this -irresponsible, hardly sane boy upstairs. He can work, I suppose, -if he's taught, and in that way he won't perhaps be a dead loss. -Still, he's another mouth to feed, and that counts now. There's -the note, you know,--it's due in August." - -"But you say there's money--almost enough for it--in the bank." -Mrs. Holly's voice was anxiously apologetic. - -"Yes, I know" vouchsafed the man. "But almost enough is not quite -enough." - -"But there's time--more than two months. It isn't due till the -last of August, Simeon." - -"I know, I know. Meanwhile, there's the boy. What are you going -to do with him?" - -"Why, can't you use him--on the farm--a little?" - -"Perhaps. I doubt it, though," gloomed the man. "One can't hoe -corn nor pull weeds with a fiddle-bow--and that's all he seems to -know how to handle." - -"But he can learn--and he does play beautifully," murmured the -woman; whenever before had Ellen Holly ventured to use words of -argument with her husband, and in extenuation, too, of an act of -her own! - -There was no reply except a muttered "Humph!" under the breath. -Then Simeon Holly rose and stalked into the house. - -The next day was Sunday, and Sunday at the farmhouse was a thing -of stern repression and solemn silence. In Simeon Holly's veins -ran the blood of the Puritans, and he was more than strict as to -what he considered right and wrong. When half-trained for the -ministry, ill-health had forced him to resort to a less confining -life, though never had it taken from him the uncompromising rigor -of his views. It was a distinct shock to him, therefore, on this -Sunday morning to be awakened by a peal of music such as the -little house had never known before. All the while that he was -thrusting his indignant self into his clothing, the runs and -turns and crashing chords whirled about him until it seemed that -a whole orchestra must be imprisoned in the little room over the -kitchen, so skillful was the boy's double stopping. Simeon Holly -was white with anger when he finally hurried down the hall and -threw open David's bedroom door. - -"Boy, what do you mean by this?" he demanded. - -David laughed gleefully. - -"And didn't you know?" he asked. "Why, I thought my music would -tell you. I was so happy, so glad! The birds in the trees woke me -up singing, 'You're wanted--you're wanted;' and the sun came -over the hill there and said, 'You're wanted--you're wanted;' and -the little tree-branch tapped on my window pane and said "You're -wanted--you're wanted!' And I just had to take up my violin and -tell you about it!" - -"But it's Sunday--the Lord's Day," remonstrated the man sternly. - -David stood motionless, his eyes questioning. - -"Are you quite a heathen, then?" catechised the man sharply. -"Have they never told you anything about God, boy?" - -"Oh, 'God'?--of course," smiled David, in open relief. "God wraps -up the buds in their little brown blankets, and covers the roots -with--" - -"I am not talking about brown blankets nor roots," interrupted -the man severely. "This is God's day, and as such should be kept -holy." - -" 'Holy'?" - -"Yes. You should not fiddle nor laugh nor sing." - -"But those are good things, and beautiful things," defended -David, his eyes wide and puzzled. - -"In their place, perhaps," conceded the man, stiffly. "but not on -God's day." - -"You mean--He wouldn't like them?" - -"Yes." - -"Oh!"--and David's face cleared. "That's all right, then. Your -God isn't the same one, sir, for mine loves all beautiful things -every day in the year." - -There was a moment's silence. For the first time in his life -Simeon Holly found himself without words. - -"We won't talk of this any more, David," he said at last; "but -we'll put it another way--I don't wish you to play your fiddle on -Sunday. Now, put it up till to-morrow." And he turned and went -down the hall. - -Breakfast was a very quiet meal that morning. Meals were never -things of hilarious joy at the Holly farmhouse, as David had -already found out; but he had not seen one before quite so somber -as this. It was followed immediately by a half-hour of -Scripture-reading and prayer, with Mrs. Holly and Perry Larson -sitting very stiff and solemn in their chairs, while Mr. Holly -read. David tried to sit very stiff and solemn in his chair, -also; but the roses at the window were nodding their heads and -beckoning; and the birds in the bushes beyond were sending to him -coaxing little chirps of "Come out, come out!" And how could one -expect to sit stiff and solemn in the face of all that, -particularly when one's fingers were tingling to take up the -interrupted song of the morning and tell the whole world how -beautiful it was to be wanted! - -Yet David sat very still,--or as still as he could sit,--and only -the tapping of his foot, and the roving of his wistful eyes told -that his mind was not with Farmer Holly and the Children of -Israel in their wanderings in the wilderness. - -After the devotions came an hour of subdued haste and confusion -while the family prepared for church. David had never been to -church. He asked Perry Larson what it was like; but Perry only -shrugged his shoulders and said, to nobody, apparently:--" - -Sugar! Won't ye hear that, now?"--which to David was certainly no -answer at all. - -That one must be spick and span to go to church, David soon found -out--never before had he been so scrubbed and brushed and combed. -There was, too, brought out for him to wear a little clean white -blouse and a red tie, over which Mrs. Holly cried a little as she -had over the nightshirt that first evening. - -The church was in the village only a quarter of a mile away; and -in due time David, open-eyed and interested, was following Mr. -and Mrs. Holly down its long center aisle. The Hollys were early -as usual, and service had not begun. Even the organist had not -taken his seat beneath the great pipes of blue and gold that -towered to the ceiling. - -It was the pride of the town--that organ. It had been given by a -great man (out in the world) whose birthplace the town was. More -than that, a yearly donation from this same great man paid for -the skilled organist who came every Sunday from the city to play -it. To-day, as the organist took his seat, he noticed a new face -in the Holly pew, and he almost gave a friendly smile as he met -the wondering gaze of the small boy there; then he lost himself, -as usual, in the music before him. - -Down in the Holly pew the small boy held his breath. A score of -violins were singing in his ears; and a score of other -instruments that he could not name, crashed over his head, and -brought him to his feet in ecstasy. Before a detaining hand -could stop him, he was out in the aisle, his eyes on the -blue-and-gold pipes from which seemed to come those wondrous -sounds. Then his gaze fell on the man and on the banks of keys; -and with soft steps he crept along the aisle and up the stairs to -the organ-loft. - -For long minutes he stood motionless, listening; then the music -died into silence and the minister rose for the invocation. It -was a boy's voice, and not a man's, however, that broke the -pause. - -"Oh, sir, please," it said, "would you--could you teach ME to do -that?" - -The organist choked over a cough, and the soprano reached out and -drew David to her side, whispering something in his ear. The -minister, after a dazed silence, bowed his head; while down in -the Holly pew an angry man and a sorely mortified woman vowed -that, before David came to church again, he should have learned -some things. - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE PUZZLING "DOS" AND "DON'TS" - - -With the coming of Monday arrived a new life for David--a curious -life full of "don'ts" and "dos." David wondered sometimes why all -the pleasant things were "don'ts" and all the unpleasant ones -"dos." Corn to be hoed, weeds to be pulled, woodboxes to be -filled; with all these it was "do this, do this, do this." But -when it came to lying under the apple trees, exploring the brook -that ran by the field, or even watching the bugs and worms that -one found in the earth--all these were "don'ts." - -As to Farmer Holly--Farmer Holly himself awoke to some new -experiences that Monday morning. One of them was the difficulty -in successfully combating the cheerfully expressed opinion that -weeds were so pretty growing that it was a pity to pull them up -and let them all wither and die. Another was the equally great -difficulty of keeping a small boy at useful labor of any sort in -the face of the attractions displayed by a passing cloud, a -blossoming shrub, or a bird singing on a tree-branch. - -In spite of all this, however, David so evidently did his best to -carry out the "dos" and avoid the "don'ts," that at four o'clock -that first Monday he won from the stern but would-be-just Farmer -Holly his freedom for the rest of the day; and very gayly he set -off for a walk. He went without his violin, as there was the -smell of rain in the air; but his face and his step and the very -swing of his arms were singing (to David) the joyous song of the -morning before. Even yet, in spite of the vicissitudes of the -day's work, the whole world, to David's homesick, lonely little -heart, was still caroling that blessed "You're wanted, you're -wanted, you're wanted!" - -And then he saw the crow. - -David knew crows. In his home on the mountain he had had several -of them for friends. He had learned to know and answer their -calls. He had learned to admire their wisdom and to respect their -moods and tempers. He loved to watch them. Especially he loved to -see the great birds cut through the air with a wide sweep of -wings, so alive, so gloriously free! - - But this crow-- - -This crow was not cutting through the air with a wide sweep of -wing. It was in the middle of a cornfield, and it was rising and -falling and flopping about in a most extraordinary fashion. Very -soon David, running toward it, saw why. By a long leather strip -it was fastened securely to a stake in the ground. - -"Oh, oh, oh!" exclaimed David, in sympathetic consternation. -"Here, you just wait a minute. I'll fix it." - -With confident celerity David whipped out his jackknife to cut -the thong; but he found then that to "fix it" and to say he would -"fix it" were two different matters. - -The crow did not seem to recognize in David a friend. He saw in -him, apparently, but another of the stone-throwing, gun-shooting, -torturing humans who were responsible for his present hateful -captivity. With beak and claw and wing, therefore, he fought this -new evil that had come presumedly to torment; and not until David -had hit upon the expedient of taking off his blouse, and throwing -it over the angry bird, could the boy get near enough to -accomplish his purpose. Even then David had to leave upon the -slender leg a twist of leather. - -A moment later, with a whir of wings and a frightened squawk that -quickly turned into a surprised caw of triumphant rejoicing, the -crow soared into the air and made straight for a distant -tree-top. David, after a minute's glad surveying of his work, -donned his blouse again and resumed his walk. - -It was almost six o'clock when David got back to the Holly -farmhouse. In the barn doorway sat Perry Larson. - -"Well, sonny," the man greeted him cheerily, "did ye get yer -weedin' done?" - -"Y--yes," hesitated David. "I got it done; but I didn't like -it." - -" 'T is kinder hot work." - -"Oh, I didn't mind that part," returned David. "What I didn't -like was pulling up all those pretty little plants and letting -them die." - -"Weeds--'pretty little plants'!" ejaculated the man. "Well, I'll -be jiggered!" - -"But they WERE pretty," defended David, reading aright the scorn -in Perry Larson's voice. "The very prettiest and biggest there -were, always. Mr. Holly showed me, you know,--and I had to pull -them up." - -"Well, I'll be jiggered!" muttered Perry Larson again. - -"But I've been to walk since. I feel better now." - -"Oh, ye do!" - -"Oh, yes. I had a splendid walk. I went 'way up in the woods on -the hill there. I was singing all the time--inside, you know. I -was so glad Mrs. Holly--wanted me. You know what it is, when you -sing inside." - -Perry Larson scratched his head. - -"Well, no, sonny, I can't really say I do," he retorted. "I ain't -much on singin'." - -"Oh, but I don't mean aloud. I mean inside. When you're happy, -you know." - -"When I'm--oh!" The man stopped and stared, his mouth falling -open. Suddenly his face changed, and he grinned appreciatively. -"Well, if you ain't the beat 'em, boy! 'T is kinder like -singin'--the way ye feel inside, when yer 'specially happy, ain't -it? But I never thought of it before." - -"Oh, yes. Why, that's where I get my songs--inside of me, you -know--that I play on my violin. And I made a crow sing, too. Only -HE sang outside." - -"SING--A CROW!" scoffed the man." Shucks! It'll take more 'n you -ter make me think a crow can sing, my lad." - -"But they do, when they're happy," maintained the boy. "Anyhow, -it doesn't sound the same as it does when they're cross, or -plagued over something. You ought to have heard this one to-day. -He sang. He was so glad to get away. I let him loose, you see." - -"You mean, you CAUGHT a crow up there in them woods?" The man's -voice was skeptical. - -"Oh, no, I didn't catch it. But somebody had, and tied him up. -And he was so unhappy!" - -"A crow tied up in the woods!" - -"Oh, I didn't find THAT in the woods. It was before I went up -the hill at all." - -"A crow tied up--Look a-here, boy, what are you talkin' about? -Where was that crow?" Perry Larson's whole self had become -suddenly alert. - -"In the field 'Way over there. And somebody--" - -"The cornfield! Jingo! Boy, you don't mean you touched THAT -crow?" - -"Well, he wouldn't let me TOUCH him," half-apologized David. "He -was so afraid, you see. Why, I had to put my blouse over his head -before he'd let me cut him loose at all." - -"Cut him loose!" Perry Larson sprang to his feet. "You did -n't--you DIDn't let that crow go!" - -David shrank back. - -"Why, yes; he WANTED to go. He--" But the man before him had -fallen back despairingly to his old position. - -"Well, sir, you've done it now. What the boss'll say, I don't -know; but I know what I'd like ter say to ye. I was a whole week, -off an' on, gettin' hold of that crow, an' I wouldn't have got -him at all if I hadn't hid half the night an' all the mornin' in -that clump o' bushes, watchin' a chance ter wing him, jest enough -an' not too much. An' even then the job wa'n't done. Let me tell -yer, 't wa'n't no small thing ter get him hitched. I'm wearin' -the marks of the rascal's beak yet. An' now you've gone an' let -him go--just like that," he finished, snapping his fingers -angrily. - -In David's face there was no contrition. There was only -incredulous horror. - -"You mean, YOU tied him there, on purpose?" - -"Sure I did!" - -"But he didn't like it. Couldn't you see he didn't like it?" -cried David. - -"Like it! What if he didn't? I didn't like ter have my corn -pulled up, either. See here, sonny, you no need ter look at me in -that tone o' voice. I didn't hurt the varmint none ter speak -of--ye see he could fly, didn't ye?--an' he wa'n't starvin'. I -saw to it that he had enough ter eat an' a dish o' water handy. -An' if he didn't flop an' pull an' try ter get away he needn't -'a' hurt hisself never. I ain't ter blame for what pullin' he -done." - -"But wouldn't you pull if you had two big wings that could carry -you to the top of that big tree there, and away up, up in the -sky, where you could talk to the stars?--wouldn't you pull if -somebody a hundred times bigger'n you came along and tied your -leg to that post there?" - -The man, Perry, flushed an angry red. - -"See here, sonny, I wa'n't askin' you ter do no preachin'. What I -did ain't no more'n any man 'round here does--if he's smart -enough ter catch one. Rigged-up broomsticks ain't in it with a -live bird when it comes ter drivin' away them pesky, thievin' -crows. There ain't a farmer 'round here that hain't been green -with envy, ever since I caught the critter. An' now ter have you -come along an' with one flip o'yer knife spile it all, I--Well, -it jest makes me mad, clean through! That's all." - -"You mean, you tied him there to frighten away the other crows?" - -"Sure! There ain't nothin' like it." - -"Oh, I'm so sorry!" - -"Well, you'd better be. But that won't bring back my crow!" - -David's face brightened. - -"No, that's so, isn't it? I'm glad of that. I was thinking of -the crows, you see. I'm so sorry for them! Only think how we'd -hate to be tied like that--" But Perry Larson, with a stare and -an indignant snort, had got to his feet, and was rapidly walking -toward the house. - -Very plainly, that evening, David was in disgrace, and it took -all of Mrs. Holly's tact and patience, and some private pleading, -to keep a general explosion from wrecking all chances of his -staying longer at the farmhouse. Even as it was, David was -sorrowfully aware that he was proving to be a great -disappointment so soon, and his violin playing that evening -carried a moaning plaintiveness that would have been very -significant to one who knew David well. - -Very faithfully, the next day, the boy tried to carry out all the -"dos," and though he did not always succeed, yet his efforts were -so obvious, that even the indignant owner of the liberated crow -was somewhat mollified; and again Simeon Holly released David -from work at four o'clock. - -Alas, for David's peace of mind, however; for on his walk to-day, -though he found no captive crow to demand his sympathy, he found -something else quite as heartrending, and as incomprehensible. - -It was on the edge of the woods that he came upon two boys, each -carrying a rifle, a dead squirrel, and a dead rabbit. The -threatened rain of the day before had not materialized, and David -had his violin. He had been playing softly when he came upon the -boys where the path entered the woods. - -"Oh!" At sight of the boys and their burden David gave an -involuntary cry, and stopped playing. - -The boys, scarcely less surprised at sight of David and his -violin, paused and stared frankly. - -"It's the tramp kid with his fiddle," whispered one to the other -huskily. - -David, his grieved eyes on the motionless little bodies in the -boys' hands, shuddered. - -"Are they--dead, too?" - -The bigger boy nodded self-importantly. - -"Sure. We just shot 'em--the squirrels. Ben here trapped the -rabbits." He paused, manifestly waiting for the proper awed -admiration to come into David's face. - -But in David's startled eyes there was no awed admiration, there -was only disbelieving horror. - -"You mean, you SENT them to the far country?" - -"We--what?" - -"Sent them. Made them go yourselves--to the far country?" - -The younger boy still stared. The older one grinned disagreeably. - -"Sure," he answered with laconic indifference. "We sent 'em to -the far country, all right." - -"But--how did you know they WANTED to go?" - -"Wanted--Eh?" exploded the big boy. Then he grinned again, still -more disagreeably. "Well, you see, my dear, we didn't ask 'em," -he gibed. - -Real distress came into David's face. - -"Then you don't know at all. And maybe they DIDn't want to go. -And if they didn't, how COULD they go singing, as father said? -Father wasn't sent. He WENT. And he went singing. He said he -did. But these--How would YOU like to have somebody come along -and send YOU to the far country, without even knowing if you -wanted to go?" - -There was no answer. The boys, with a growing fear in their eyes, -as at sight of something inexplicable and uncanny, were sidling -away; and in a moment they were hurrying down the hill, not, -however, without a backward glance or two, of something very like -terror. - -David, left alone, went on his way with troubled eyes and a -thoughtful frown. - -David often wore, during those first few days at the Holly -farmhouse, a thoughtful face and a troubled frown. There were so -many, many things that were different from his mountain home. -Over and over, as those first long days passed, he read his -letter until he knew it by heart--and he had need to. Was he not -already surrounded by things and people that were strange to him? - -And they were so very strange--these people! There were the boys -and men who rose at dawn--yet never paused to watch the sun flood -the world with light; who stayed in the fields all day--yet never -raised their eyes to the big fleecy clouds overhead; who knew -birds only as thieves after fruit and grain, and squirrels and -rabbits only as creatures to be trapped or shot. The women--they -were even more incomprehensible. They spent the long hours behind -screened doors and windows, washing the same dishes and sweeping -the same floors day after day. They, too, never raised their eyes -to the blue sky outside, nor even to the crimson roses that -peeped in at the window. They seemed rather to be looking always -for dirt, yet not pleased when they found it--especially if it -had been tracked in on the heel of a small boy's shoe! - -More extraordinary than all this to David, however, was the fact -that these people regarded HIM, not themselves, as being strange. -As if it were not the most natural thing in the world to live -with one's father in one's home on the mountain-top, and spend -one's days trailing through the forest paths, or lying with a -book beside some babbling little stream! As if it were not -equally natural to take one's violin with one at times, and learn -to catch upon the quivering strings the whisper of the winds -through the trees! Even in winter, when the clouds themselves -came down from the sky and covered the earth with their soft -whiteness,--even then the forest was beautiful; and the song of -the brook under its icy coat carried a charm and mystery that -were quite wanting in the chattering freedom of summer. Surely -there was nothing strange in all this, and yet these people -seemed to think there was! - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -JOE - - -Day by day, however, as time passed, David diligently tried to -perform the "dos" and avoid the "don'ts"; and day by day he came -to realize how important weeds and woodboxes were, if he were to -conform to what was evidently Farmer Holly's idea of "playing in, -tune" in this strange new Orchestra of Life in which he found -himself. - -But, try as he would, there was yet an unreality about it all, a -persistent feeling of uselessness and waste, that would not be -set aside. So that, after all, the only part of this strange new -life of his that seemed real to him was the time that came after -four o'clock each day, when he was released from work. - -And how full he filled those hours! There was so much to see, so -much to do. For sunny days there were field and stream and -pasture land and the whole wide town to explore. For rainy days, -if he did not care to go to walk, there was his room with the -books in the chimney cupboard. Some of them David had read -before, but many of them he had not. One or two were old friends; -but not so "Dare Devil Dick," and "The Pirates of Pigeon Cove" -(which he found hidden in an obscure corner behind a loose -board). Side by side stood "The Lady of the Lake," "Treasure -Island," and "David Copperfield"; and coverless and dogeared lay -"Robinson Crusoe," "The Arabian Nights," and "Grimm's Fairy -Tales." There were more, many more, and David devoured them all -with eager eyes. The good in them he absorbed as he absorbed the -sunshine; the evil he cast aside unconsciously--it rolled off, -indeed, like the proverbial water from the duck's back. - -David hardly knew sometimes which he liked the better, his -imaginative adventures between the covers of his books or his -real adventures in his daily strolls. True, it was not his -mountain home--this place in which he found himself; neither was -there anywhere his Silver Lake with its far, far-reaching sky -above. More deplorable yet, nowhere was there the dear father he -loved so well. But the sun still set in rose and gold, and the -sky, though small, still carried the snowy sails of its -cloud-boats; while as to his father--his father had told him not -to grieve, and David was trying very hard to obey. - -With his violin for company David started out each day, unless he -elected to stay indoors with his books. Sometimes it was toward -the village that he turned his steps; sometimes it was toward the -hills back of the town. Whichever way it was, there was always -sure to be something waiting at the end for him and his violin to -discover, if it was nothing more than a big white rose in bloom, -or a squirrel sitting by the roadside. - -Very soon, however, David discovered that there was something to -be found in his wanderings besides squirrels and roses; and that -was--people. In spite of the strangeness of these people, they -were wonderfully interesting, David thought. And after that he -turned his steps more and more frequently toward the village when -four o'clock released him from the day's work. - -At first David did not talk much to these people. He shrank -sensitively from their bold stares and unpleasantly audible -comments. He watched them with round eyes of wonder and interest, -however,--when he did not think they were watching him. And in -time he came to know not a little about them and about the -strange ways in which they passed their time. - -There was the greenhouse man. It would be pleasant to spend one's -day growing plants and flowers--but not under that hot, stifling -glass roof, decided David. Besides, he would not want always to -pick and send away the very prettiest ones to the city every -morning, as the greenhouse man did. - -There was the doctor who rode all day long behind the gray mare, -making sick folks well. David liked him, and mentally vowed that -he himself would be a doctor sometime. Still, there was the -stage-driver--David was not sure but he would prefer to follow -this man's profession for a life-work; for in his, one could -still have the freedom of long days in the open, and yet not be -saddened by the sight of the sick before they had been made -well--which was where the stage-driver had the better of the -doctor, in David's opinion. There were the blacksmith and the -storekeepers, too, but to these David gave little thought or -attention. - -Though he might not know what he did want to do, he knew very -well what he did not. All of which merely goes to prove that -David was still on the lookout for that great work which his -father had said was waiting for him out in the world. - -Meanwhile David played his violin. If he found a crimson rambler -in bloom in a door-yard, he put it into a little melody of pure -delight--that a woman in the house behind the rambler heard the -music and was cheered at her task, David did not know. If he -found a kitten at play in the sunshine, he put it into a riotous -abandonment of tumbling turns and trills--that a fretful baby -heard and stopped its wailing, David also did not know. And once, -just because the sky was blue and the air was sweet, and it was -so good to be alive, David lifted his bow and put it all into a -rapturous paean of ringing exultation--that a sick man in a -darkened chamber above the street lifted his head, drew in his -breath, and took suddenly a new lease of life, David still again -did not know. All of which merely goes to prove that David had -perhaps found his work and was doing it--although yet still again -David did not know. - -It was in the cemetery one afternoon that David came upon the -Lady in Black. She was on her knees putting flowers on a little -mound before her. She looked up as David approached. For a moment -she gazed wistfully at him; then as if impelled by a hidden -force, she spoke. - -"Little boy, who are you?" - -"I'm David." - -"David! David who? Do you live here? I've seen you here before." - -"Oh, yes, I've been here quite a lot of times." Purposely the boy -evaded the questions. David was getting tired of -questions--especially these questions. - -"And have you--lost one dear to you, little boy?" - -"Lost some one?" - -"I mean--is your father or mother--here?" - - "Here? Oh, no, they aren't here. My mother is an angel-mother, -and my father has gone to the far country. He is waiting for me -there, you know." - -"But, that's the same--that is--" She stopped helplessly, -bewildered eyes on David's serene face. Then suddenly a great -light came to her own. "Oh, little boy, I wish I could understand -that--just that," she breathed. "It would make it so much -easier--if I could just remember that they aren't here--that -they're WAITING--over there!" - -But David apparently did not hear. He had turned and was playing -softly as he walked away. Silently the Lady in Black knelt, -listening, looking after him. When she rose some time later and -left the cemetery, the light on her face was still there, deeper, -more glorified. - -Toward boys and girls--especially boys--of his own age, David -frequently turned wistful eyes. David wanted a friend, a friend -who would know and understand; a friend who would see things as -he saw them, who would understand what he was saying when he -played. It seemed to David that in some boy of his own age he -ought to find such a friend. He had seen many boys--but he had -not yet found the friend. David had begun to think, indeed, that -of all these strange beings in this new life of his, boys were -the strangest. - -They stared and nudged each other unpleasantly when they came -upon him playing. They jeered when he tried to tell them what he -had been playing. They had never heard of the great Orchestra of -Life, and they fell into most disconcerting fits of laughter, or -else backed away as if afraid, when he told them that they -themselves were instruments in it, and that if they did not keep -themselves in tune, there was sure to be a discord somewhere. - -Then there were their games and frolics. Such as were played with -balls, bats, and bags of beans, David thought he would like very -much. But the boys only scoffed when he asked them to teach him -how to play. They laughed when a dog chased a cat, and they -thought it very, very funny when Tony, the old black man, tripped -on the string they drew across his path. They liked to throw -stones and shoot guns, and the more creeping, crawling, or flying -creatures that they could send to the far country, the happier -they were, apparently. Nor did they like it at all when he asked -them if they were sure all these creeping, crawling, flying -creatures wanted to leave this beautiful world and to be made -dead. They sneered and called him a sissy. David did not know -what a sissy was; but from the way they said it, he judged it -must be even worse to be a sissy than to be a thief. - -And then he discovered Joe. - -David had found himself in a very strange, very unlovely -neighborhood that afternoon. The street was full of papers and -tin cans, the houses were unspeakably forlorn with sagging blinds -and lack of paint. Untidy women and blear-eyed men leaned over -the dilapidated fences, or lolled on mud-tracked doorsteps. -David, his shrinking eyes turning from one side to the other, -passed slowly through the street, his violin under his arm. -Nowhere could David find here the tiniest spot of beauty to -"play." He had reached quite the most forlorn little shanty on -the street when the promise in his father's letter occurred to -him. With a suddenly illumined face, he raised his violin to -position and plunged into a veritable whirl of trills and runs -and tripping melodies. - -"If I didn't just entirely forget that I didn't NEED to SEE -anything beautiful to play," laughed David softly to himself. -"Why, it's already right here in my violin!" - -David had passed the tumble-down shanty, and was hesitating where -two streets crossed, when he felt a light touch on his arm. He -turned to confront a small girl in a patched and faded calico -dress, obviously outgrown. Her eyes were wide and frightened. In -the middle of her outstretched dirty little palm was a copper -cent. - -"If you please, Joe sent this--to you," she faltered. - -"To me? What for?" David stopped playing and lowered his violin. - -The little girl backed away perceptibly, though she still held -out the coin. - -"He wanted you to stay and play some more. He said to tell you -he'd 'a' sent more money if he could. But he didn't have it. He -just had this cent." - -David's eyes flew wide open. - -"You mean he WANTS me to play? He likes it?" he asked joyfully. - -"Yes. He said he knew 't wa'n't much--the cent. But he thought -maybe you'd play a LITTLE for it." - -"Play? Of course I'll play" cried David. "Oh, no, I don't want -the money," he added, waving the again-proffered coin aside. "I -don't need money where I'm living now. Where is he--the one that -wanted me to play?" he finished eagerly. - -"In there by the window. It's Joe. He's my brother." The little -girl, in spite of her evident satisfaction at the accomplishment -of her purpose, yet kept quite aloof from the boy. Nor did the -fact that he refused the money appear to bring her anything but -uneasy surprise. - -In the window David saw a boy apparently about his own age, a boy -with sandy hair, pale cheeks, and wide-open, curiously intent -blue eyes. - -"Is he coming? Did you get him? Will he play?" called the boy at -the window eagerly. - -"Yes, I'm right here. I'm the one. Can't you see the violin? -Shall I play here or come in?" answered David, not one whit less -eagerly. - -The small girl opened her lips as if to explain something; but -the boy in the window did not wait. - -"Oh, come in. WILL you come in?" he cried unbelievingly. "And -will you just let me touch it--the fiddle? Come! You WILL come? -See, there isn't anybody home, only just Betty and me." - -"Of course I will!" David fairly stumbled up the broken steps in -his impatience to reach the wide-open door. "Did you like -it--what I played? And did you know what I was playing? Did you -understand? Could you see the cloud-boats up in the sky, and my -Silver Lake down in the valley? And could you hear the birds, and -the winds in the trees, and the little brooks? Could you? Oh, did -you understand? I've so wanted to find some one that could! But I -wouldn't think that YOU--HERE--" With a gesture, and an -expression on his face that were unmistakable, David came to a -helpless pause. - -"There, Joe, what'd I tell you," cried the little girl, in a -husky whisper, darting to her brother's side. "Oh, why did you -make me get him here? Everybody says he's crazy as a loon, and--" - -But the boy reached out a quickly silencing hand. His face was -curiously alight, as if from an inward glow. His eyes, still -widely intent, were staring straight ahead. - -"Stop, Betty, wait," he hushed her. "Maybe--I think I DO -understand. Boy, you mean--INSIDE of you, you see those things, -and then you try to make your fiddle tell what you are seeing. Is -that it?" - -"Yes, yes," cried David. "Oh, you DO understand. And I never -thought you could. I never thought that anybody could that did -n't have anything to look at but him--but these things." - -" 'Anything but these to look at'!" echoed the boy, with a sudden -anguish in his voice. "Anything but these! I guess if I could see -ANYTHING, I wouldn't mind WHAT I see! An' you wouldn't, -neither, if you was--blind, like me." - -"Blind!" David fell back. Face and voice were full of horror. -"You mean you can't see--anything, with your eyes?" - -"Nothin'." - -"Oh! I never saw any one blind before. There was one in a -book--but father took it away. Since then, in books down here, -I've found others--but--" - -"Yes, yes. Well, never mind that," cut in the blind boy, growing -restive under the pity in the other's voice. "Play. Won't you?" - -"But how are you EVER going to know what a beautiful world it -is?" shuddered David. "How can you know? And how can you ever -play in tune? You're one of the instruments. Father said -everybody was. And he said everybody was playing SOMETHING all -the time; and if you didn't play in tune--" - -"Joe, Joe, please," begged the little girl "Won't you let him go? -I'm afraid. I told you--" - -"Shucks, Betty! He won't hurt ye," laughed Joe, a little -irritably. Then to David he turned again with some sharpness. - -"Play, won't ye? You SAID you'd play!" - -"Yes, oh, yes, I'll play," faltered David, bringing his violin -hastily to position, and testing the strings with fingers that -shook a little. - -"There!" breathed Joe, settling back in his chair with a -contented sigh. "Now, play it again--what you did before." - -But David did not play what he did before--at first. There were -no airy cloud-boats, no far-reaching sky, no birds, or murmuring -forest brooks in his music this time. There were only the -poverty-stricken room, the dirty street, the boy alone at the -window, with his sightless eyes--the boy who never, never would -know what a beautiful world he lived in. - -Then suddenly to David came a new thought. This boy, Joe, had -said before that he understood. He had seemed to know that he was -being told of the sunny skies and the forest winds, the singing -birds and the babbling brooks. Perhaps again now he would -understand. - -What if, for those sightless eyes, one could create a world? - -Possibly never before had David played as he played then. It was -as if upon those four quivering strings, he was laying the purple -and gold of a thousand sunsets, the rose and amber of a thousand -sunrises, the green of a boundless earth, the blue of a sky that -reached to heaven itself--to make Joe understand. - -"Gee!" breathed Joe, when the music came to an end with a -crashing chord. "Say, wa'n't that just great? Won't you let me, -please, just touch that fiddle?" And David, looking into the -blind boy's exalted face, knew that Joe had indeed--understood. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE LADY OF THE ROSES - - -It was a new world, indeed, that David created for Joe after -that--a world that had to do with entrancing music where once was -silence; delightful companionship where once was loneliness; and -toothsome cookies and doughnuts where once was hunger. - -The Widow Glaspell, Joe's mother, worked out by the day, -scrubbing and washing; and Joe, perforce, was left to the -somewhat erratic and decidedly unskillful ministrations of Betty. -Betty was no worse, and no better, than any other untaught, -irresponsible twelve-year-old girl, and it was not to be -expected, perhaps, that she would care to spend all the bright -sunny hours shut up with her sorely afflicted and somewhat -fretful brother. True, at noon she never failed to appear and -prepare something that passed for a dinner for herself and Joe. -But the Glaspell larder was frequently almost as empty as were -the hungry stomachs that looked to it for refreshment; and it -would have taken a far more skillful cook than was the fly-away -Betty to evolve anything from it that was either palatable or -satisfying. - -With the coming of David into Joe's life all this was changed. -First, there were the music and the companionship. Joe's father -had "played in the band" in his youth, and (according to the -Widow Glaspell) had been a "powerful hand for music." It was from -him, presumably, that Joe had inherited his passion for melody -and harmony; and it was no wonder that David recognized so soon -in the blind boy the spirit that made them kin. At the first -stroke of David's bow, indeed, the dingy walls about them would -crumble into nothingness, and together the two boys were off in a -fairy world of loveliness and joy. - -Nor was listening always Joe's part. From "just touching" the -violin--his first longing plea--he came to drawing a timid bow -across the strings. In an incredibly short time, then, he was -picking out bits of melody; and by the end of a fortnight David -had brought his father's violin for Joe to practice on. - -"I can't GIVE it to you--not for keeps," David had explained, a -bit tremulously, "because it was daddy's, you know; and when I -see it, it seems almost as if I was seeing him. But you may take -it. Then you can have it here to play on whenever you like." - -After that, in Joe's own hands lay the power to transport himself -into another world, for with the violin for company he knew no -loneliness. - -Nor was the violin all that David brought to the house. There -were the doughnuts and the cookies. Very early in his visits -David had discovered, much to his surprise, that Joe and Betty -were often hungry. - -"But why don't you go down to the store and buy something?" he -had queried at once. - -Upon being told that there was no money to buy with, David's -first impulse had been to bring several of the gold-pieces the -next time he came; but upon second thoughts David decided that he -did not dare. He was not wishing to be called a thief a second -time. It would be better, he concluded, to bring some food from -the house instead. - -In his mountain home everything the house afforded in the way of -food had always been freely given to the few strangers that found -their way to the cabin door. So now David had no hesitation in -going to Mrs. Holly's pantry for supplies, upon the occasion of -his next visit to Joe Glaspell's. - -Mrs. Holly, coming into the kitchen, found him merging from the -pantry with both hands full of cookies and doughnuts. - -"Why, David, what in the world does this mean?" she demanded. - -"They're for Joe and Betty," smiled David happily. - -"For Joe and--But those doughnuts and cookies don't belong to -you. They're mine!" - -"Yes, I know they are. I told them you had plenty," nodded David. - -"Plenty! What if I have?" remonstrated Mrs. Holly, in growing -indignation. "That doesn't mean that you can take--" Something -in David's face stopped the words half-spoken. - -"You don't mean that I CAN'T take them to Joe and Betty, do you? -Why, Mrs. Holly, they're hungry! Joe and Betty are. They don't -have half enough to eat. Betty said so. And we've got more than -we want. There's food left on the table every day. Why, if YOU -were hungry, wouldn't you want somebody to bring--" - -But Mrs. Holly stopped him with a despairing gesture. - -"There, there, never mind. Run along. Of course you can take -them. I'm--I'm GLAD to have you," she finished, in a desperate -attempt to drive from David's face that look of shocked -incredulity with which he was still regarding her. - -Never again did Mrs. Holly attempt to thwart David's generosity -to the Glaspells; but she did try to regulate it. She saw to it -that thereafter, upon his visits to the house, he took only -certain things and a certain amount, and invariably things of her -own choosing. - -But not always toward the Glaspell shanty did David turn his -steps. Very frequently it was in quite another direction. He had -been at the Holly farmhouse three weeks when he found his Lady of -the Roses. - -He had passed quite through the village that day, and had come to -a road that was new to him. It was a beautiful road, smooth, -white, and firm. Two huge granite posts topped with flaming -nasturtiums marked the point where it turned off from the main -highway. Beyond these, as David soon found, it ran between -wide-spreading lawns and flowering shrubs, leading up the gentle -slope of a hill. Where it led to, David did not know, but he -proceeded unhesitatingly to try to find out. For some time he -climbed the slope in silence, his violin, mute, under his arm; -but the white road still lay in tantalizing mystery before him -when a by-path offered the greater temptation, and lured him to -explore its cool shadowy depths instead. - -Had David but known it, he was at Sunny-crest, Hinsdale's one -"show place," the country home of its one really rich resident, -Miss Barbara Holbrook. Had he also but known it, Miss Holbrook -was not celebrated for her graciousness to any visitors, -certainly not to those who ventured to approach her otherwise -than by a conventional ring at her front doorbell. But David did -not know all this; and he therefore very happily followed the -shady path until he came to the Wonder at the end of it. - -The Wonder, in Hinsdale parlance, was only Miss Holbrook's -garden, but in David's eyes it was fairyland come true. For one -whole minute he could only stand like a very ordinary little boy -and stare. At the end of the minute he became himself once more; -and being himself, he expressed his delight at once in the only -way he knew how to do--by raising his violin and beginning to -play. - -He had meant to tell of the limpid pool and of the arch of the -bridge it reflected; of the terraced lawns and marble steps, and -of the gleaming white of the sculptured nymphs and fauns; of the -splashes of glorious crimson, yellow, blush-pink, and snowy white -against the green, where the roses rioted in luxurious bloom. He -had meant, also, to tell of the Queen Rose of them all--the -beauteous lady with hair like the gold of sunrise, and a gown -like the shimmer of the moon on water--of all this he had meant -to tell; but he had scarcely begun to tell it at all when the -Beauteous Lady of the Roses sprang to her feet and became so very -much like an angry young woman who is seriously displeased that -David could only lower his violin in dismay. - -"Why, boy, what does this mean?" she demanded. - -David sighed a little impatiently as he came forward into the -sunlight. - -"But I was just telling you," he remonstrated, "and you would not -let me finish." - -"Telling me!" - -"Yes, with my violin. COULDn't you understand?" appealed the boy -wistfully. "You looked as if you could!" - -"Looked as if I could!" - -"Yes. Joe understood, you see, and I was surprised when HE did. -But I was just sure you could--with all this to look at." - -The lady frowned. Half-unconsciously she glanced about her as if -contemplating flight. Then she turned back to the boy. - -"But how came you here? Who are you?" she cried. - -"I'm David. I walked here through the little path back there. I -didn't know where it went to, but I'm so glad now I found out!" - -"Oh, are you!" murmured the lady, with slightly uplifted brows. - -She was about to tell him very coldly that now that he had found -his way there he might occupy himself in finding it home again, -when the boy interposed rapturously, his eyes sweeping the scene -before him:-- - -"Yes. I didn't suppose, anywhere, down here, there was a place -one half so beautiful!" - -An odd feeling of uncanniness sent a swift exclamation to the -lady's lips. - -" 'Down here'! What do you mean by that? You speak as if you came -from--above," she almost laughed. - -"I did," returned David simply. "But even up there I never found -anything quite like this,"--with a sweep of his hands,--"nor like -you, O Lady of the Roses," he finished with an admiration that -was as open as it was ardent. - -This time the lady laughed outright. She even blushed a little. - -"Very prettily put, Sir Flatterer" she retorted; "but when you -are older, young man, you won't make your compliments quite so -broad. I am no Lady of the Roses. I am Miss Holbrook; and--and I -am not in the habit of receiving gentlemen callers who are -uninvited and--unannounced," she concluded, a little sharply. - -Pointless the shaft fell at David's feet. He had turned again to -the beauties about him, and at that moment he spied the -sundial--something he had never seen before. - -"What is it?" he cried eagerly, hurrying forward. "It isn 't -exactly pretty, and yet it looks as if 't were meant -for--something." - -"It is. It is a sundial. It marks the time by the sun." - -Even as she spoke, Miss Holbrook wondered why she answered the -question at all; why she did not send this small piece of -nonchalant impertinence about his business, as he so richly -deserved. The next instant she found herself staring at the boy -in amazement. With unmistakable ease, and with the trained accent -of the scholar, he was reading aloud the Latin inscription on the -dial: " 'Horas non numero nisi serenas,' 'I count--no--hours -but--unclouded ones,' " he translated then, slowly, though with -confidence. "That's pretty; but what does it mean--about -'counting'?" - -Miss Holbrook rose to her feet. - -"For Heaven's sake, boy, who, and what are you?" she demanded. -"Can YOU read Latin?" - -"Why, of course! Can't you?" With a disdainful gesture Miss -Holbrook swept this aside. - -"Boy, who are you?" she demanded again imperatively. - -"I'm David. I told you." - -"But David who? Where do you live?" - -The boy's face clouded. - -"I'm David--just David. I live at Farmer Holly's now; but I did -live on the mountain with--father, you know." - -A great light of understanding broke over Miss Holbrook's face. -She dropped back into her seat. - -"Oh, I remember," she murmured. "You're the little--er--boy whom -he took. I have heard the story. So THAT is who you are," she -added, the old look of aversion coming back to her eyes. She had -almost said "the little tramp boy"--but she had stopped in time. - -"Yes. And now what do they mean, please,--those words,-- 'I count -no hours but unclouded ones'?" - -Miss Holbrook stirred in her seat and frowned. - -"Why, it means what it says, of course, boy. A sundial counts its -hours by the shadow the sun throws, and when there is no sun -there is no shadow; hence it's only the sunny hours that are -counted by the dial," she explained a little fretfully. - -David's face radiated delight. - -"Oh, but I like that!" he exclaimed. - -"You like it!" - -"Yes. I should like to be one myself, you know." - -"Well, really! And how, pray?" In spite of herself a faint gleam -of interest came into Miss Holbrook's eyes. - -David laughed and dropped himself easily to the ground at her -feet. He was holding his violin on his knees now. - -"Why, it would be such fun," he chuckled, "to just forget all -about the hours when the sun didn't shine, and remember only the -nice, pleasant ones. Now for me, there wouldn't be any hours, -really, until after four o'clock, except little specks of minutes -that I'd get in between when I DID see something interesting." - -Miss Holbrook stared frankly. - -"What an extraordinary boy you are, to be sure," she murmured. -"And what, may I ask, is it that you do every day until four -o'clock, that you wish to forget? " - -David sighed. - -"Well, there are lots of things. I hoed potatoes and corn, first, -but they're too big now, mostly; and I pulled up weeds, too, till -they were gone. I've been picking up stones, lately, and clearing -up the yard. Then, of course, there's always the woodbox to fill, -and the eggs to hunt, besides the chickens to feed,--though I -don't mind THEM so much; but I do the other things, 'specially -the weeds. They were so much prettier than the things I had to -let grow, 'most always." - -Miss Holbrook laughed. - -"Well, they were; and really" persisted the boy, in answer to the -merriment in her eyes; "now wouldn't it be nice to be like the -sundial, and forget everything the sun didn't shine on? Would -n't you like it? Isn't there anything YOU want to forget?" - -Miss Holbrook sobered instantly. The change in her face was so -very marked, indeed, that involuntarily David looked about for -something that might have cast upon it so great a shadow. For a -long minute she did not speak; then very slowly, very bitterly, -she said aloud--yet as if to herself:-- - -"Yes. If I had my way I'd forget them every one--these hours; -every single one!" - -"Oh, Lady of the Roses!" expostulated David in a voice quivering -with shocked dismay. "You don't mean--you can't mean that you -don't have ANY--sun!" - -"I mean just that," bowed Miss Holbrook wearily, her eyes on the -somber shadows of the pool; "just that!" - -David sat stunned, confounded. Across the marble steps and the -terraces the shadows lengthened, and David watched them as the -sun dipped behind the tree-tops. They seemed to make more vivid -the chill and the gloom of the lady's words--more real the day -that had no sun. After a time the boy picked up his violin and -began to play, softly, and at first with evident hesitation. Even -when his touch became more confident, there was still in the -music a questioning appeal that seemed to find no answer--an -appeal that even the player himself could not have explained. - -For long minutes the young woman and the boy sat thus in the -twilight. Then suddenly the woman got to her feet. - -"Come, come, boy, what can I be thinking of?" she cried sharply. -"I must go in and you must go home. Good-night." And she swept -across the grass to the path that led toward the house. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -JACK AND JILL - - -David was tempted to go for a second visit to his Lady of the -Roses, but something he could not define held him back. The lady -was in his mind almost constantly, however; and very vivid to him -was the picture of the garden, though always it was as he had -seen it last with the hush and shadow of twilight, and with the -lady's face gloomily turned toward the sunless pool. David could -not forget that for her there were no hours to count; she had -said it herself. He could not understand how this could be so; -and the thought filled him with vague unrest and pain. - -Perhaps it was this restlessness that drove David to explore even -more persistently the village itself, sending him into new -streets in search of something strange and interesting. One day -the sound of shouts and laughter drew him to an open lot back of -the church where some boys were at play. - -David still knew very little of boys. In his mountain home he had -never had them for playmates, and he had not seen much of them -when he went with his father to the mountain village for -supplies. There had been, it is true, the boy who frequently -brought milk and eggs to the cabin; but he had been very quiet -and shy, appearing always afraid and anxious to get away, as if -he had been told not to stay. More recently, since David had been -at the Holly farmhouse, his experience with boys had been even -less satisfying. The boys--with the exception of blind Joe--had -very clearly let it be understood that they had little use for a -youth who could find nothing better to do than to tramp through -the woods and the streets with a fiddle under his arm. - -To-day, however, there came a change. Perhaps they were more used -to him; or perhaps they had decided suddenly that it might be -good fun to satisfy their curiosity, anyway, regardless of -consequences. Whatever it was, the lads hailed his appearance -with wild shouts of glee. - -"Golly, boys, look! Here's the fiddlin' kid," yelled one; and the -others joined in the "Hurrah!" he gave. - -David smiled delightedly; once more he had found some one who -wanted him--and it was so nice to be wanted! Truth to tell, David -had felt not a little hurt at the persistent avoidance of all -those boys and girls of his own age. - -"How--how do you do?" he said diffidently, but still with that -beaming smile. - -Again the boys shouted gleefully as they hurried forward. Several -had short sticks in their hands. One had an old tomato can with a -string tied to it. The tallest boy had something that he was -trying to hold beneath his coat. - -" 'H--how do you do?' " they mimicked. "How do you do, fiddlin' -kid?" - -"I'm David; my name is David." The reminder was graciously given, -with a smile. - -"David! David! His name is David," chanted the boys, as if they -were a comic-opera chorus. - -David laughed outright. - -"Oh, sing it again, sing it again!" he crowed. "That sounded -fine!" - -The boys stared, then sniffed disdainfully, and cast derisive -glances into each other's eyes--it appeared that this little -sissy tramp boy did not even know enough to discover when he was -being laughed at! - -"David! David! His name is David," they jeered into his face -again. "Come on, tune her up! We want ter dance." - -"Play? Of course I'll play," cried David joyously, raising his -violin and testing a string for its tone. - -"Here, hold on," yelled the tallest boy. "The Queen o' the Ballet -ain't ready". And he cautiously pulled from beneath his coat a -struggling kitten with a perforated bag tied over its head. - -"Sure! We want her in the middle," grinned the boy with the tin -can. "Hold on till I get her train tied to her," he finished, -trying to capture the swishing, fluffy tail of the frightened -little cat. - -David had begun to play, but he stopped his music with a -discordant stroke of the bow. - -"What are you doing? What is the matter with that cat?" he -demanded. - -" 'Matter'!" called a derisive voice. "Sure, nothin' 's the -matter with her. She's the Queen o' the Ballet--she is!" - -"What do you mean?" cried David. At that moment the string bit -hard into the captured tail, and the kitten cried out with the -pain. "Look out! You're hurting her," cautioned David sharply. - -Only a laugh and a jeering word answered. Then the kitten, with -the bag on its head and the tin can tied to its tail, was let -warily to the ground, the tall boy still holding its back with -both hands. - -"Ready, now! Come on, play," he ordered; "then we'll set her -dancing." - -David's eyes flashed. - -"I will not play--for that." - -The boys stopped laughing suddenly. - -"Eh? What?" They could scarcely have been more surprised if the -kitten itself had said the words. - -"I say I won't play--I can't play--unless you let that cat go." - -"Hoity-toity! Won't ye hear that now?" laughed a mocking voice. -"And what if we say we won't let her go, eh?" - -"Then I'll make you," vowed David, aflame with a newborn -something that seemed to have sprung full-grown into being. - -"Yow!" hooted the tallest boy, removing both hands from the -captive kitten. - -The kitten, released, began to back frantically. The can, -dangling at its heels, rattled and banged and thumped, until the -frightened little creature, crazed with terror, became nothing -but a whirling mass of misery. The boys, formed now into a -crowing circle of delight, kept the kitten within bounds, and -flouted David mercilessly. - -"Ah, ha!--stop us, will ye? Why don't ye stop us?" they gibed. - -For a moment David stood without movement, his eyes staring. The -next instant he turned and ran. The jeers became a chorus of -triumphant shouts then--but not for long. David had only hurried -to the woodpile to lay down his violin. He came back then, on the -run--and before the tallest boy could catch his breath he was -felled by a stinging blow on the jaw. - -Over by the church a small girl, red-haired and red-eyed, -clambered hastily over the fence behind which for long minutes -she had been crying and wringing her hands. - -"He'll be killed, he'll be killed," she moaned. "And it's my -fault, 'cause it's my kitty--it's my kitty," she sobbed, -straining her eyes to catch a glimpse of the kitten's protector -in the squirming mass of legs and arms. - -The kitten, unheeded now by the boys, was pursuing its backward -whirl to destruction some distance away, and very soon the little -girl discovered her. With a bound and a choking cry she reached -the kitten, removed the bag and unbound the cruel string. Then, -sitting on the ground, a safe distance away, she soothed the -palpitating little bunch of gray fur, and watched with fearful -eyes the fight. - -And what a fight it was! There was no question, of course, as to -its final outcome, with six against one; but meanwhile the one -was giving the six the surprise of their lives in the shape of -well-dealt blows and skillful twists and turns that caused their -own strength and weight to react upon themselves in a most -astonishing fashion. The one unmistakably was getting the worst -of it, however, when the little girl, after a hurried dash to the -street, brought back with her to the rescue a tall, smooth-shaven -young man whom she had hailed from afar as "Jack." - -Jack put a stop to things at once. With vigorous jerks and pulls -he unsnarled the writhing mass, boy by boy, each one of whom, -upon catching sight of his face, slunk hurriedly away, as if glad -to escape so lightly. There was left finally upon the ground only -David alone. But when David did at last appear, the little girl -burst into tears anew. - -"Oh, Jack, he's killed--I know he's killed," she wailed. "And he -was so nice and--and pretty. And now--look at him! Ain't he a -sight?" - -David was not killed, but he was--a sight. His blouse was torn, -his tie was gone, and his face and hands were covered with dirt -and blood. Above one eye was an ugly-looking lump, and below the -other was a red bruise. Somewhat dazedly he responded to the -man's helpful hand, pulled himself upright, and looked about him. -He did not see the little girl behind him. - -"Where's the cat?" he asked anxiously. - -The unexpected happened then. With a sobbing cry the little girl -flung herself upon him, cat and all. - -"Here, right here," she choked. "And it was you who saved her--my -Juliette! And I'll love you, love you, love you always for it!" - -"There, there, Jill," interposed the man a little hurriedly. -"Suppose we first show our gratitude by seeing if we can't do -something to make our young warrior here more comfortable." And -he began to brush off with his handkerchief some of the -accumulated dirt. - -"Why can't we take him home, Jack, and clean him up 'fore other -folks see him?" suggested the girl. - -The boy turned quickly. - -"Did you call him 'Jack'?" - -"Yes." - -"And he called you, Jill'?" - -"Yes." - -"The real 'Jack and Jill' that 'went up the hill'?" The man and -the girl laughed; but the girl shook her head as she answered,-- - -"Not really--though we do go up a hill, all right, every day. But -those aren't even our own names. We just call each other that -for fun. Don't YOU ever call things--for fun?" - -David's face lighted up in spite of the dirt, the lump, and the -bruise. - -"Oh, do you do that?" he breathed. "Say, I just know I'd like to -play to you! You'd understand!" - -"Oh, yes, and he plays, too," explained the little girl, turning -to the man rapturously. "On a fiddle, you know, like you." - -She had not finished her sentence before David was away, hurrying -a little unsteadily across the lot for his violin. When he came -back the man was looking at him with an anxious frown. - -"Suppose you come home with us, boy," he said. "It isn't -far--through the hill pasture, 'cross lots,--and we'll look you -over a bit. That lump over your eye needs attention." - -"Thank you," beamed David. "I'd like to go, and--I'm glad you -want me!" He spoke to the man, but he looked at the little -red-headed girl, who still held the gray kitten in her arms. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -ANSWERS THAT DID NOT ANSWER - - -"Jack and Jill," it appeared, were a brother and sister who lived -in a tiny house on a hill directly across the creek from -Sunnycrest. Beyond this David learned little until after bumps -and bruises and dirt had been carefully attended to. He had then, -too, some questions to answer concerning himself. - -"And now, if you please," began the man smilingly, as he surveyed -the boy with an eye that could see no further service to be -rendered, "do you mind telling me who you are, and how you came -to be the center of attraction for the blows and cuffs of six -boys?" - -"I'm David, and I wanted the cat," returned the boy simply. - -"Well, that's direct and to the point, to say the least," laughed -the man. "Evidently, however, you're in the habit of being that. -But, David, there were six of them,--those boys,--and some of -them were larger than you." - -"Yes, sir." - -"And they were so bad and cruel," chimed in the little girl. - -The man hesitated, then questioned slowly. - -"And may I ask you where you--er--learned to--fight like that?" - -"I used to box with father. He said I must first be well and -strong. He taught me jiujitsu, too, a little; but I couldn't -make it work very well--with so many" - -"I should say not," adjudged the man grimly. "But you gave them a -surprise or two, I'll warrant," he added, his eyes on the cause -of the trouble, now curled in a little gray bunch of content on -the window sill. "But I don't know yet who you are. Who is your -father? Where does he live?" - -David shook his head. As was always the case when his father was -mentioned, his face grew wistful and his eyes dreamy. - -"He doesn't live here anywhere," murmured the boy. "In the far -country he is waiting for me to come to him and tell him of the -beautiful world I have found, you know." - -"Eh? What?" stammered the man, not knowing whether to believe his -eyes, or his ears. This boy who fought like a demon and talked -like a saint, and who, though battered and bruised, prattled of -the "beautiful world" he had found, was most disconcerting. - -"Why, Jack, don't you know?" whispered the little girl -agitatedly. "He's the boy at Mr. Holly's that they took." Then, -still more softly: "He's the little tramp boy. His father died in -the barn." - -"Oh," said the man, his face clearing, and his eyes showing a -quick sympathy. "You're the boy at the Holly farmhouse, are you?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"And he plays the fiddle everywhere," volunteered the little -girl, with ardent admiration. "If you hadn't been shut up sick -just now, you'd have heard him yourself. He plays -everywhere--everywhere he goes." - -"Is that so?" murmured Jack politely, shuddering a little at what -he fancied would come from a violin played by a boy like the one -before him. (Jack could play the violin himself a little--enough -to know it some, and love it more.) "Hm-m; well, and what else do -you do? " - -"Nothing, except to go for walks and read." - -"Nothing!--a big boy like you--and on Simeon Holly's farm?" Voice -and manner showed that Jack was not unacquainted with Simeon -Holly and his methods and opinions. - -David laughed gleefully. - -"Oh, of course, REALLY I do lots of things, only I don't count -those any more. 'Horas non numero nisi serenas,' you knew," he -quoted pleasantly, smiling into the man's astonished eyes. - -"Jack, what was that--what he said?" whispered the little girl. -"It sounded foreign. IS he foreign?" - -"You've got me, Jill," retorted the man, with a laughing -grimace. "Heaven only knows what he is--I don't. What he SAID was -Latin; I do happen to know that. Still"--he turned to the boy -ironically--"of course you know the translation of that," he -said. - -"Oh, yes. 'I count no hours but unclouded ones'--and I liked -that. 'T was on a sundial, you know; and I'M going to be a -sundial, and not count, the hours I don't like--while I'm pulling -up weeds, and hoeing potatoes, and picking up stones, and all -that. Don't you see?" - -For a moment the man stared dumbly. Then he threw back his head -and laughed. - -"Well, by George!" he muttered. "By George!" And he laughed -again. Then: "And did your father teach you that, too?" he asked. - -"Oh, no,--well, he taught me Latin, and so of course I could read -it when I found it. But those 'special words I got off the -sundial where my Lady of the Roses lives." - -"Your--Lady of the Roses! And who is she?" - -"Why, don't you know? You live right in sight of her house," -cried David, pointing to the towers of Sunnycrest that showed -above the trees. "It's over there she lives. I know those towers -now, and I look for them wherever I go. I love them. It makes me -see all over again the roses--and her." - -"You mean--Miss Holbrook?" - -The voice was so different from the genial tones that he had -heard before that David looked up in surprise. - -"Yes; she said that was her name," he answered, wondering at the -indefinable change that had come to the man's face. - -There was a moment's pause, then the man rose to his feet. - -"How's your head? Does it ache?" he asked briskly. - -"Not much--some. I--I think I'll be going," replied David, a -little awkwardly, reaching for his violin, and unconsciously -showing by his manner the sudden chill in the atmosphere. - -The little girl spoke then. She overwhelmed him again with -thanks, and pointed to the contented kitten on the window sill. -True, she did not tell him this time that she would love, love, -love him always; but she beamed upon him gratefully and she urged -him to come soon again, and often. - -David bowed himself off, with many a backward wave of the hand, -and many a promise to come again. Not until he had quite reached -the bottom of the hill did he remember that the man, "Jack," had -said almost nothing at the last. As David recollected him, -indeed, he had last been seen standing beside one of the veranda -posts, with gloomy eyes fixed on the towers of Sunnycrest that -showed red-gold above the tree-tops in the last rays of the -setting sun. - -It was a bad half-hour that David spent at the Holly farmhouse in -explanation of his torn blouse and bruised face. Farmer Holly did -not approve of fights, and he said so, very sternly indeed. Even -Mrs. Holly, who was usually so kind to him, let David understand -that he was in deep disgrace, though she was very tender to his -wounds. - -David did venture to ask her, however, before he went upstairs to -bed:-- - -"Mrs. Holly, who are those people--Jack and Jill--that were so -good to me this afternoon?" - -"They are John Gurnsey and his sister, Julia; but the whole town -knows them by the names they long ago gave themselves, 'Jack' and -'Jill.' " - -"And do they live all alone in the little house?" - -"Yes, except for the Widow Glaspell, who comes in several times a -week, I believe, to cook and wash and sweep. They aren't very -happy, I'm afraid, David, and I'm glad you could rescue the -little girl's kitten for her--but you mustn't fight. No good can -come of fighting!" - -"I got the cat--by fighting." - -"Yes, yes, I know; but--" She did not finish her sentence, and -David was only waiting for a pause to ask another question. - -"Why aren't they happy, Mrs. Holly?" - -"Tut, tut, David, it's a long story, and you wouldn't understand -it if I told it. It's only that they're all alone in the world, -and Jack Gurnsey isn't well. He must be thirty years old now. He -had bright hopes not so long ago studying law, or something of -the sort, in the city. Then his father died, and his mother, and -he lost his health. Something ails his lungs, and the doctors -sent him here to be out of doors. He even sleeps out of doors, -they say. Anyway, he's here, and he's making a home for his -sister; but, of course, with his hopes and ambitions--But there, -David, you don't understand, of course!" - -"Oh, yes, I do," breathed David, his eyes pensively turned toward -a shadowy corner. "He found his work out in the world, and then -he had to stop and couldn't do it. Poor Mr. Jack!" - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -A SURPRISE FOR MR. JACK - - -Life at the Holly farmhouse was not what it had been. The coming -of David had introduced new elements that promised complications. -Not because he was another mouth to feed--Simeon Holly was not -worrying about that part any longer. Crops showed good promise, -and all ready in the bank even now was the necessary money to -cover the dreaded note, due the last of August. The complicating -elements in regard to David were of quite another nature. - -To Simeon Holly the boy was a riddle to be sternly solved. To -Ellen Holly he was an everpresent reminder of the little boy of -long ago, and as such was to be loved and trained into a -semblance of what that boy might have become. To Perry Larson, -David was the "derndest checkerboard of sense an' nonsense -goin'"--a game over which to chuckle. - -At the Holly farmhouse they could not understand a boy who would -leave a supper for a sunset, or who preferred a book to a toy -pistol--as Perry Larson found out was the case on the Fourth of -July; who picked flowers, like a girl, for the table, yet who -unhesitatingly struck the first blow in a fight with six -antagonists: who would not go fishing because the fishes would -not like it, nor hunting for any sort of wild thing that had -life; who hung entranced for an hour over the "millions of lovely -striped bugs" in a field of early potatoes, and who promptly and -stubbornly refused to sprinkle those same "lovely bugs" with -Paris green when discovered at his worship. All this was most -perplexing, to say the least. - -Yet David worked, and worked well, and in most cases he obeyed -orders willingly. He learned much, too, that was interesting and -profitable; nor was he the only one that made strange discoveries -during those July days. The Hollys themselves learned much. They -learned that the rose of sunset and the gold of sunrise were -worth looking at; and that the massing of the thunderheads in the -west meant more than just a shower. They learned, too, that the -green of the hilltop and of the far-reaching meadow was more than -grass, and that the purple haze along the horizon was more than -the mountains that lay between them and the next State. They were -beginning to see the world with David's eyes. - -There were, too, the long twilights and evenings when David, on -the wings of his violin, would speed away to his mountain home, -leaving behind him a man and a woman who seemed to themselves to -be listening to the voice of a curly-headed, rosy-cheeked lad who -once played at their knees and nestled in their arms when the day -was done. And here, too, the Hollys were learning; though the -thing thus learned was hidden deep in their hearts. - -It was not long after David's first visit that the boy went again -to "The House that Jack Built," as the Gurnseys called their tiny -home. (Though in reality it had been Jack's father who had built -the house. Jack and Jill, however, did not always deal with -realities.) It was not a pleasant afternoon. There was a light -mist in the air, and David was without his violin. - -"I came to--to inquire for the cat--Juliette," he began, a little -bashfully. "I thought I'd rather do that than read to-day," he -explained to Jill in the doorway. - -"Good! I'm so glad! I hoped you'd come," the little girl welcomed -him. "Come in and--and see Juliette," she added hastily, -remembering at the last moment that her brother had not looked -with entire favor on her avowed admiration for this strange -little boy. - -Juliette, roused from her nap, was at first inclined to resent -her visitor's presence. In five minutes, however, she was purring -in his lap. - -The conquest of the kitten once accomplished, David looked about -him a little restlessly. He began to wonder why he had come. He -wished he had gone to see Joe Glaspell instead. He wished that -Jill would not sit and stare at him like that. He wished that she -would say something--anything. But Jill, apparently struck dumb -with embarrassment, was nervously twisting the corner of her -apron into a little knot. David tried to recollect what he had -talked about a few days before, and he wondered why he had so -enjoyed himself then. He wished that something would -happen--anything!--and then from an inner room came the sound of -a violin. - -David raised his head. - -"It's Jack," stammered the little girl--who also had been wishing -something would happen. "He plays, same as you do, on the -violin." - -"Does he?" beamed David. "But--" He paused, listening, a quick -frown on his face. - -Over and over the violin was playing a single phrase--and the -variations in the phrase showed the indecision of the fingers and -of the mind that controlled them. Again and again with irritating -sameness, yet with a still more irritating difference, came the -succession of notes. And then David sprang to his feet, placing -Juliette somewhat unceremoniously on the floor, much to that -petted young autocrat's disgust. - -"Here, where is he? Let me show him," cried the boy, and at the -note of command in his voice, Jill involuntarily rose and opened -the door to Jack's den. - -"Oh, please, Mr. Jack," burst out David, hurrying into the room. -"Don't you see? You don't go at that thing right. If you'll just -let me show you a minute, we'll have it fixed in no time!" - -The man with the violin stared, and lowered his bow. A slow red -came to his face. The phrase was peculiarly a difficult one, and -beyond him, as he knew; but that did not make the present -intrusion into his privacy any the more welcome. - -"Oh, will we, indeed!" he retorted, a little sharply. "Don't -trouble yourself, I beg of you, boy." - -"But it isn't a mite of trouble, truly," urged David, with an -ardor that ignored the sarcasm in the other's words. "I WANT to -do it." - -Despite his annoyance, the man gave a short laugh. - -"Well, David, I believe you. And I'll warrant you'd tackle this -Brahms concerto as nonchalantly as you did those six hoodlums -with the cat the other day--and expect to win out, too!" - -"But, truly, this is easy, when you know how," laughed the boy. -"See!" - -To his surprise, the man found himself relinquishing the violin -and bow into the slim, eager hands that reached for them. The -next moment he fell back in amazement. Clear, distinct, yet -connected like a string of rounded pearls fell the troublesome -notes from David's bow. "You see," smiled the boy again, and -played the phrase a second time, more slowly, and with deliberate -emphasis at the difficult part. Then, as if in answer to some -irresistible summons within him, he dashed into the next phrase -and, with marvelous technique, played quite through the rippling -cadenza that completed the movement. - -"Well, by George!" breathed the man dazedly, as he took the -offered violin. The next moment he had demanded vehemently: "For -Heaven's sake, who ARE you, boy?" - -David's face wrinkled in grieved surprise. - -"Why, I'm David. Don't you remember? I was here just the other -day!" - -"Yes, yes; but who taught you to play like that?" - -"Father." - -" 'Father'!" The man echoed the word with a gesture of comic -despair. "First Latin, then jiujitsu, and now the violin! Boy, -who was your father?" - -David lifted his head and frowned a little. He had been -questioned so often, and so unsympathetically, about his father -that he was beginning to resent it. - -"He was daddy--just daddy; and I loved him dearly." - -"But what was his name?" - -"I don't know. We didn't seem to have a name like--like yours -down here. Anyway, if we did, I didn't know what it was." - -"But, David,"--the man was speaking very gently now. He had -motioned the boy to a low seat by his side. The little girl was -standing near, her eyes alight with wondering interest. "He must -have had a name, you know, just the same. Didn't you ever hear -any one call him anything? Think, now." - -"No." David said the single word, and turned his eyes away. It -had occurred to him, since he had come to live in the valley, -that perhaps his father did not want to have his name known. He -remembered that once the milk-and-eggs boy had asked what to call -him; and his father had laughed and answered: "I don't see but -you'll have to call me 'The Old Man of the Mountain,' as they do -down in the village." That was the only time David could -recollect hearing his father say anything about his name. At the -time David had not thought much about it. But since then, down -here where they appeared to think a name was so important, he had -wondered if possibly his father had not preferred to keep his to -himself. If such were the case, he was glad now that he did not -know this name, so that he might not have to tell all these -inquisitive people who asked so many questions about it. He was -glad, too, that those men had not been able to read his father's -name at the end of his other note that first morning--if his -father really did not wish his name to be known. - -"But, David, think. Where you lived, wasn't there ever anybody -who called him by name?" - -David shook his head. - -"I told you. We were all alone, father and I, in the little house -far up on the mountain." - -"And--your mother?" Again David shook his head. - -"She is an angel-mother, and angel-mothers don't live in houses, -you know." - -There was a moment's pause; then gently the man asked:-- - -"And you always lived there?" - -"Six years, father said." - -"And before that?" - -"I don't remember." There was a touch of injured reserve in the -boy's voice which the man was quick to perceive. He took the hint -at once. - -"He must have been a wonderful man--your father!" he exclaimed. - -The boy turned, his eyes luminous with feeling. - -"He was--he was perfect! But they--down here--don't seem to -know--or care," he choked. - -"Oh, but that's because they don't understand," soothed the man. -"Now, tell me--you must have practiced a lot to play like that." - -"I did--but I liked it." - -"And what else did you do? and how did you happen to come--down -here?" - -Once again David told his story, more fully, perhaps, this time -than ever before, because of the sympathetic ears that were -listening. - -"But now" he finished wistfully, "it's all, so different, and I'm -down here alone. Daddy went, you know, to the far country; and he -can't come back from there." - -"Who told you--that?" - -"Daddy himself. He wrote it to me." - -"Wrote it to you!" cried the man, sitting suddenly erect. - -"Yes. It was in his pocket, you see. They--found it." David's -voice was very low, and not quite steady. - -"David, may I see--that letter?" - -The boy hesitated; then slowly he drew it from his pocket. - -"Yes, Mr. Jack. I'll let YOU see it." - -Reverently, tenderly, but very eagerly the man took the note and -read it through, hoping somewhere to find a name that would help -solve the mystery. With a sigh he handed it back. His eyes were -wet. - -"Thank you, David. That is a beautiful letter," he said softly. -"And I believe you'll do it some day, too. You'll go to him with -your violin at your chin and the bow drawn across the strings to -tell him of the beautiful world you have found." - -"Yes, sir," said David simply. Then, with a suddenly radiant -smile: "And NOW I can't help finding it a beautiful world, you -know, 'cause I don't count the hours I don't like." - -"You don't what?--oh, I remember," returned Mr. Jack, a quick -change coming to his face. - -"Yes, the sundial, you know, where my Lady of the Roses lives." - -"Jack, what is a sundial?" broke in Jill eagerly. - -Jack turned, as if in relief. - -"Hullo, girlie, you there?--and so still all this time? Ask -David. He'll tell you what a sundial is. Suppose, anyhow, that -you two go out on the piazza now. I've got--er-some work to do. -And the sun itself is out; see?--through the trees there. It came -out just to say 'good-night,' I'm sure. Run along, quick!" And he -playfully drove them from the room. - -Alone, he turned and sat down at his desk. His work was before -him, but he did not do it. His eyes were out of the window on the -golden tops of the towers of Sunnycrest. Motionless, he watched -them until they turned gray-white in the twilight. Then he picked -up his pencil and began to write feverishly. He went to the -window, however, as David stepped off the veranda, and called -merrily:-- - -"Remember, boy, that when there's another note that baffles me, -I'm going to send for you." - -"He's coming anyhow. I asked him," announced Jill. - - And David laughed back a happy "Of course I am!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -THE TOWER WINDOW - - -It is not to be expected that when one's thoughts lead so -persistently to a certain place, one's feet will not follow, if -they can; and David's could--so he went to seek his Lady of the -Roses. - -At four o'clock one afternoon, with his violin under his arm, he -traveled the firm white road until he came to the shadowed path -that led to the garden. He had decided that he would go exactly -as he went before. He expected, in consequence, to find his Lady -exactly as he had found her before, sitting reading under the -roses. Great was his surprise and disappointment, therefore, to -find the garden with no one in it. - -He had told himself that it was the sundial, the roses, the -shimmering pool, the garden itself that he wanted to see; but he -knew now that it was the lady--his Lady of the Roses. He did not -even care to play, though all around him was the beauty that had -at first so charmed his eye. Very slowly he walked across the -sunlit, empty space, and entered the path that led to the house. -In his mind was no definite plan; yet he walked on and on, until -he came to the wide lawns surrounding the house itself. He -stopped then, entranced. - -Stone upon stone the majestic pile raised itself until it was -etched, clean-cut, against the deep blue of the sky. The -towers--his towers--brought to David's lips a cry of delight. -They were even more enchanting here than when seen from afar over -the tree-tops, and David gazed up at them in awed wonder. From -somewhere came the sound of music--a curious sort of music that -David had never heard before. He listened intently, trying to -place it; then slowly he crossed the lawn, ascended the imposing -stone steps, and softly opened one of the narrow screen doors -before the wide-open French window. - -Once within the room David drew a long breath of ecstasy. Beneath -his feet he felt the velvet softness of the green moss of the -woods. Above his head he saw a sky-like canopy of blue carrying -fleecy clouds on which floated little pink-and-white children -with wings, just as David himself had so often wished that he -could float. On all sides silken hangings, like the green of -swaying vines, half-hid other hangings of feathery, snowflake -lace. Everywhere mirrored walls caught the light and reflected -the potted ferns and palms so that David looked down endless -vistas of loveliness that seemed for all the world like the long -sunflecked aisles beneath the tall pines of his mountain home. - -The music that David had heard at first had long since stopped; -but David had not noticed that. He stood now in the center of the -room, awed, and trembling, but enraptured. Then from somewhere -came a voice--a voice so cold that it sounded as if it had swept -across a field of ice. - -"Well, boy, when you have quite finished your inspection, perhaps -you will tell me to what I am indebted for THIS visit," it said. - -David turned abruptly. - -"O Lady of the Roses, why didn't you tell me it was like -this--in here?" he breathed. - -"Well, really," murmured the lady in the doorway, stiffly, "it -had not occurred to me that that was hardly--necessary." - -"But it was!--don't you see? This is new, all new. I never saw -anything like it before; and I do so love new things. It gives me -something new to play; don't you understand?" - -"New--to play?" - -"Yes--on my violin," explained David, a little breathlessly, -softly testing his violin. "There's always something new in this, -you know," he hurried on, as he tightened one of the strings, -"when there's anything new outside. Now, listen! You see I don't -know myself just how it's going to sound, and I'm always so -anxious to find out." And with a joyously rapt face he began to -play. - -"But, see here, boy,--you mustn't! You--" The words died on her -lips; and, to her unbounded amazement, Miss Barbara Holbrook, who -had intended peremptorily to send this persistent little tramp -boy about his business, found herself listening to a melody so -compelling in its sonorous beauty that she was left almost -speechless at its close. It was the boy who spoke. - -"There, I told you my violin would know what to say!" - -" 'What to say'!--well, that's more than I do" laughed Miss -Holbrook, a little hysterically. "Boy, come here and tell me who -you are." And she led the way to a low divan that stood near a -harp at the far end of the room. - -It was the same story, told as David had told it to Jack and Jill -a few days before, only this time David's eyes were roving -admiringly all about the room, resting oftenest on the harp so -near him. - -"Did that make the music that I heard?" he asked eagerly, as soon -as Miss Holbrook's questions gave him opportunity. "It's got -strings." - -"Yes. I was playing when you came in. I saw you enter the window. -Really, David, are you in the habit of walking into people's -houses like this? It is most disconcerting--to their owners." - -"Yes--no--well, sometimes." David's eyes were still on the harp. -"Lady of the Roses, won't you please play again--on that?" - -"David, you are incorrigible! Why did you come into my house like -this?" - -"The music said 'come'; and the towers, too. You see, I KNOW the -towers." - -"You KNOW them!" - -"Yes. I can see them from so many places, and I always watch for -them. They show best of anywhere, though, from Jack and Jill's. -And now won't you play?" - -Miss Holbrook had almost risen to her feet when she turned -abruptly. - -"From--where?" she asked. - -"From Jack and Jill's--the House that Jack Built, you know." - -"You mean--Mr. John Gurnsey's house?" A deeper color had come -into Miss Holbrook's cheeks. - -"Yes. Over there at the top of the little hill across the brook, -you know. You can't see THEIR house from here, but from over -there we can see the towers finely, and the little window--Oh, -Lady of the Roses," he broke off excitedly, at the new thought -that had come to him, "if we, now, were in that little window, we -COULD see their house. Let's go up. Can't we?" - -Explicit as this was, Miss Holbrook evidently did not hear, or at -least did not understand, this request. She settled back on the -divan, indeed, almost determinedly. Her cheeks were very red now. - -"And do you know--this Mr. Jack?" she asked lightly. - -"Yes, and Jill, too. Don't you? I like them, too. DO you know -them?" - -Again Miss Holbrook ignored the question put to her. "And did you -walk into their house, unannounced and uninvited, like this?" she -queried. - -"No. He asked me. You see he wanted to get off some of the dirt -and blood before other folks saw me." - - "The dirt and--and--why, David, what do you mean? What was -it--an accident?" - -David frowned and reflected a moment. - -"No. I did it on purpose. I HAD to, you see," he finally -elucidated. "But there were six of them, and I got the worst of -it." - -"David!" Miss Holbrook's voice was horrified. "You don't mean--a -fight!" - -"Yes'm. I wanted the cat--and I got it, but I wouldn't have if -Mr. Jack hadn't come to help me." - -"Oh! So Mr. Jack--fought, too?" - -"Well, he pulled the others off, and of course that helped me," -explained David truthfully. "And then he took me home--he and -Jill." - -"Jill! Was she in it?" - -"No, only her cat. They had tied a bag over its head and a tin -can to its tail, and of course I couldn't let them do that. They -were hurting her. And now, Lady of the Roses, won't you please -play?" - -For a moment Miss Holbrook did not speak. She was gazing at David -with an odd look in her eyes. At last she drew a long sigh. - -"David, you are the--the LIMIT!" she breathed, as she rose and -seated herself at the harp. - -David was manifestly delighted with her playing, and begged for -more when she had finished; but Miss Holbrook shook her head. She -seemed to have grown suddenly restless, and she moved about the -room calling David's attention to something new each moment. -Then, very abruptly, she suggested that they go upstairs. From -room to room she hurried the boy, scarcely listening to his -ardent comments, or answering his still more ardent questions. -Not until they reached the highest tower room, indeed, did she -sink wearily into a chair, and seem for a moment at rest. - -David looked about him in surprise. Even his untrained eye could -see that he had entered a different world. There were no -sumptuous rugs, no silken hangings; no mirrors, no snowflake -curtains. There were books, to be sure, but besides those there -were only a plain low table, a work-basket, and three or four -wooden-seated though comfortable chairs. With increasing wonder -he looked into Miss Holbrook's eyes. - -"Is it here that you stay--all day?" he asked diffidently. - -Miss Holbrook's face turned a vivid scarlet. - -"Why, David, what a question! Of course not! Why should you think -I did?" - -"Nothing; only I've been wondering all the time I've been here -how you could--with all those beautiful things around you -downstairs--say what you did." - -"Say what?--when?" - -"That other day in the garden--about ALL your hours being cloudy -ones. So I didn't know to-day but what you LIVED up here, same -as Mrs. Holly doesn't use her best rooms; and that was why your -hours were all cloudy ones." - -With a sudden movement Miss Holbrook rose to her feet. - -"Nonsense, David! You shouldn't always remember everything that -people say to you. Come, you haven't seen one of the views from -the windows yet. We are in the larger tower, you know. You can -see Hinsdale village on this side, and there's a fine view of the -mountains over there. Oh yes, and from the other side there's -your friend's house--Mr. Jack's. By the way, how is Mr. Jack -these days?" Miss Holbrook stooped as she asked the question and -picked up a bit of thread from the rug. - -David ran at once to the window that looked toward the House that -Jack Built. From the tower the little house appeared to be -smaller than ever. It was in the shadow, too, and looked -strangely alone and forlorn. Unconsciously, as he gazed at it, -David compared it with the magnificence he had just seen. His -voice choked as he answered. - -"He isn't well, Lady of the Roses, and he's unhappy. He's -awfully unhappy." - -Miss Holbrook's slender figure came up with a jerk. - -"What do you mean, boy? How do you know he's unhappy? Has he said -so?" - -"No; but Mrs. Holly told me about him. He's sick; and he'd just -found his work to do out in the world when he had to stop and -come home. But--oh, quick, there he is! See?" - -Instead of coming nearer Miss Holbrook fell back to the center of -the room; but her eyes were still turned toward the little house. - -"Yes, I see," she murmured. The next instant she had snatched a -handkerchief from David's outstretched hand. "No--no--I wouldn't -wave," she remonstrated hurriedly. "Come--come downstairs with -me." - -"But I thought--I was sure he was looking this way," asserted -David, turning reluctantly from the window. "And if he HAD seen -me wave to him, he'd have been so glad; now, wouldn't he?" - -There was no answer. The Lady of the Roses did not apparently -hear. She had gone on down the stairway. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -SECRETS - - -David had so much to tell Jack and Jill that he went to see them -the very next day after his second visit to Sunnycrest. He -carried his violin with him. He found, however, only Jill at -home. She was sitting on the veranda steps. - -There was not so much embarrassment between them this time, -perhaps because they were in the freedom of the wide -out-of-doors, and David felt more at ease. He was plainly -disappointed, however, that Mr. Jack was not there. - -"But I wanted to see him! I wanted to see him 'specially," he -lamented. - -"You'd better stay, then. He'll be home by and by," comforted -Jill. "He's gone pot-boiling." - -"Pot-boiling! What's that?" - -Jill chuckled. - -"Well, you see, really it's this way: he sells something to boil -in other people's pots so he can have something to boil in ours, -he says. It's stuff from the garden, you know. We raise it to -sell. Poor Jack--and he does hate it so!" - -David nodded sympathetically. - -"I know--and it must be awful, just hoeing and weeding all the -time." - -"Still, of course he knows he's got to do it, because it's out of -doors, and he just has to be out of doors all he can," rejoined -the girl. "He's sick, you know, and sometimes he's so unhappy! He -doesn't say much. Jack never says much--only with his face. But -I know, and it--it just makes me want to cry." - -At David's dismayed exclamation Jill jumped to her feet. It owned -to her suddenly that she was telling this unknown boy altogether -too many of the family secrets. She proposed at once a race to -the foot of the hill; and then, to drive David's mind still -farther away from the subject under recent consideration, she -deliberately lost, and proclaimed him the victor. - -Very soon, however, there arose new complications in the shape of -a little gate that led to a path which, in its turn, led to a -footbridge across the narrow span of the little stream. - -Above the trees on the other side peeped the top of Sunnycrest's -highest tower. - -"To the Lady of the Roses!" cried David eagerly. "I know it goes -there. Come, let's see!" - -The little girl shook her head. - -"I can't." - -"Why not?" - -"Jack won't let me." - -"But it goes to a beautiful place; I was there yesterday," argued -David. "And I was up in the tower and almost waved to Mr. Jack on -the piazza back there. I saw him. And maybe she'd let you and me -go up there again to-day." - -"But I can't, I say," repeated Jill, a little impatiently. "Jack -won't let me even start." - -"Why not? Maybe he doesn't know where it goes to." - -Jill hung her head. Then she raised it defiantly. - -"Oh, yes, he does, 'cause I told him. I used to go when I was -littler and he wasn't here. I went once, after he -came,--halfway,--and he saw me and called to me. I had got -halfway across the bridge, but I had to come back. He was very -angry, yet sort of--queer, too. His face was all stern and white, -and his lips snapped tight shut after every word. He said never, -never, never to let him find me the other side of that gate." - -David frowned as they turned to go up the hill. Unhesitatingly he -determined to instruct Mr. Jack in this little matter. He would -tell him what a beautiful place Sunnycrest was, and he would try -to convince him how very desirable it was that he and Jill, and -even Mr. Jack himself, should go across the bridge at the very -first opportunity that offered. - -Mr. Jack came home before long, but David quite forgot to speak -of the footbridge just then, chiefly because Mr. Jack got out his -violin and asked David to come in and play a duet with him. The -duet, however, soon became a solo, for so great was Mr. Jack's -delight in David's playing that he placed before the boy one -sheet of music after another, begging and still begging for more. - -David, nothing loath, played on and on. Most of the music he -knew, having already learned it in his mountain home. Like old -friends the melodies seemed, and so glad was David to see their -notes again that he finished each production with a little -improvised cadenza of ecstatic welcome--to Mr. Jack's increasing -surprise and delight. - -"Great Scott! you're a wonder, David," he exclaimed, at last. - -"Pooh! as if that was anything wonderful," laughed the boy. "Why, -I knew those ages ago, Mr. Jack. It's only that I'm so glad to -see them again--the notes, you know. You see, I haven't any -music now. It was all in the bag (what we brought), and we left -that on the way." - -"You left it!" - -"Yes, 't was so, heavy" murmured David abstractedly, his fingers -busy with the pile of music before him. "Oh, and here's another -one," he cried exultingly. "This is where the wind sighs, -'oou--OOU--OOU' through the pines. Listen!" And he was away again -on the wings of his violin. When he had returned Mr. Jack drew a -long breath. - -"David, you are a wonder," he declared again. "And that violin of -yours is a wonder, too, if I'm not mistaken,--though I don't know -enough to tell whether it's really a rare one or not. Was it your -father's?" - -"Oh, no. He had one, too, and they both are good ones. Father -said so. Joe's got father's now." - -"Joe?" - -"Joe Glaspell." - -"You don't mean Widow Glaspell's Joe, the blind boy? I didn't -know he could play." - -"He couldn't till I showed him. But he likes to hear me play. -And he understood--right away, I mean." - -"UNDERSTOOD!" - -"What I was playing, you know. And he was almost the first one -that did--since father went away. And now I play every time I go -there. Joe says he never knew before how trees and grass and -sunsets and sunrises and birds and little brooks did look, till I -told him with my violin. Now he says he thinks he can see them -better than I can, because as long as his OUTSIDE eyes can't see -anything, they can't see those ugly things all around him, and so -he can just make his INSIDE eyes see only the beautiful things -that he'd LIKE to see. And that's the kind he does see when I -play. That's why I said he understood." - -For a moment there was silence. In Mr. Jack's eyes there was an -odd look as they rested on David's face. Then, abruptly, he -spoke. - -"David, I wish I had money. I'd put you then where you belonged," -he sighed. - -"Do you mean--where I'd find my work to do?" asked the boy -softly. - -"Well--yes; you might say it that way," smiled the man, after a -moment's hesitation--not yet was Mr. Jack quite used to this boy -who was at times so very un-boylike. - -"Father told me 't was waiting for me--somewhere." - -Mr. Jack frowned thoughtfully. - -"And he was right, David. The only trouble is, we like to pick it -out for ourselves, pretty well,--too well, as we find out -sometimes, when we're called off--for another job." - -"I know, Mr. Jack, I know," breathed David. And the man, looking -into the glowing dark eyes, wondered at what he found there. It -was almost as if the boy really understood about his own life's -disappointment--and cared; though that, of course, could not be! - -"And it's all the harder to keep ourselves in tune then, too, is -n't it?" went on David, a little wistfully. - -"In tune?" - -"With the rest of the Orchestra." - -"Oh!" And Mr. Jack, who had already heard about the "Orchestra -of Life," smiled a bit sadly. "That's just it, my boy. And if -we're handed another instrument to play on than the one we WANT -to play on, we're apt to--to let fly a discord. Anyhow, I am. -But"--he went on more lightly--"now, in your case, David, little -as I know about the violin, I know enough to understand that you -ought to be where you can take up your study of it again; where -you can hear good music, and where you can be among those who -know enough to appreciate what you do." - -David's eyes sparkled. - -"And where there wouldn't be any pulling weeds or hoeing dirt?" - -"Well, I hadn't thought of including either of those pastimes." - -"My, but I would like that, Mr. Jack!--but THAT wouldn't be -WORK, so that couldn't be what father meant." David's face fell. - -"Hm-m; well, I wouldn't worry about the 'work' part," laughed -Mr. Jack, "particularly as you aren't going to do it just now. -There's the money, you know,--and we haven't got that." - -"And it takes money?" - -"Well--yes. You can't get those things here in Hinsdale, you -know; and it takes money, to get away, and to live away after you -get there." - -A sudden light transfigured David's face. - -"Mr. Jack, would gold do it?--lots of little round gold-pieces?" - -"I think it would, David, if there were enough of them." - -"Many as a hundred?" - -"Sure--if they were big enough. Anyway, David, they'd start you, -and I'm thinking you wouldn't need but a start before you'd be -coining gold-pieces of your own out of that violin of yours. But -why? Anybody you know got as 'many as a hundred' gold-pieces he -wants to get rid of?" - -For a moment David, his delighted thoughts flying to the -gold-pieces in the chimney cupboard of his room, was tempted to -tell his secret. Then he remembered the woman with the bread and -the pail of milk, and decided not to. He would wait. When he knew -Mr. Jack better--perhaps then he would tell; but not now. NOW -Mr. Jack might think he was a thief, and that he could not bear. -So he took up his violin and began to play; and in the charm of -the music Mr. Jack seemed to forget the gold-pieces--which was -exactly what David had intended should happen. - -Not until David had said good-bye some time later, did he -remember the purpose--the special purpose--for which he had come. -He turned back with a radiant face. - -"Oh, and Mr. Jack, I 'most forgot," he cried. "I was going to -tell you. I saw you yesterday--I did, and I almost waved to you." - -"Did you? Where were you?" - -"Over there in the window--the tower window" he crowed -jubilantly. - -"Oh, you went again, then, I suppose, to see Miss Holbrook." - -The man's voice sounded so oddly cold and distant that David -noticed it at once. He was reminded suddenly of the gate and the -footbridge which Jill was forbidden to cross; but he dared not -speak of it then--not when Mr. Jack looked like that. He did say, -however:-- - -"Oh, but, Mr. Jack, it's such a beautiful place! You don't know -what a beautiful place it is." - -"Is it? Then, you like it so much?" - -"Oh, so much! But--didn't you ever--see it?" - - "Why, yes, I believe I did, David, long ago," murmured Mr. Jack -with what seemed to David amazing indifference. - -"And did you see HER--my Lady of the Roses?" - -"Why, y--yes--I believe so." - -"And is THAT all you remember about it?" resented David, highly -offended. - -The man gave a laugh--a little short, hard laugh that David did -not like. - -"But, let me see; you said you almost waved, didn't you? Why did -n't you, quite?" asked the man. - -David drew himself suddenly erect. Instinctively he felt that his -Lady of the Roses needed defense. - -"Because SHE didn't want me to; so I didn't, of course," he -rejoined with dignity. "She took away my handkerchief." - -"I'll warrant she did," muttered the man, behind his teeth. Aloud -he only laughed again, as he turned away. - -David went on down the steps, dissatisfied vaguely with himself, -with Mr. Jack, and even with the Lady of the Roses. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -DAVID'S CASTLE IN SPAIN - - -On his return from the House that Jack Built, David decided to -count his gold-pieces. He got them out at once from behind the -books, and stacked them up in little shining rows. As he had -surmised, there were a hundred of them. There were, indeed, a -hundred and six. He was pleased at that. One hundred and six were -surely enough to give him a "start." - -A start! David closed his eyes and pictured it. To go on with his -violin, to hear good music, to be with people who understood what -he said when he played! That was what Mr. Jack had said a "start" -was. And this gold--these round shining bits of gold--could bring -him this! David swept the little piles into a jingling heap, and -sprang to his feet with both fists full of his suddenly beloved -wealth. With boyish glee he capered about the room, jingling the -coins in his hands. Then, very soberly, he sat down again, and -began to gather the gold to put away. - -He would be wise--he would be sensible. He would watch his -chance, and when it came he would go away. First, however, he -would tell Mr. Jack and Joe, and the Lady of the Roses; yes, and -the Hollys, too. Just now there seemed to be work, real work that -he could do to help Mr. Holly. But later, possibly when September -came and school,--they had said he must go to school,--he would -tell them then, and go away instead. He would see. By that time -they would believe him, perhaps, when he showed the gold-pieces. -They would not think he had--STOLEN them. It was August now; he -would wait. But meanwhile he could think--he could always be -thinking of the wonderful thing that this gold was one day to -bring to him. - -Even work, to David, did not seem work now. In the morning he was -to rake hay behind the men with the cart. Yesterday he had not -liked it very well; but now--nothing mattered now. And with a -satisfied sigh David put his precious gold away again behind the -books in the cupboard. - -David found a new song in his violin the next morning. To be -sure, he could not play it--much of it--until four o'clock in the -afternoon came; for Mr. Holly did not like violins to be played -in the morning, even on days that were not especially the Lord's. -There was too much work to do. So David could only snatch a -strain or two very, very softly, while he was dressing; but that -was enough to show him what a beautiful song it was going to be. -He knew what it was, at once, too. It was the gold-pieces, and -what they would bring. All through the day it tripped through his -consciousness, and danced tantalizingly just out of reach. Yet he -was wonderfully happy, and the day seemed short in spite of the -heat and the weariness. - -At four o'clock he hurried home and put his violin quickly in -tune. It came then--that dancing sprite of tantalization--and -joyously abandoned itself to the strings of the violin, so that -David knew, of a surety, what a beautiful song it was. - -It was this song that sent him the next afternoon to see his Lady -of the Roses. He found her this time out of doors in her garden. -Unceremoniously, as usual, he rushed headlong into her presence. - -"Oh, Lady--Lady of the Roses," he panted. "I've found out, and I -came quickly to tell you." - -"Why, David, what--what do you mean?" Miss Holbrook looked -unmistakably startled. - -"About the hours, you know,--the unclouded ones," explained David -eagerly. "You know you said they were ALL cloudy to you." - -Miss Holbrook's face grew very white. - -"You mean--you've found out WHY my hours are--are all cloudy -ones?" she stammered. - -"No, oh, no. I can't imagine why they are," returned David, with -an emphatic shake of his head. "It's just that I've found a way -to make all my hours sunny ones, and you can do it, too. So I -came to tell you. You know you said yours were all cloudy." - -"Oh," ejaculated Miss Holbrook, falling back into her old -listless attitude. Then, with some asperity: "Dear me, David! Did -n't I tell you not to be remembering that all the time?" - -"Yes, I know, but I've LEARNED something," urged the boy; -"something that you ought to know. You see, I did think, once, -that because you had all these beautiful things around you, the -hours ought to be all sunny ones. But now I know it isn't -what's around you; it's what is IN you!" - -"Oh, David, David, you curious boy!" - -"No, but really! Let me tell you," pleaded David. "You know I -haven't liked them,--all those hours till four o'clock -came,--and I was so glad, after I saw the sundial, to find out -that they didn't count, anyhow. But to-day they HAVE -counted--they've all counted, Lady of the Roses; and it's just -because there was something inside of me that shone and shone, -and made them all sunny--those hours." - -"Dear me! And what was this wonderful thing?" - -David smiled, but he shook his head. - -"I can't tell you that yet--in words; but I'll play it. You see, -I can't always play them twice alike,--those little songs that I -find,--but this one I can. It sang so long in my head, before my -violin had a chance to tell me what it really was, that I sort of -learned it. Now, listen!" And be began to play. - -It was, indeed, a beautiful song, and Miss Holbrook said so with -promptness and enthusiasm; yet still David frowned. - -"Yes, yes," he answered, "but don't you see? That was telling you -about something inside of me that made all my hours sunshiny -ones. Now, what you want is something inside of you to make yours -sunshiny, too. Don't you see?" - -An odd look came into Miss Holbrook's eyes. - -"That's all very well for you to say, David, but you haven't -told me yet, you know, just what it is that's made all this -brightness for you." - -The boy changed his position, and puckered his forehead into a -deeper frown. - -"I don't seem to explain so you can understand," he sighed. "It -isn't the SPECIAL thing. It's only that it's SOMETHING. And it's -thinking about it that does it. Now, mine wouldn't make yours -shine, but--still,"--he broke off, a happy relief in his -eyes,--"yours could be LIKE mine, in one way. Mine is something -that is going to happen to me--something just beautiful; and you -could have that, you know,--something that was going to happen to -you, to think about." - -Miss Holbrook smiled, but only with her lips, Her eyes had grown -somber. - -"But there isn't anything 'just beautiful' going to happen to -me, David," she demurred. - -"There could, couldn't there?" - -Miss Holbrook bit, her lip; then she gave an odd little laugh -that seemed, in some way, to go with the swift red that had come -to her cheeks. - -"I used to think there could--once," she admitted; "but I've -given that up long ago. It--it didn't happen." - -"But couldn't you just THINK it was going to?" persisted the -boy. "You see I found out yesterday that it's the THINKING that -does it. All day long I was thinking--only thinking. I wasn't -DOING it, at all. I was really raking behind the cart; but the -hours all were sunny." - -Miss Holbrook laughed now outright. - -"What a persistent little mental-science preacher you are!" she -exclaimed. "And there's truth--more truth than you know--in it -all, too. But I can't do it, David,--not that--not that. 'T would -take more than THINKING--to bring that," she added, under her -breath, as if to herself. - -"But thinking does bring things," maintained David earnestly. -"There's Joe--Joe Glaspell. His mother works out all day; and -he's blind." - -"Blind? Oh-h!" shuddered Miss Holbrook. - -"Yes; and he has to stay all alone, except for Betty, and she is -n't there much. He THINKS ALL his things. He has to. He can't SEE -anything with his outside eyes. But he sees everything with his -inside eyes--everything that I play. Why, Lady of the Roses, he's -even seen this--all this here. I told him about it, you know, -right away after I'd found you that first day: the big trees and -the long shadows across the grass, and the roses, and the shining -water, and the lovely marble people peeping through the green -leaves; and the sundial, and you so beautiful sitting here in the -middle of it all. Then I played it for him; and he said he could -see it all just as plain! And THAT was with his inside eyes! And -so, if Joe, shut up there in his dark little room, can make his -THINK bring him all that, I should think that YOU, here in this -beautiful, beautiful place, could make your think bring you -anything you wanted it to." - -But Miss Holbrook sighed again and shook her head. - -"Not that, David, not that," she murmured. "It would take more -than thinking to bring--that." Then, with a quick change of -manner, she cried: "Come, come, suppose we don't worry any more -about MY hours. Let's think of yours. Tell me, what have you been -doing since I saw you last? Perhaps you have been again to--to -see Mr. Jack, for instance." - -"I have; but I saw Jill mostly, till the last." David hesitated, -then he blurted it out: "Lady of the Roses, do you know about the -gate and the footbridge?" - -Miss Holbrook looked up quickly. - -"Know--what, David?" - -"Know about them--that they're there?" - -"Why--yes, of course; at least, I suppose you mean the footbridge -that crosses the little stream at the foot of the hill over -there." - -"That's the one." Again David hesitated, and again he blurted out -the burden of his thoughts. "Lady of the Roses, did you -ever--cross that bridge?" - -Miss Holbrook stirred uneasily. - -"Not--recently." - -"But you don't MIND folks crossing it?" - -"Certainly not--if they wish to." - -"There! I knew 't wasn't your blame, " triumphed David. - -"MY blame!" - -"Yes; that Mr. Jack wouldn't let Jill come across, you know. He -called her back when she'd got halfway over once." Miss -Holbrook's face changed color. - -"But I do object," she cried sharply, "to their crossing it when -they DON'T want to! Don't forget that, please." - -"But Jill did want to." - -"How about her brother--did he want her to?" - -"N--no." - -"Very well, then. I didn't, either." - -David frowned. Never had he seen his beloved Lady of the Roses -look like this before. He was reminded of what Jill had said -about Jack: "His face was all stern and white, and his lips -snapped tight shut after every word." So, too, looked Miss -Holbrook's face; so, too, had her lips snapped tight shut after -her last words. David could not understand it. He said nothing -more, however; but, as was usually the case when he was -perplexed, he picked up his violin and began to play. And as he -played, there gradually came to Miss Holbrook's eyes a softer -light, and to her lips lines less tightly drawn. Neither the -footbridge nor Mr. Jack, however, was mentioned again that -afternoon. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -"THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER" - - -It was in the early twilight that Mr. Jack told the story. He, -Jill, and David were on the veranda, as usual watching the towers -of Sunnycrest turn from gold to silver as the sun dropped behind -the hills. It was Jill who had asked for the story. - -"About fairies and princesses, you know," she had ordered. - -"But how will David like that?" Mr. Jack had demurred. "Maybe he -doesn't care for fairies and princesses." - -"I read one once about a prince--'t was 'The Prince and the -Pauper,' and I liked that," averred David stoutly. - -Mr. Jack smiled; then his brows drew together in a frown. His -eyes were moodily fixed on the towers. - -"Hm-m; well," he said, "I might, I suppose, tell you a story -about a PRINCESS and--a Pauper. I--know one well enough." - -"Good!--then tell it," cried both Jill and David. And Mr. Jack -began his story. - -"She was not always a Princess, and he was not always a -Pauper,--and that's where the story came in, I suppose," sighed -the man. "She was just a girl, once, and he was a boy; and they -played together and--liked each other. He lived in a little house -on a hill." - -"Like this?" demanded Jill. - -"Eh? Oh--er--yes, SOMETHING like this," returned Mr. Jack, with -an odd half-smile. "And she lived in another bit of a house in a -town far away from the boy." - -"Then how could they play together?" questioned David. - -"They couldn't, ALWAYS. It was only summers when she came to -visit in the boy's town. She was very near him then, for the old -aunt whom she visited lived in a big stone house with towers, on -another hill, in plain sight from the boy's home." - -"Towers like those--where the Lady of the Roses lives?" asked -David. - -"Eh? What? Oh--er--yes," murmured Mr. Jack. "We'll say the towers -were something like those over there." He paused, then went on -musingly: "The girl used to signal, sometimes, from one of the -tower windows. One wave of the handkerchief meant, 'I'm -coming, over'; two waves, with a little pause between, meant, -'You are to come over here.' So the boy used to wait always, -after that first wave to see if another followed; so that he -might know whether he were to be host or guest that day. The -waves always came at eight o'clock in the morning, and very -eagerly the boy used to watch for them all through the summer -when the girl was there." - -"Did they always come, every morning?" Asked Jill. - -"No; sometimes the girl had other things to do. Her aunt would -want her to go somewhere with her, or other cousins were expected -whom the girl must entertain; and she knew the boy did not like -other guests to be there when he was, so she never asked him to -come over at such times. On such occasions she did sometimes run -up to the tower at eight o'clock and wave three times, and that -meant, 'Dead Day.' So the boy, after all, never drew a real -breath of relief until he made sure that no dreaded third wave -was to follow the one or the two." - -"Seems to me," observed David, "that all this was sort of -one-sided. Didn't the boy say anything?" - -"Oh, yes," smiled Mr. Jack. "But the boy did not have any tower -to wave from, you must remember. He had only the little piazza on -his tiny bit of a house. But he rigged up a pole, and he asked -his mother to make him two little flags, a red and a blue one. -The red meant 'All right'; and the blue meant 'Got to work'; and -these he used to run up on his pole in answer to her waving 'I'm -coming over,' or 'You are to come over here.' So, you see, -occasionally it was the boy who had to bring the 'Dead Day,' as -there were times when he had to work. And, by the way, perhaps -you would be interested to know that after a while he thought up -a third flag to answer her three waves. He found an old black -silk handkerchief of his father's, and he made that into a flag. -He told the girl it meant 'I'm heartbroken,' and he said it was a -sign of the deepest mourning. The girl laughed and tipped her -head saucily to one side, and said, 'Pooh! as if you really -cared!' But the boy stoutly maintained his position, and it was -that, perhaps, which made her play the little joke one day. - -"The boy was fourteen that summer, and the girl thirteen. They -had begun their signals years before, but they had not had the -black one so long. On this day that I tell you of, the girl waved -three waves, which meant, 'Dead Day,' you remember, and watched -until the boy had hoisted his black flag which said, 'I'm -heart-broken,' in response. Then, as fast as her mischievous -little feet could carry her, she raced down one hill and across -to the other. Very stealthily she advanced till she found the boy -bent over a puzzle on the back stoop, and--and he was whistling -merrily. - -"How she teased him then! How she taunted him with 'Heart-broken, -indeed--and whistling like that!' In vain he blushed and -stammered, and protested that his whistling was only to keep up -his spirits. The girl only laughed and tossed her yellow curls; -then she hunted till she found some little jingling bells, and -these she tied to the black badge of mourning and pulled it high -up on the flagpole. The next instant she was off with a run and a -skip, and a saucy wave of her hand; and the boy was left all -alone with an hour's work ahead of him to untie the knots from -his desecrated badge of mourning. - -"And yet they were wonderfully good friends--this boy and girl. -From the very first, when they were seven and eight, they had -said that they would marry each other when they grew up, and -always they spoke of it as the expected thing, and laid many -happy plans for the time when it should come. To be sure, as they -grew older, it was not mentioned quite so often, perhaps; but the -boy at least thought--if he thought of it all--that that was only -because it was already so well understood." - -"What did the girl think?" It was Jill who asked the question. - -"Eh? The girl? Oh," answered Mr. Jack, a little bitterly, "I'm -afraid I don't know exactly what the girl did think, but--it was -n't that, anyhow--that is, judging from what followed." - -"What did follow?" - -"Well, to begin with, the old aunt died. The girl was sixteen -then. It was in the winter that this happened, and the girl was -far away at school. She came to the funeral, however, but the boy -did not see her, save in the distance; and then he hardly knew -her, so strange did she look in her black dress and hat. She was -there only two days, and though he gazed wistfully up at the gray -tower, he knew well enough that of course she could not wave to -him at such a time as that. Yet he had hoped--almost believed -that she would wave two waves that last day, and let him go over -to see her. - -"But she didn't wave, and he didn't go over. She went away. And -then the town learned a wonderful thing. The old lady, her aunt, -who had been considered just fairly rich, turned out to be the -possessor of almost fabulous wealth, owing to her great holdings -of stock in a Western gold mine which had suddenly struck it -rich. And to the girl she willed it all. It was then, of course, -that the girl became the Princess, but the boy did not realize -that--just then. To him she was still 'the girl.' - -"For three years he did not see her. She was at school, or -traveling abroad, he heard. He, too, had been away to school, and -was, indeed, just ready to enter college. Then, that summer, -he heard that she was coming to the old home, and his heart sang -within him. Remember, to him she was still the girl. He knew, of -course, that she was not the LITTLE girl who had promised to -marry him. But he was sure she was the merry comrade, the -true-hearted young girl who used to smile frankly into his eyes, -and whom he was now to win for his wife. You see he had -forgotten--quite forgotten about the Princess and the money. Such -a foolish, foolish boy as he was! - -"So he got out his flags gleefully, and one day, when his mother -wasn't in the kitchen, he ironed out the wrinkles and smoothed -them all ready to be raised on the pole. He would be ready when -the girl waved--for of course she would wave; he would show her -that he had not forgotten. He could see just how the sparkle -would come to her eyes, and just how the little fine lines of -mischief would crinkle around her nose when she was ready to give -that first wave. He could imagine that she would like to find him -napping; that she would like to take him by surprise, and make -him scurry around for his flags to answer her. - -"But he would show her! As if she, a girl, were to beat him at -their old game! He wondered which it would be: 'I'm coming over,' -or, 'You are to come over here.' Whichever it was, he would -answer, of course, with the red 'All right.' Still, it WOULD be a -joke to run up the blue 'Got to work,' and then slip across to -see her, just as she, so long ago, had played the joke on him! On -the whole, however, he thought the red flag would be better. And -it was that one which he laid uppermost ready to his hand, when -he arranged them. - -"At last she came. He heard of it at once. It was already past -four o'clock, but he could not forbear, even then, to look toward -the tower. It would be like her, after all, to wave then, that -very night, just so as to catch him napping, he thought. She did -not wave, however. The boy was sure of that, for he watched the -tower till dark. - -"In the morning, long before eight o'clock, the boy was ready. He -debated for some time whether to stand out of doors on the -piazza, or to hide behind the screened window, where he could -still watch the tower. He decided at last that it would be better -not to let her see him when she looked toward the house; then his -triumph would be all the more complete when he dashed out to run -up his answer. - -"Eight o'clock came and passed. The boy waited until nine, but -there was no sign of life from the tower. The boy was angry then, -at himself. He called himself, indeed, a fool, to hide as he did. -Of course she wouldn't wave when he was nowhere in sight--when -he had apparently forgotten! And here was a whole precious day -wasted! - -"The next morning, long before eight, the boy stood in plain -sight on the piazza. As before he waited until nine; and as -before there was no sign of life at the tower window. The next -morning he was there again, and the next, and the next. It took -just five days, indeed, to convince the boy--as he was convinced -at last--that the girl did not intend to wave at all." - -"But how unkind of her!" exclaimed David. - -"She couldn't have been nice one bit!" decided Jill. - -"You forget," said Mr. Jack. "She was the Princess." - -"Huh!" grunted Jill and David in unison. - -"The boy remembered it then," went on Mr. Jack, after a -pause,--"about the money, and that she was a Princess. And of -course he knew--when he thought of it--that he could not expect -that a Princess would wave like a girl--just a girl. Besides, -very likely she did not care particularly about seeing him. -Princesses did forget, he fancied,--they had so much, so very -much to fill their lives. It was this thought that kept him from -going to see her--this, and the recollection that, after all, if -she really HAD wanted to see him, she could have waved. - -"There came a day, however, when another youth, who did not dare -to go alone, persuaded him, and together they paid her a call. -The boy understood, then, many things. He found the Princess; -there was no sign of the girl. The Princess was tall and -dignified, with a cold little hand and a smooth, sweet voice. -There was no frank smile in her eyes, neither were there any -mischievous crinkles about her nose and lips. There was no -mention of towers or flags; no reference to wavings or to -childhood's days. There was only a stiffly polite little -conversation about colleges and travels, with a word or two about -books and plays. Then the callers went home. On the way the boy -smiled scornfully to himself. He was trying to picture the -beauteous vision he had seen, this unapproachable Princess in her -filmy lace gown,--standing in the tower window and waving--waving -to a bit of a house on the opposite hill. As if that could -happen! - -"The boy, during those last three years, had known only books. He -knew little of girls--only one girl--and he knew still less of -Princesses. So when, three days after the call, there came a -chance to join a summer camp with a man who loved books even -better than did the boy himself, he went gladly. Once he had -refused to go on this very trip; but then there had been the -girl. Now there was only the Princess--and the Princess didn't -count." - -"Like the hours that aren't sunshiny," interpreted David. - -"Yes," corroborated Mr. Jack. "Like the hours when the sun does -n't shine." - -"And then?" prompted Jill. - -"Well, then,--there wasn't much worth telling," rejoined Mr. -Jack gloomily. "Two more years passed, and the Princess grew to -be twenty-one. She came into full control of her property then, -and after a while she came back to the old stone house with the -towers and turned it into a fairyland of beauty. She spent money -like water. All manner of artists, from the man who painted her -ceilings to the man who planted her seeds, came and bowed to her -will. From the four corners of the earth she brought her -treasures and lavished them through the house and grounds. Then, -every summer, she came herself, and lived among them, a very -Princess indeed." - -"And the boy?--what became of the boy?" demanded David. "Didn't -he see her--ever?" - -Mr. Jack shook his head. - -"Not often, David; and when he did, it did not make him -any--happier. You see, the boy had become the Pauper; you must -n't forget that." - -"But he wasn't a Pauper when you left him last." - -"Wasn't he? Well, then, I'll tell you about that. You see, the -boy, even though he did go away, soon found out that in his heart -the Princess was still the girl, just the same. He loved her, and -he wanted her to be his wife; so for a little--for a very -little--he was wild enough to think that he might work and study -and do great things in the world until he was even a Prince -himself, and then he could marry the Princess." - -"Well, couldn't he? " - -"No. To begin with, he lost his health. Then, away back in the -little house on the hill something happened--a something that -left a very precious charge for him to keep; and he had to go -back and keep it, and to try to see if he couldn't find that -lost health, as well. And that is all." - -"All! You don't mean that that is the end!" exclaimed Jill. - -"That's the end." - -"But that isn't a mite of a nice end," complained David. "They -always get married and live happy ever after--in stories." - -"Do they?" Mr. Jack smiled a little sadly. "Perhaps they do, -David,--in stories." - -"Well, can't they in this one?" - -"I don't see how." - -"Why can't he go to her and ask her to marry him?" - -Mr. Jack drew himself up proudly. - -"The Pauper and the Princess? Never! Paupers don't go to -Princesses, David, and say, 'I love you.'" - -David frowned. - -"Why not? I don't see why--if they want to do it. Seems as if -somehow it might be fixed." - -"It can't be," returned Mr. Jack, his gaze on the towers that -crowned the opposite hill; "not so long as always before the -Pauper's eyes there are those gray walls behind which he pictures -the Princess in the midst of her golden luxury." - -To neither David nor Jill did the change to the present tense -seem strange. The story was much too real to them for that. - -"Well, anyhow, I think it ought to be fixed," declared David, as -he rose to his feet. - -"So do I--but we can't fix it," laughed Jill. "And I'm hungry. -Let's see what there is to eat!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -DAVID TO THE RESCUE - - -It was a beautiful moonlight night, but for once David was not -thinking of the moon. All the way to the Holly farmhouse he was -thinking of Mr. Jack's story, "The Princess and the Pauper." It -held him strangely. He felt that he never could forget it. For -some reason that he could not have explained, it made him sad, -too, and his step was very quiet as he went up the walk toward -the kitchen door. - -It was after eight o'clock. David had taken supper with Mr. Jack -and Jill, and not for some hours had he been at the farmhouse. In -the doorway now he stopped short; then instinctively he stepped -back into the shadow. In the kitchen a kerosene light was -burning. It showed Mrs.Holly crying at the table, and Mr. Holly, -white-faced and stern-lipped, staring at nothing. Then Mrs. Holly -raised her face, drawn and tear-stained, and asked a trembling -question. - -"Simeon, have you thought? We might go--to John--for--help." - -David was frightened then, so angry was the look that came into -Simeon Holly's face. - -"Ellen, we'll have no more of this," said the man harshly. -"Understand, I'd rather lose the whole thing and--and starve, -than go to--John." - -David fled then. Up the back stairs he crept to his room and left -his violin. A moment later he stole down again and sought Perry -Larson whom he had seen smoking in the barn doorway. - -"Perry, what is it?" he asked in a trembling voice. "What has -happened--in there?" He pointed toward the house. - -The man puffed for a moment in silence before he took his pipe -from his mouth. - -"Well, sonny, I s'pose I may as well tell ye. You'll have ter -know it sometime, seein' as 't won't be no secret long. They've -had a stroke o' bad luck--Mr. an' Mis' Holly has." - -"What is it?" - -The man hitched in his seat. - -"By sugar, boy, I s'pose if I tell ye, there ain't no sartinty -that you'll sense it at all. I reckon it ain't in your class." - -"But what is it?" - -"Well, it's money--and one might as well talk moonshine to you as -money, I s'pose; but here goes it. It's a thousand dollars, boy, -that they owed. Here, like this," he explained, rummaging his -pockets until he had found a silver dollar to lay on his open -palm. "Now, jest imagine a thousand of them; that's heaps an' -heaps--more 'n I ever see in my life." - -"Like the stars?" guessed David. - -The man nodded. - -"Ex-ACTLY! Well, they owed this--Mr. an' Mis' Holly did--and they -had agreed ter pay it next Sat'day. And they was all right, too. -They had it plum saved in the bank, an' was goin' ter draw it -Thursday, ter make sure. An' they was feelin' mighty pert over -it, too, when ter-day along comes the news that somethin's broke -kersmash in that bank, an' they've shet it up. An' nary a cent -can the Hollys git now--an' maybe never. Anyhow, not 'fore it's -too late for this job." - -"But won't he wait?--that man they owe it to? I should think he'd -have to, if they didn't have it to pay." - -"Not much he will, when it's old Streeter that's got the mortgage -on a good fat farm like this!" - -David drew his brows together perplexedly. - -"What is a--a mortgage?" he asked. "Is it anything like a -porte-cochere? I KNOW what that is, 'cause my Lady of the Roses -has one; but we haven't got that--down here." - -Perry Larson sighed in exasperation. - -"Gosh, if that ain't 'bout what I expected of ye! No, it ain't -even second cousin to a--a-that thing you're a-talkin' of. In -plain wordin', it's jest this: Mr. Holly, he says ter Streeter: -'You give me a thousand dollars and I'll pay ye back on a sartin -day; if I don't pay, you can sell my farm fur what it'll bring, -an' TAKE yer pay. Well, now here 't is. Mr. Holly can't pay, an' -so Streeter will put up the farm fur sale." - -"What, with Mr. and Mrs. Holly LIVING here?" - -"Sure! Only they'll have ter git out, ye know." - -"Where'll they go?" - -"The Lord knows; I don't." - -"And is THAT what they're crying for--in there?--because they've -got to go?" - -"Sure!" - -"But isn't there anything, anywhere, that can be done to--stop -it?" - -"I don't see how, kid,--not unless some one ponies up with the -money 'fore next Sat'day,--an' a thousand o' them things don't -grow on ev'ry bush," he finished, gently patting the coin in his -hand. - -At the words a swift change came to David's face. His cheeks -paled and his eyes dilated in terror. It was as if ahead of him -he saw a yawning abyss, eager to engulf him. - -"And you say--MONEY would--fix it?" he asked thickly. - -"Ex-ACT-ly!--a thousand o' them, though, 't would take." - -A dawning relief came into David's eyes--it was as if he saw a -bridge across the abyss. - -"You mean--that there wouldn't ANYTHING do, only silver -pieces--like those?" he questioned hopefully. - -"Sugar, kid, 'course there would! Gosh, but you BE a checkerboard -o' sense an' nonsense, an' no mistake! Any money would do the -job--any money! Don't ye see? Anything that's money." - -"Would g-gold do it?" David's voice was very faint now. - -"Sure!--gold, or silver, or greenbacks, or--or a check, if it had -the dough behind it." - -David did not appear to hear the last. With an oddly strained -look he had hung upon the man's first words; but at the end of -the sentence he only murmured, "Oh, thank you," and turned away. -He was walking slowly now toward the house. His head was bowed. -His step lagged. - -"Now, ain't that jest like that chap," muttered the man, "ter -slink off like that as if he was a whipped cur. I'll bet two -cents an' a doughnut, too, that in five minutes he'll be what he -calls 'playin' it' on that 'ere fiddle o' his. An' I'll be -derned, too, if I ain't curious ter see what he WILL make of it. -It strikes me this ought ter fetch somethin' first cousin to a -dirge!" - -On the porch steps David paused a breathless instant. From the -kitchen came the sound of Mrs. Holly's sobs and of a stern voice -praying. With a shudder and a little choking cry the boy turned -then and crept softly upstairs to his room. - -He played, too, as Perry Larson had wagered. But it was not the -tragedy of the closed bank, nor the honor of the threatened -farm-selling that fell from his violin. It was, instead, the swan -song of a little pile of gold--gold which lay now in a chimney -cupboard, but which was soon to be placed at the feet of the -mourning man and woman downstairs. And in the song was the sob of -a boy who sees his house of dreams burn to ashes; who sees his -wonderful life and work out in the wide world turn to endless -days of weed-pulling and dirt-digging in a narrow valley. There -was in the song, too, something of the struggle, the fierce yea -and nay of the conflict. But, at the end, there was the wild -burst of exaltation of renunciation, so that the man in the barn -door below fairly sprang to his feet with an angry:-- - -"Gosh! if he hain't turned the thing into a jig--durn him! Don't -he know more'n that at such a time as this?" - -Later, a very little later, the shadowy figure of the boy stood -before him. - -"I've been thinking," stammered David, "that maybe I--could help, -about that money, you know." - -"Now, look a-here, boy," exploded Perry, in open exasperation, -"as I said in the first place, this ain't in your class. 'T ain't -no pink cloud sailin' in the sky, nor a bluebird singin' in a -blackb'rry bush. An' you might 'play it'--as you call it--till -doomsday, an' 't wouldn't do no good--though I'm free ter -confess that your playin' of them 'ere other things sounds real -pert an' chirky at times; but 't won't do no good here." - -David stepped forward, bringing his small, anxious face full into -the moonlight. - -"But 't was the money, Perry; I meant about, the money," he -explained. "They were good to me and wanted me when there wasn't -any one else that did; and now I'd like to do something for them. -There aren't so MANY pieces, and they aren't silver. There's -only one hundred and six of them; I counted. But maybe they 'd -help some. It--it would be a--start." His voice broke over the -once beloved word, then went on with renewed strength. "There, -see! Would these do?" And with both hands he held up to view his -cap sagging under its weight of gold. - -Perry Larson's jaw fell open. His eyes bulged. Dazedly he reached -out and touched with trembling fingers the heap of shining disks -that seemed in the mellow light like little earth-born children -of the moon itself. The next instant he recoiled sharply. - -"Great snakes, boy, where'd you git that money?" he demanded. - -"Of father. He went to the far country, you know." - -Perry Larson snorted angrily. - -"See here, boy, for once, if ye can, talk horse-sense! Surely, -even YOU don't expect me ter believe that he's sent you that -money from--from where he's gone to!" - -"Oh, no. He left it." - -"Left it! Why, boy, you know better! There wa'n't a -cent--hardly--found on him." - -"He gave it to me before--by the roadside." - -"Gave it to you! Where in the name of goodness has it been -since?" - -"In the little cupboard in my room, behind the books." - -"Great snakes!" muttered Perry Larson, reaching out his hand and -gingerly picking up one of the gold-pieces. - -David eyed him anxiously. - -"Won't they--do?" he faltered. "There aren't a thousand; there's -only a hundred and six; but--" - -"Do!" cut in the man, excitedly. He had been examining the -gold-piece at close range. "Do! Well, I reckon they'll do. By -Jiminy!--and ter think you've had this up yer sleeve all this -time! Well, I'll believe anythin' of yer now--anythin'! You can't -stump me with nuthin'! Come on." And he hurriedly led the way -toward the house. - -"But they weren't up my sleeve," corrected David, as he tried to -keep up with the long strides of the man. "I SAID they were in -the cupboard in my room." - -There was no answer. Larson had reached the porch steps, and had -paused there hesitatingly. From the kitchen still came the sound -of sobs. Aside from that there was silence. The boy, however, did -not hesitate. He went straight up the steps and through the open -kitchen door. At the table sat the man and the woman, their eyes -covered with their hands. - -With a swift overturning of his cap, David dumped his burden onto -the table, and stepped back respectfully. - -"If you please, sir, would this--help any?" he asked. - -At the jingle of the coins Simeon Holly and his wife lifted their -heads abruptly. A half-uttered sob died on the woman's lips. A -quick cry came from the man's. He reached forth an eager hand and -had almost clutched the gold when a sudden change came to his -face. With a stern ejaculation he drew back. - -"Boy, where did that money come from?" he challenged. - -David sighed in a discouraged way. It seemed that, always, the -showing of this gold mean't questioning--eternal questioning. - -"Surely," continued Simeon Holly, "you did not--" With the boy's -frank gaze upturned to his, the man could not finish his -sentence. - -Before David could answer came the voice of Perry Larson from the -kitchen doorway. - -"No, sir, he didn't, Mr. Holly; an' it's all straight, I'm -thinkin'--though I'm free ter confess it does sound nutty. His -dad give it to him." - -"His--father! But where--where has it been ever since?" - -"In the chimney cupboard in his room, he says, sir." - -Simeon Holly turned in frowning amazement. - -"David, what does this mean? Why have you kept this gold in a -place like that?" - -"Why, there wasn't anything else to do wiih it," answered the -boy perplexedly. "I hadn't any use for it, you know, and father -said to keep it till I needed it." - -" 'Hadn't any use for it'!" blustered Larson from the doorway. -"Jiminy! Now, ain't that jest like that boy?" - -But David hurried on with his explanation. - -"We never used to use them--father and I--except to buy things to -eat and wear; and down here YOU give me those, you know." - -"Gorry!" interjected Perry Larson. "Do you reckon, boy, that Mr. -Holly himself was give them things he gives ter you?" - -The boy turned sharply, a startled question in his eyes. - -"What do you mean? Do you mean that--" His face changed suddenly. -His cheeks turned a shamed red. "Why, he did--he did have to buy -them, of course, just as father did. And I never even thought of -it before! Then, it's yours, anyway--it belongs to you," he -argued, turning to Farmer Holly, and shoving the gold nearer to -his hands. "There isn't enough, maybe--but 't will help!" - -"They're ten-dollar gold pieces, sir," spoke up Larson -importantly; "an' there's a hundred an' six of them. That's jest -one thousand an' sixty dollars, as I make it." - -Simeon Holly, self-controlled man that he was, almost leaped from -his chair. - -"One thousand and sixty dollars!" he gasped. Then, to David: -"Boy, in Heaven's name, who are you?" - -"I don't know--only David." The boy spoke wearily, with a grieved -sob in his voice. He was very tired, a good deal perplexed, and a -little angry. He wished, if no one wanted this gold, that he -could take it upstairs again to the chimney cupboard; or, if they -objected to that, that they would at least give it to him, and -let him go away now to that beautiful music he was to hear, and -to those kind people who were always to understand what he said -when he played. - -"Of course," ventured Perry Larson diffidently, "I ain't -professin' ter know any great shakes about the hand of the Lord, -Mr. Holly, but it do strike me that this 'ere gold comes mighty -near bein' proverdential--fur you." - -Simeon Holly fell back in his seat. His eyes clung to the gold, -but his lips set into rigid lines. - -"That money is the boy's, Larson. It isn't mine," he said. - -"He's give it to ye." - -Simeon Holly shook his head. - -"David is nothing but a child, Perry. He doesn't realize at all -what he is doing, nor how valuable his gift is." - -"I know, sir, but you DID take him in, when there wouldn't -nobody else do it," argued Larson. "An', anyhow, couldn't you -make a kind of an I O U of it, even if he is a kid? Then, some -day you could pay him back. Meanwhile you'd be a-keepin' him, an' -a-schoolin' him; an' that's somethin'." - -"I know, I know," nodded Simeon Holly thoughtfully, his eyes -going from the gold to David's face. Then, aloud, yet as if to -himself, he breathed: "Boy, boy, who was your father? How came he -by all that gold--and he--a tramp!" - -David drew himself suddenly erect. His eyes flashed. - -"I don't know, sir. But I do know this: he didn't STEAL it!" - -Across the table Mrs. Holly drew a quick breath, but she did not -speak--save with her pleading eyes. Mrs. Holly seldom spoke--save -with her eyes--when her husband was solving a knotty problem. She -was dumfounded now that he should listen so patiently to the man, -Larson,--though she was not more surprised than was Larson -himself. For both of them, however, there came at this moment a -still greater surprise. Simeon Holly leaned forward suddenly, the -stern lines quite gone from his lips, and his face working with -emotion as he drew David toward him. - -"You're a good son, boy,--a good loyal son; and--and I wish you -were mine! I believe you. He didn't steal it, and I won't steal -it, either. But I will use it, since you are so good as to offer -it. But it shall be a loan, David, and some day, God helping me, -you shall have it back. Meanwhile, you're my boy, David,--my -boy!" - -"Oh, thank you, sir," rejoiced David. "And, really, you know, -being wanted like that is better than the start would be, isn't -it?" - -"Better than--what?" - -David shifted his position. He had not meant to say just that. - -"N--nothing," he stammered, looking about for a means of quick -escape. "I--I was just talking," he finished. And he was -immeasurably relieved to find that Mr. Holly did not press the -matter further. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE UNBEAUTIFUL WORLD - - -In spite of the exaltation of renunciation, and in spite of the -joy of being newly and especially "wanted," those early September -days were sometimes hard for David. Not until he had relinquished -all hope of his "start" did he fully realize what that hope had -meant to him. - -There were times, to be sure, when there was nothing but -rejoicing within him that he was able thus to aid the Hollys. -There were other times when there was nothing but the sore -heartache because of the great work out in the beautiful world -that could now never be done; and because of the unlovely work at -hand that must be done. To tell the truth, indeed, David's entire -conception of life had become suddenly a chaos of puzzling -contradictions. - -To Mr. Jack, one day, David went with his perplexities. Not that -he told him of the gold-pieces and of the unexpected use to which -they had been put--indeed, no. David had made up his mind never, -if he could help himself, to mention those gold-pieces to any one -who did not already know of them. They meant questions, and the -questions, explanations. And he had had enough of both on that -particular subject. But to Mr. Jack he said one day, when they -were alone together:-- - -"Mr. Jack, how many folks have you got inside of your head?" - -"Eh--what, David?" - -David repeated his question and attached an explanation. - -"I mean, the folks that--that make you do things." - -Mr. Jack laughed. - -"Well," he said, "I believe some people make claims to quite a -number, and perhaps almost every one owns to a Dr. Jekyll and a -Mr. Hyde." - -"Who are they?" - -"Never mind, David. I don't think you know the gentlemen, anyhow. -They're only something like the little girl with a curl. One is -very, very good, indeed, and the other is horrid." - -"Oh, yes, I know them; they're the ones that come to me," -returned David, with a sigh. "I've had them a lot, lately." - -Mr. Jack stared. - -"Oh, have you?" - -"Yes; and that's what's the trouble. How can you drive them -off--the one that is bad, I mean?" - -"Well, really," confessed Mr. Jack, "I'm not sure I can tell. You -see--the gentlemen visit me sometimes." - -"Oh, do they?" - -"Yes." - -"I'm so glad--that is, I mean," amended David, in answer to Mr. -Jack's uplifted eyebrows, "I'm glad that you understand what I'm -talking about. You see, I tried Perry Larson last night on it, to -get him to tell me what to do. But he only stared and laughed. He -didn't know the names of 'em, anyhow, as you do, and at last he -got really almost angry and said I made him feel so 'buggy' and -'creepy' that he wouldn't dare look at himself in the glass if I -kept on, for fear some one he'd never known was there should jump -out at him." - -Mr. Jack chuckled. - -"Well, I suspect, David, that Perry knew one of your gentlemen by -the name of 'conscience,' perhaps; and I also suspect that maybe -conscience does pretty nearly fill the bill, and that you've been -having a bout with that. Eh? Now, what is the trouble? Tell me -about it." - -David stirred uneasily. Instead of answering, he asked another -question. - -"Mr. Jack, it is a beautiful world, isn't it?" - -For a moment there was no, answer; then a low voice replied:-- - -"Your father said it was, David." - -Again David moved restlessly. - -"Yes; but father was on the mountain. And down here--well, down -here there are lots of things that I don't believe he knew -about." - -"What, for instance?" - -"Why, lots of things--too many to tell. Of course there are -things like catching fish, and killing birds and squirrels and -other things to eat, and plaguing cats and dogs. Father never -would have called those beautiful. Then there are others like -little Jimmy Clark who can't walk, and the man at the Marstons' -who's sick, and Joe Glaspell who is blind. Then there are still -different ones like Mr. Holly's little boy. Perry says he ran -away years and years ago, and made his people very unhappy. -Father wouldn't call that a beautiful world, would he? And how -can people like that always play in tune? And there are the -Princess and the Pauper that you told about." - -"Oh, the story?" - -"Yes; and people like them can't be happy and think the world is -beautiful, of course." - -"Why not?" - -"Because they didn't end right. They didn't get married and -live happy ever after, you know." - -"Well, I don't think I'd worry about that, David,--at least, not -about the Princess. I fancy the world was very beautiful to her, -all right. The Pauper--well, perhaps he wasn't very happy. But, -after all, David, you know happiness is something inside of -yourself. Perhaps half of these people are happy, in their way." - -"There! and that's another thing," sighed David. "You see, I -found that out--that it was inside of yourself--quite a while -ago, and I told the Lady of the Roses. But now I--can't make it -work myself." - -"What's the matter?" - -"Well, you see then something was going to happen--something that -I liked; and I found that just thinking of it made it so that I -didn't mind raking or hoeing, or anything like that; and I told -the Lady of the Roses. And I told her that even if it wasn't -going to happen she could THINK it was going to, and that that -would be just the same, because 't was the thinking that made my -hours sunny ones. It wasn't the DOING at all. I said I knew -because I hadn't DONE it yet. See?" - -"I--think so, David." - -"Well, I've found out that it isn't the same at all; for now -that I KNOW that this beautiful thing isn't ever going to happen -to me, I can think and think all day, and it doesn't do a mite -of good. The sun is just as hot, and my back aches just as hard, -and the field is just as big and endless as it used to be when I -had to call it that those hours didn't count. Now, what is the -matter?" - -Mr. Jack laughed, but he shook his head a little sadly. - -"You're getting into too deep waters for me, David. I suspect -you're floundering in a sea that has upset the boats of sages -since the world began. But what is it that was so nice, and that -isn't going to happen? Perhaps I MIGHT help on that." - -"No, you couldn't," frowned David; "and there couldn't anybody, -either, you see, because I wouldn't go back now and LET it -happen, anyhow, as long as I know what I do. Why, if I did, there -wouldn't be ANY hours that were sunny then--not even the ones -after four o'clock; I--I'd feel so mean! But what I don't see is -just how I can fix it up with the Lady of the Roses." - -"What has she to do with it?" - -"Why, at the very first, when she said she didn't have ANY -sunshiny hours, I told her--" - -"When she said what?" interposed Mr. Jack, coming suddenly erect -in his chair. - -"That she didn't have any hours to count, you know." - -"To--COUNT?" - -"Yes; it was the sundial. Didn't I tell you? Yes, I know I -did--about the words on it--not counting any hours that weren't -sunny, you know. And she said she wouldn't have ANY hours to -count; that the sun never shone for her." - -"Why, David," demurred Mr. Jack in a voice that shook a little, -"are you sure? Did she say just that? You--you must be -mistaken--when she has--has everything to make her happy." - -"I wasn't, because I said that same thing to her -myself--afterwards. And then I told her--when I found out myself, -you know--about its being what was inside of you, after all, that -counted; and then is when I asked her if she couldn't think of -something nice that was going to happen to her sometime." - -"Well, what did she say?" - -"She shook her head, and said 'No.' Then she looked away, and her -eyes got soft and dark like little pools in the brook where the -water stops to rest. And she said she had hoped once that this -something would happen; but that it hadn't, and that it would -take something more than thinking to bring it. And I know now -what she meant, because thinking isn't all that counts, is it?" - -Mr. Jack did not answer. He had risen to his feet, and was pacing -restlessly up and down the veranda. Once or twice he turned his -eyes toward the towers of Sunnycrest, and David noticed that -there was a new look on his face. - -Very soon, however, the old tiredness came back to his eyes, and -he dropped into his seat again, muttering "Fool! of course it -couldn't be--that!" - -"Be what?" asked David. - -Mr. Jack started. - -"Er--nothing; nothing that you would understand, David. Go -on--with what you were saying." - -"There isn't any more. It's all done. It's only that I'm -wondering how I'm going to learn here that it's a beautiful -world, so that I can--tell father." - -Mr. Jack roused himself. He had the air of a man who determinedly -throws to one side a heavy burden. - -"Well, David," he smiled, "as I said before, you are still out on -that sea where there are so many little upturned boats. There -might be a good many ways of answering that question." - -"Mr. Holly says," mused the boy, aloud, a little gloomily, "that -it doesn't make any difference whether we find things beautiful -or not; that we're here to do something serious in the world." - -"That is about what I should have expected of Mr. Holly" retorted -Mr. Jack grimly. "He acts it--and looks it. But--I don't believe -you are going to tell your father just that." - -"No, sir, I don't believe I am," accorded David soberly. - -"I have an idea that you're going to find that answer just where -your father said you would--in your violin. See if you don't. -Things that aren't beautiful you'll make beautiful--because we -find what we are looking for, and you're looking for beautiful -things. After all, boy, if we march straight ahead, chin up, and -sing our own little song with all our might and main, we shan't -come so far amiss from the goal, I'm thinking. There! that's -preaching, and I didn't mean to preach; but--well, to tell the -truth, that was meant for myself, for--I'm hunting for the -beautiful world, too." - -"Yes, sir, I know," returned David fervently. And again Mr. Jack, -looking into the sympathetic, glowing dark eyes, wondered if, -after all, David really could--know. - -Even yet Mr. Jack was not used to David; there were "so many of -him," he told himself. There were the boy, the artist, and a -third personality so evanescent that it defied being named. The -boy was jolly, impetuous, confidential, and delightful--plainly -reveling in all manner of fun and frolic. The artist was nothing -but a bunch of nervous alertness, ready to find melody and rhythm -in every passing thought or flying cloud. The third--that -baffling third that defied the naming--was a dreamy, visionary, -untouchable creature who floated so far above one's head that -one's hand could never pull him down to get a good square chance -to see what he did look like. All this thought Mr. Jack as he -gazed into David's luminous eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -THE UNFAMILIAR WAY - - -In September David entered the village school. School and David -did not assimilate at once. Very confidently the teacher set to -work to grade her new pupil; but she was not so confident when -she found that while in Latin he was perilously near herself (and -in French--which she was not required to teach--disastrously -beyond her!), in United States history he knew only the barest -outlines of certain portions, and could not name a single battle -in any of its wars. In most studies he was far beyond boys of his -own age, yet at every turn she encountered these puzzling spots -of discrepancy, which rendered grading in the ordinary way out of -the question. - -David's methods of recitation, too, were peculiar, and somewhat -disconcerting. He also did not hesitate to speak aloud when he -chose, nor to rise from his seat and move to any part of the room -as the whim seized him. In time, of course, all this was changed; -but it was several days before the boy learned so to conduct -himself that he did not shatter to atoms the peace and propriety -of the schoolroom. - -Outside of school David had little work to do now, though there -were still left a few light tasks about the house. Home life at -the Holly farmhouse was the same for David, yet with a -difference--the difference that comes from being really wanted -instead of being merely dutifully kept. There were other -differences, too, subtle differences that did not show, perhaps, -but that still were there. - -Mr. and Mrs. Holly, more than ever now, were learning to look at -the world through David's eyes. One day--one wonderful day--they -even went to walk in the woods with the boy; and whenever before -had Simeon Holly left his work for so frivolous a thing as a walk -in the woods! - -It was not accomplished, however, without a struggle, as David -could have told. The day was a Saturday, clear, crisp, and -beautiful, with a promise of October in the air; and David fairly -tingled to be free and away. Mrs. Holly was baking--and the birds -sang unheard outside her pantry window. Mr. Holly was digging -potatoes--and the clouds sailed unnoticed above his head. - -All the morning David urged and begged. If for once, just this -once, they would leave everything and come, they would not regret -it, he was sure. But they shook their heads and said, "No, no, -impossible!" In the afternoon the pies were done and the potatoes -dug, and David urged and pleaded again. If once, only this once, -they would go to walk with him in the woods, he would be so -happy, so very happy! And to please the boy--they went. - -It was a curious walk. Ellen Holly trod softly, with timid feet. -She threw hurried, frightened glances from side to side. It was -plain that Ellen Holly did not know how to play. Simeon Holly -stalked at her elbow, stern, silent, and preoccupied. It was -plain that Simeon Holly not only did not know how to play, but -did not even care to find out. - -The boy tripped ahead and talked. He had the air of a monarch -displaying his kingdom. On one side was a bit of moss worthy of -the closest attention; on another, a vine that carried allurement -in every tendril. Here was a flower that was like a story for -interest, and there was a bush that bore a secret worth the -telling. Even Simeon Holly glowed into a semblance of life when -David had unerringly picked out and called by name the spruce, -and fir, and pine, and larch, and then, in answer to Mrs. Holly's -murmured: "But, David, where's the difference? They look so much -alike!" he had said:-- - -"Oh, but they aren't, you know. Just see how much more pointed -at the top that fir is than that spruce back there; and the -branches grow straight out, too, like arms, and they're all -smooth and tapering at the ends like a pussy-cat's tail. But the -spruce back there--ITS branches turned down and out--didn't you -notice?--and they're all bushy at the ends like a squirrel's -tail. Oh, they're lots different! That's a larch 'way ahead--that -one with the branches all scraggly and close down to the ground. -I could start to climb that easy; but I couldn't that pine over -there. See, it's 'way up, up, before there's a place for your -foot! But I love pines. Up there on the mountains where I lived, -the pines were so tall that it seemed as if God used them -sometimes to hold up the sky." - -And Simeon Holly heard, and said nothing; and that he did say -nothing--especially nothing in answer to David's confident -assertions concerning celestial and terrestrial -architecture--only goes to show how well, indeed, the man was -learning to look at the world through David's eyes. - -Nor were these all of David's friends to whom Mr. and Mrs. Holly -were introduced on that memorable walk. There were the birds, and -the squirrels, and, in fact, everything that had life. And each -one he greeted joyously by name, as he would greet a friend whose -home and habits he knew. Here was a wonderful woodpecker, there -was a beautiful bluejay. Ahead, that brilliant bit of color that -flashed across their path was a tanager. Once, far up in the sky, -as they crossed an open space, David spied a long black streak -moving southward. - -"Oh, see!" he exclaimed. "The crows! See them?--'way up there? -Wouldn't it be fun if we could do that, and fly hundreds and -hundreds of miles, maybe a thousand?" - -"Oh, David," remonstrated Mrs. Holly, unbelievingly. - -"But they do! These look as if they'd started on their winter -journey South, too; but if they have, they're early. Most of them -don't go till October. They come back in March, you know. Though -I've had them, on the mountain, that stayed all the year with -me." - -"My! but I love to watch them go," murmured David, his eyes -following the rapidly disappearing blackline. "Lots of birds you -can't see, you know, when they start for the South. They fly at -night--the woodpeckers and orioles and cuckoos, and lots of -others. They're afraid, I guess, don't you? But I've seen them. -I've watched them. They tell each other when they're going to -start." - -"Oh, David," remonstrated Mrs. Holly, again, her eyes reproving, -but plainly enthralled. - -"But they do tell each other," claimed the boy, with sparkling -eyes. "They must! For, all of a sudden, some night, you'll hear -the signal, and then they'll begin to gather from all directions. -I've seen them. Then, suddenly, they're all up and off to the -South--not in one big flock, but broken up into little flocks, -following one after another, with such a beautiful whir of wings. -Oof--OOF--OOF!--and they're gone! And I don't see them again till -next year. But you've seen the swallows, haven't you? They go in -the daytime, and they're the easiest to tell of any of them. They -fly so swift and straight. Haven't you seen the swallows go?" - -"Why, I--I don't know, David," murmured Mrs. Holly, with a -helpless glance at her husband stalking on ahead. "I--I didn't -know there were such things to--to know." - -There was more, much more, that David said before the walk came -to an end. And though, when it did end, neither Simeon Holly nor -his wife said a word of its having been a pleasure or a profit, -there was yet on their faces something of the peace and rest and -quietness that belonged to the woods they had left. - -It was a beautiful month--that September, and David made the most -of it. Out of school meant out of doors for him. He saw Mr. Jack -and Jill often. He spent much time, too, with the Lady of the -Roses. She was still the Lady of the ROSES to David, though in -the garden now were the purple and scarlet and yellow of the -asters, salvia, and golden glow, instead of the blush and perfume -of the roses. - -David was very much at home at Sunnycrest. He was welcome, he -knew, to go where he pleased. Even the servants were kind to him, -as well as was the elderly cousin whom he seldom saw, but who, he -knew, lived there as company for his Lady of the Roses. - -Perhaps best, next to the garden, David loved the tower room; -possibly because Miss Holbrook herself so often suggested that -they go there. And it was there that they were when he said, -dreamily, one day:-- - -"I like this place--up here so high, only sometimes it does make -me think of that Princess, because it was in a tower like this -that she was, you know." - -"Fairy stories, David?" asked Miss Holbrook lightly. - -"No, not exactly, though there was a Princess in it. Mr. Jack -told it." David's eyes were still out of the window. - -"Oh, Mr. Jack! And does Mr. Jack often tell you stories?" - -"No. He never told only this one--and maybe that's why I remember -it so." - -"Well, and what did the Princess do?" Miss Holbrook's voice was -still light, still carelessly preoccupied. Her attention, -plainly, was given to the sewing in her hand. - -"She didn't do and that's what was the trouble," sighed I David. -"She didn't wave, you know." - -The needle in Miss Holbrook's fingers stopped short in mid-air, -the thread half-drawn. - -"Didn't--wave!" she stammered. "What do you--mean?" - -"Nothing," laughed the boy, turning away from the window. "I -forgot that you didn't know the story." - -"But maybe I do--that is--what was the story?" asked Miss -Holbrook, wetting her lips as if they had grown suddenly very -dry. - -"Oh, do you? I wonder now! It wasn't 'The PRINCE and the -Pauper,' but the PRINCESS and the Pauper," cited David; "and they -used to wave signals, and answer with flags. Do you know the -story?" - -There was no answer. Miss Holbrook was putting away her work, -hurriedly, and with hands that shook. David noticed that she even -pricked herself in her anxiety to get the needle tucked away. -Then she drew him to a low stool at her side. - -"David, I want you to tell me that story, please," she said, -"just as Mr. Jack told it to you. Now, be careful and put it all -in, because I--I want to hear it," she finished, with an odd -little laugh that seemed to bring two bright red spots to her -cheeks. - -"Oh, do you want to hear it? Then I will tell it," cried David -joyfully. To David, almost as delightful as to hear a story was -to tell one himself. "You see, first--" And he plunged headlong -into the introduction. - -David knew it well--that story: and there was, perhaps, little -that he forgot. It might not have been always told in Mr. Jack's -language; but his meaning was there, and very intently Miss -Holbrook listened while David told of the boy and the girl, the -wavings, and the flags that were blue, black, and red. She -laughed once,--that was at the little joke with the bells that -the girl played,--but she did not speak until sometime later when -David was telling of the first home-coming of the Princess, and -of the time when the boy on his tiny piazza watched and watched -in vain for a waving white signal from the tower. - -"Do you mean to say," interposed Miss Holbrook then, almost -starting to her feet, "that that boy expected--" She stopped -suddenly, and fell back in her chair. The two red spots on her -cheeks had become a rosy glow now, all over her face. - -"Expected what?" asked David. - -"N--nothing. Go on. I was so--so interested," explained Miss -Holbrook faintly. "Go on." - -And David did go on; nor did the story lose by his telling. It -gained, indeed, something, for now it had woven through it the -very strong sympathy of a boy who loved the Pauper for his sorrow -and hated the Princess for causing that sorrow. - -"And so," he concluded mournfully, "you see it isn't a very nice -story, after all, for it didn't end well a bit. They ought to -have got married and lived happy ever after. But they didn't." - -Miss Holbrook drew in her breath a little uncertainly, and put -her hand to her throat. Her face now, instead of being red, was -very white. - -"But, David," she faltered, after a moment, "perhaps -he--the--Pauper--did not--not love the Princess any longer." - -"Mr. Jack said that he did." - -The white face went suddenly pink again. - -"Then, why didn't he go to her and--and--tell her?" - -David lifted his chin. With all his dignity he answered, and his -words and accent were Mr. Jack's. - -"Paupers don't go to Princesses, and say "I love you.'" - -"But perhaps if they did--that is--if--" Miss Holbrook bit her -lips and did not finish her sentence. She did not, indeed, say -anything more for a long time. But she had not forgotten the -story. David knew that, because later she began to question him -carefully about many little points--points that he was very sure -he had already made quite plain. She talked about it, indeed, -until he wondered if perhaps she were going to tell it to some -one else sometime. He asked her if she were; but she only shook -her head. And after that she did not question him any more. And a -little later David went home. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -HEAVY HEARTS - - -For a week David had not been near the House that Jack Built, and -that, too, when Jill had been confined within doors for several -days with a cold. Jill, indeed, was inclined to be grieved at -this apparent lack of interest on the part of her favorite -playfellow; but upon her return from her first day of school, -after her recovery, she met her brother with startled eyes. - -"Jack, it hasn't been David's fault at all," she cried -remorsefully. "He's sick." - -"Sick!" - -"Yes; awfully sick. They've had to send away for doctors and -everything." - -"Why, Jill, are you sure? Where did you hear this?" - -"At school to-day. Every one was talking about it." - -"But what is the matter?" - -"Fever--some sort. Some say it's typhoid, and some scarlet, and -some say another kind that I can't remember; but everybody says -he's awfully sick. He got it down to Glaspell's, some say,--and -some say he didn't. But, anyhow, Betty Glaspell has been sick -with something, and they haven't let folks in there this week," -finished Jill, her eyes big with terror. - -"The Glaspells? But what was David doing down there?" - -"Why, you know,--he told us once,--teaching Joe to play. He's -been there lots. Joe is blind, you know, and can't see, but he -just loves music, and was crazy over David's violin; so David -took down his other one--the one that was his father's, you -know--and showed him how to pick out little tunes, just to take -up his time so he wouldn't mind so much that he couldn't see. -Now, Jack, wasn't that just like David? Jack, I can't have -anything happen to David!" - -"No, dear, no; of course not! I'm afraid we can't any of us, for -that matter," sighed Jack, his forehead drawn into anxious -lines. "I'll go down to the Hollys', Jill, the first thing -tomorrow morning, and see how he is and if there's anything we -can do. Meanwhile, don't take it too much to heart, dear. It may -not be half so bad as you think. School-children always get -things like that exaggerated, you must remember," he finished, -speaking with a lightness that he did not feel. - -To himself the man owned that he was troubled, seriously -troubled. He had to admit that Jill's story bore the earmarks of -truth; and overwhelmingly he realized now just how big a place -this somewhat puzzling small boy had come to fill in his own -heart. He did not need Jill's anxious "Now, hurry, Jack," the -next morning to start him off in all haste for the Holly -farmhouse. A dozen rods from the driveway he met Perry Larson and -stopped him abruptly. - -"Good morning, Larson; I hope this isn't true--what I hear--that -David is very ill." - -Larson pulled off his hat and with his free hand sought the one -particular spot on his head to which he always appealed when he -was very much troubled. - -"Well, yes, sir, I'm afraid 't is, Mr. Jack--er--Mr. Gurnsey, I -mean. He is turrible sick, poor little chap, an' it's too -bad--that's what it is--too bad!" - -"Oh, I'm sorry! I hoped the report was exaggerated. I came down -to see if--if there wasn't something I could do." - -"Well, 'course you can ask--there ain't no law ag'in' that; an' -ye needn't be afraid, neither. The report has got 'round that -it's ketchin'--what he's got, and that he got it down to the -Glaspells'; but 't ain't so. The doctor says he didn't ketch -nothin', an' he can't give nothin'. It's his head an' brain that -ain't right, an' he's got a mighty bad fever. He's been kind of -flighty an' nervous, anyhow, lately. - -"As I was sayin', 'course you can ask, but I'm thinkin' there -won't be nothin' you can do ter help. Ev'rythin' that can be done -is bein' done. In fact, there ain't much of anythin' else that is -bein' done down there jest now but, tendin' ter him. They've got -one o' them 'ere edyercated nurses from the Junction--what wears -caps, ye know, an' makes yer feel as if they knew it all, an' you -didn't know nothin'. An' then there's Mr. an' Mis' Holly -besides. If they had THEIR way, there wouldn't neither of, em -let him out o' their sight fur a minute, they're that cut up -about it." - -"I fancy they think a good deal of the boy--as we all do," -murmured the younger man, a little unsteadily. - -Larson winkled his forehead in deep thought. - -"Yes; an' that's what beats me," he answered slowly; " 'bout -HIM,--Mr. Holly, I mean. 'Course we'd 'a' expected it of -HER--losin' her own boy as she did, an' bein' jest naturally so -sweet an' lovin'-hearted. But HIM--that's diff'rent. Now, you -know jest as well as I do what Mr. Holly is--every one does, so I -ain't sayin' nothin' sland'rous. He's a good man--a powerful good -man; an' there ain't a squarer man goin' ter work fur. But the -fact is, he was made up wrong side out, an' the seams has always -showed bad--turrible bad, with ravelin's all stickin' out every -which way ter ketch an' pull. But, gosh! I'm blamed if that, ere -boy ain't got him so smoothed down, you wouldn't know, scursely, -that he had a seam on him, sometimes; though how he's done it -beats me. Now, there's Mis' Holly--she's tried ter smooth 'em, -I'll warrant, lots of times. But I'm free ter say she hain't -never so much as clipped a ravelin' in all them forty years -they've lived tergether. Fact is, it's worked the other way with -her. All that HER rubbin' up ag'in' them seams has amounted to is -ter git herself so smoothed down that she don't never dare ter -say her soul's her own, most generally,--anyhow, not if he -happens ter intermate it belongs ter anybody else!" - -Jack Gurnsey suddenly choked over a cough. - -"I wish I could--do something," he murmured uncertainly. - -"'T ain't likely ye can--not so long as Mr. an' Mis' Holly is on -their two feet. Why, there ain't nothin' they won't do, an' -you'll believe it, maybe, when I tell you that yesterday Mr. -Holly, he tramped all through Sawyer's woods in the rain, jest -ter find a little bit of moss that the boy was callin' for. Think -o' that, will ye? Simeon Holly huntin' moss! An' he got it, too, -an' brung it home, an' they say it cut him up somethin' turrible -when the boy jest turned away, and didn't take no notice. You -understand, 'course, sir, the little chap ain't right in his -head, an' so half the time he don't know what he says." - -"Oh, I'm sorry, sorry!" exclaimed Gurnsey, as he turned away, and -hurried toward the farmhouse. - -Mrs. Holly herself answered his low knock. She looked worn and -pale. - -"Thank you, sir," she said gratefully, in reply to his offer of -assistance, "but there isn't anything you can do, Mr. Gurnsey. -We're having everything done that can be, and every one is very -kind. We have a very good nurse, and Dr. Kennedy has had -consultation with Dr. Benson from the Junction. They are doing -all in their power, of course, but they say that--that it's going -to be the nursing that will count now." - -"Then I don't fear for him, surely" declared the man, with -fervor. - -"I know, but--well, he shall have the very best possible--of -that." - -"I know he will; but isn't there anything--anything that I can -do?" - -She shook her head. - -"No. Of course, if he gets better--" She hesitated; then lifted -her chin a little higher; "WHEN he gets better," she corrected -with courageous emphasis, "he will want to see you." - -"And he shall see me," asserted Gurnsey. "And he will be better, -Mrs. Holly,--I'm sure he will." - -"Yes, yes, of course, only--oh, Mr. Jack, he's so sick--so very -sick! The doctor says he's a peculiarly sensitive nature, and -that he thinks something's been troubling him lately." Her voice -broke. - -"Poor little chap!" Mr. Jack's voice, too, was husky. - -She looked up with swift gratefulness for his sympathy. - -"And you loved him, too, I know" she choked. "He talks of you -often--very often." - -"Indeed I love him! Who could help it?" - -"There couldn't anybody, Mr. Jack,--and that's just it. Now, -since he's been sick, we've wondered more than ever who he is. -You see, I can't help thinking that somewhere he's got friends -who ought to know about him--now." - -"Yes, I see," nodded the man. - -"He isn't an ordinary boy, Mr. Jack. He's been trained in lots -of ways--about his manners, and at the table, and all that. And -lots of things his father has told him are beautiful, just -beautiful! He isn't a tramp. He never was one. And there's his -playing. YOU know how he can play." - -"Indeed I do! You must miss his playing, too." - -"I do; he talks of that, also," she hurried on, working her -fingers nervously together; "but oftenest he--he speaks of -singing, and I can't quite understand that, for he didn't ever -sing, you know." - -"Singing? What does he say?" The man asked the question because -he saw that it was affording the overwrought little woman real -relief to free her mind; but at the first words of her reply he -became suddenly alert. - -"It's 'his song,' as he calls it, that he talks about, always. It -isn't much--what he says--but I noticed it because he always -says the same thing, like this: I'll just hold up my chin and -march straight on and on, and I'll sing it with all my might and -main.' And when I ask him what he's going to sing, he always -says, 'My song--my song,' just like that. Do you think, Mr. Jack, -he did have--a song?" - -For a moment the man did not answer. Something in his throat -tightened, and held the words. Then, in a low voice he managed to -stammer:-- - -"I think he did, Mrs. Holly, and--I think he sang it, too." The -next moment, with a quick lifting of his hat and a murmured "I'll -call again soon," he turned and walked swiftly down the driveway. - -So very swiftly, indeed, was Mr. Jack walking, and so -self-absorbed was he, that he did not see the carriage until it -was almost upon him; then he stepped aside to let it pass. What -he saw as he gravely raised his hat was a handsome span of black -horses, a liveried coachman, and a pair of startled eyes looking -straight into his. What he did not see was the quick gesture with -which Miss Holbrook almost ordered her carriage stopped the -minute it had passed him by. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -AS PERRY SAW IT - - -One by one the days passed, and there came from the anxious -watchers at David's bedside only the words, "There's very little -change." Often Jack Gurnsey went to the farmhouse to inquire for -the boy. Often, too, he saw Perry Larson; and Perry was never -loath to talk of David. It was from Perry, indeed, that Gurnsey -began to learn some things of David that he had never known -before. - -"It does beat all," Perry Larson said to him one day, "how many -folks asks me how that boy is--folks that you'd never think knew -him, anyhow, ter say nothin' of carin' whether he lived or died. -Now, there's old Mis' Somers, fur instance. YOU know what she -is--sour as a lemon an' puckery as a chokecherry. Well, if she -didn't give me yesterday a great bo-kay o' posies she'd growed -herself, an' said they was fur him--that they berlonged ter him, -anyhow. - -"'Course, I didn't exactly sense what she meant by that, so I -asked her straight out; an' it seems that somehow, when the boy -first come, he struck her place one day an' spied a great big red -rose on one of her bushes. It seems he had his fiddle, an' he, -played it,--that rose a-growin' (you know his way!), an' she -heard an' spoke up pretty sharp an' asked him what in time he was -doin'. Well, most kids would 'a' run,--knowin' her temper as they -does,--but not much David. He stands up as pert as ye please, an' -tells her how happy that red rose must be ter make all that -dreary garden look so pretty; an' then he goes on, merry as a -lark, a-playin' down the hill. - -"Well, Mis' Somers owned up ter me that she was pretty mad at the -time, 'cause her garden did look like tunket, an' she knew it. -She said she hadn't cared ter do a thing with it since her -Bessie died that thought so much of it. But after what David had -said, even mad as she was, the thing kind o' got on her nerves, -an' she couldn't see a thing, day or night, but that red rose -a-growin' there so pert an' courageous-like, until at last, jest -ter quiet herself, she fairly had ter set to an' slick that -garden up! She said she raked an' weeded, an' fixed up all the -plants there was, in good shape, an' then she sent down to -the Junction fur some all growed in pots, 'cause 't was too late -ter plant seeds. An, now it's doin' beautiful, so she jest could -n't help sendin' them posies ter David. When I told Mis' Holly, -she said she was glad it happened, 'cause what Mis' Somers needed -was somethin' ter git her out of herself--an' I'm free ter say -she did look better-natured, an' no mistake,--kind o' like a -chokecherry in blossom, ye might say." - -"An' then there's the Widder Glaspell," continued Perry, after a -pause." 'Course, any one would expect she'd feel bad, seein' as -how good David was ter her boy--teachin' him ter play, ye know. -But Mis' Glaspell says Joe jest does take on somethin' turrible, -an' he won't tech the fiddle, though he was plum carried away -with it when David was well an' teachin' of him. An' there's the -Clark kid. He's lame, ye know, an' he thought the world an' all -of David's playin'. - -" 'Course, there's you an' Miss Holbrook, always askin' an' -sendin' things--but that ain't so strange, 'cause you was -'specially his friends. But it's them others what beats me. -Why, some days it's 'most ev'ry soul I meet, jest askin' how he -is, an' sayin' they hopes he'll git well. Sometimes it's kids -that he's played to, an' I'll be triggered if one of 'em one day -didn't have no excuse to offer except that David had fit -him--'bout a cat, or somethin'--an' that ever since then he'd -thought a heap of him--though he guessed David didn't know it. -Listen ter that, will ye! - -"An' once a woman held me up, an' took on turrible, but all I -could git from her was that he'd sat on her doorstep an' played -ter her baby once or twice;--as if that was anythin'! But one of -the derndest funny ones was the woman who said she could wash her -dishes a sight easier after she'd a-seen him go by playin'. There -was Bill Dowd, too. You know he really HAS got a screw loose in -his head somewheres, an' there ain't any one but what says he's -the town fool, all right. Well, what do ye think HE said?" - -Mr. Jack shook his head. - -"Well, he said he did hope as how nothin' would happen ter that -boy cause he did so like ter see him smile, an' that he always -did smile every time he met him! There, what do ye think o' -that?" - -"Well, I think, Perry," returned.Mr. Jack soberly, "that Bill -Dowd wasn't playing the fool, when he said that, quite so much -as he sometimes is, perhaps." - -"Hm-m, maybe not," murmured Perry Larson perplexedly. "Still, I'm -free ter say I do think 't was kind o' queer." He paused, then -slapped his knee suddenly. "Say, did I tell ye about -Streeter--Old Bill Streeter an' the pear tree?" - -Again Mr. Jack shook his head. - -"Well, then, I'm goin' to," declared the other, with gleeful -emphasis. "An', say, I don't believe even YOU can explain this--I -don't! Well, you know Streeter--ev'ry one does, so I ain't sayin' -nothin' sland'rous. He was cut on a bias, an' that bias runs ter -money every time. You know as well as I do that he won't lift his -finger unless there's a dollar stickin' to it, an' that he hain't -no use fur anythin' nor anybody unless there's money in it for -him. I'm blamed if I don't think that if he ever gits ter heaven, -he'll pluck his own wings an' sell the feathers fur what they'll -bring." - -"Oh, Perry!" remonstrated Mr. Jack, in a half-stifled voice. - -Perry Larson only grinned and went on imperturbably. - -"Well, seein' as we both understand what he is, I'll tell ye what -he DONE. He called me up ter his fence one day, big as life, an' -says he, 'How's the boy?' An' you could 'a' knocked me down with -a feather. Streeter--a-askin' how a boy was that was sick! An' he -seemed ter care, too. I hain't seen him look so longfaced -since--since he was paid up on a sartin note I knows of, jest as -he was smackin' his lips over a nice fat farm that was comin' to -him! - -"Well, I was that plum puzzled that I meant ter find out why -Streeter was takin' sech notice, if I hung fur it. So I set to on -a little detective work of my own, knowin', of course, that 't -wa'n't no use askin' of him himself. Well, an' what do you s'pose -I found out? If that little scamp of a boy hadn't even got round -him--Streeter, the skinflint! He had--an' he went there often, -the neighbors said; an' Streeter doted on him. They declared that -actually he give him a cent once--though THAT part I ain't -swallerin' yet. - -"They said--the neighbors did--that it all started from the pear -tree--that big one ter the left of his house. Maybe you remember -it. Well, anyhow, it seems that it's old, an' through bearin' any -fruit, though it still blossoms fit ter kill, every year, only a -little late 'most always, an' the blossoms stay on longer'n -common, as if they knew there wa'n't nothin' doin' later. Well, -old Streeter said it had got ter come down. I reckon he suspected -it of swipin' some of the sunshine, or maybe a little rain that -belonged ter the tree t'other side of the road what did bear -fruit an' was worth somethin'! Anyhow, he got his man an' his -axe, an' was plum ready ter start in when he sees David an' David -sees him. - -"'T was when the boy first come. He'd gone ter walk an' had -struck this pear tree, all in bloom,--an' 'course, YOU know how -the boy would act--a pear tree, bloomin', is a likely sight, I'll -own. He danced and laughed and clapped his hands,--he didn't -have his fiddle with him,--an' carried on like all possessed. -Then he sees the man with the axe, an' Streeter an' Streeter sees -him. - -"They said it was rich then--Bill Warner heard it all from -t'other side of the fence. He said that David, when he found out -what was goin' ter happen, went clean crazy, an' rampaged on at -such a rate that old Streeter couldn't do nothin' but stand an' -stare, until he finally managed ter growl out: 'But I tell ye, -boy, the tree ain't no use no more!' - -"Bill says the boy flew all to pieces then. 'No use--no use!' he -cries; 'such a perfectly beautiful thing as that no use! Why, it -don't have ter be any use when it's so pretty. It's jest ter look -at an' love, an' be happy with!' Fancy sayin' that ter old -Streeter! I'd like ter seen his face. But Bill says that wa'n't -half what the boy said. He declared that 't was God's present, -anyhow, that trees was; an' that the things He give us ter look -at was jest as much use as the things He give us ter eat; an' -that the stars an' the sunsets an' the snowflakes an' the little -white cloud-boats, an' I don't know what-all, was jest as -important in the Orchestra of Life as turnips an' squashes. An' -then, Billy says, he ended by jest flingin' himself on ter -Streeter an' beggin' him ter wait till he could go back an' git -his fiddle so he could tell him what a beautiful thing that tree -was. - -"Well, if you'll believe it, old Streeter was so plum befuzzled -he sent the man an' the axe away--an' that tree's a-livin' -ter-day--'t is!" he finished; then, with a sudden gloom on his -face, Larson added, huskily: "An' I only hope I'll be sayin' the -same thing of that boy--come next month at this time!" - -"We'll hope you will," sighed the other fervently. - -And so one by one the days passed, while the whole town waited -and while in the great airy "parlor bedroom" of the Holly -farmhouse one small boy fought his battle for life. Then came the -blackest day and night of all when the town could only wait and -watch--it had lost its hope; when the doctors shook their heads -and refused to meet Mrs. Holly's eyes; when the pulse in the slim -wrist outside the coverlet played hide-and-seek with the cool, -persistent fingers that sought so earnestly for it; when Perry -Larson sat for uncounted sleepless hours by the kitchen stove, -and fearfully listened for a step crossing the hallway; when Mr. -Jack on his porch, and Miss Holbrook in her tower widow, went -with David down into the dark valley, and came so near the -rushing river that life, with its petty prides and prejudices, -could never seem quite the same to them again. - -Then, after that blackest day and night, came the dawn--as the -dawns do come after the blackest of days and nights. In the -slender wrist outside the coverlet the pulse gained and steadied. -On the forehead beneath the nurse's fingers, a moisture came. The -doctors nodded their heads now, and looked every one straight in -the eye. "He will live," they said. "The crisis is passed." Out -by the kitchen stove Perry Larson heard the step cross the hall -and sprang upright; but at the first glimpse of Mrs. Holly's -tear-wet, yet radiant face, he collapsed limply. - -"Gosh!" he muttered. "Say, do you know, I didn't s'pose I did -care so much! I reckon I'll go an' tell Mr. Jack. He'll want ter -hear." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -PUZZLES - - -David's convalescence was picturesque, in a way. As soon as he -was able, like a king he sat upon his throne and received his -subjects; and a very gracious king he was, indeed. His room -overflowed with flowers and fruit, and his bed quite groaned with -the toys and books and games brought for his diversion, each one -of which he hailed with delight, from Miss Holbrook's sumptuously -bound "Waverley Novels" to little crippled Jimmy Clark's bag of -marbles. - -Only two things puzzled David: one was why everybody was so good -to him; and the other was why he never could have the pleasure of -both Mr. Jack's and Miss Holbrook's company at the same time. - -David discovered this last curious circumstance concerning Mr. -Jack and Miss Holbrook very early in his convalescence. It was on -the second afternoon that Mr. Jack had been admitted to the -sick-room. David had been hearing all the latest news of Jill and -Joe, when suddenly he noticed an odd change come to his visitor's -face. - -The windows of the Holly "parlor bedroom" commanded a fine view -of the road, and it was toward one of these windows that Mr. -Jack's eyes were directed. David, sitting up in bed, saw then -that down the road was approaching very swiftly a handsome span -of black horses and an open carriage which he had come to -recognize as belonging to Miss Holbrook. He watched it eagerly -now till he saw the horses turn in at the Holly driveway. Then he -gave a low cry of delight. - -"It's my Lady of the Roses! She's coming to see me. Look! Oh, I'm -so glad! Now you'll see her, and just KNOW how lovely she is. -Why, Mr. Jack, you aren't going NOW!" he broke off in manifest -disappointment, as Mr. Jack leaped to his feet. - -"I think I'll have to, if you don't mind, David," returned the -man, an oddly nervous haste in his manner. "And YOU won't mind, -now that you'll have Miss Holbrook. I want to speak to Larson. I -saw him in the field out there a minute ago. And I guess I'll -slip right through this window here, too, David. I don't want to -lose him; and I can catch him quicker this way than any other," -he finished, throwing up the sash. - -"Oh, but Mr. Jack, please just wait a minute," begged David. "I -wanted you to see my Lady of the Roses, and--" But Mr. Jack was -already on the ground outside the low window, and the next -minute, with a merry nod and smile, he had pulled the sash down -after him and was hurrying away. - -Almost at once, then, Miss Holbrook appeared at the bedroom door. - -"Mrs. Holly said I was to walk right in, David, so here I am," -she began, in a cheery voice. "Oh, you're looking lots better -than when I saw you Monday, young man!" - -"I am better," caroled David; "and to-day I'm 'specially better, -because Mr. Jack has been here." - -"Oh, has Mr. Jack been to see you to-day?" There was an -indefinable change in Miss Holbrook's voice. - -"Yes, right now. Why, he was here when you were driving into the -yard." - -Miss Holbrook gave a perceptible start and looked about her a -little wildly. - -"Here when--But I didn't meet him anywhere--in the hall." - -"He didn't go through the hall," laughed David gleefully. "He -went right through that window there." - -"The window!" An angry flush mounted to Miss Holbrook's -forehead. "Indeed, did he have to resort to that to escape--" She -bit her lip and stopped abruptly. - -David's eyes widened a little. - -"Escape? Oh, HE wasn't the one that was escaping. It was Perry. -Mr. Jack was afraid he'd lose him. He saw him out the window -there, right after he'd seen you, and he said he wanted to speak -to him and he was afraid he'd get away. So he jumped right -through that window there. See?" - -"Oh, yes, I--see," murmured Miss Holbrook, in a voice David -thought was a little queer. - -"I wanted him to stay," frowned David uncertainly. "I wanted him -to see you." - -"Dear me, David, I hope you didn't tell him so." - -"Oh, yes, I did. But he couldn't stay, even then. You see, he -wanted to catch Perry Larson." - -"I've no doubt of it," retorted Miss Holbrook, with so much -emphasis that David again looked at her with a slightly disturbed -frown. - -"But he'll come again soon, I'm sure, and then maybe you'll be -here, too. I do so want him to see you, Lady of the Roses!" - -"Nonsense, David!" laughed Miss Holbrook alittle nervously. -"Mr.--Mr. Gurnsey doesn't want to see me. He's seen me dozens of -times." - -"Oh, yes, he told me he'd seen you long ago," nodded David -gravely; "but he didn't act as if he remembered it much." - -"Didn't he, indeed!" laughed Miss Holbrook, again flushing a -little. "Well, I'm sure, dear, we wouldn't want to tax the poor -gentleman's memory too much, you know. Come, suppose you see what -I've brought you," she finished gayly. - -"Oh, what is it?" cried David, as, under Miss Holbrook's swift -fingers, the wrappings fell away and disclosed a box which, upon -being opened, was found to be filled with quantities of oddly -shaped bits of pictured wood--a jumble of confusion. - -"It's a jig-saw puzzle, David. All these little pieces fitted -together make a picture, you see. I tried last night and I could -n't do it. I brought it down to see if you could." - -"Oh, thank you! I'd love to," rejoiced the boy. And in the -fascination of the marvel of finding one fantastic bit that -fitted another, David apparently forgot all about Mr. Jack--which -seemed not unpleasing to his Lady of the Roses. - -It was not until nearly a week later that David had his wish of -seeing his Mr. Jack and his Lady of the Roses meet at his -bedside. It was the day Miss Holbrook brought to him the -wonderful set of handsomely bound "Waverley Novels." He was still -glorying in his new possession, in fact, when Mr. Jack appeared -suddenly in the doorway. - -"Hullo my boy, I just--Oh, I beg your pardon. I supposed you -were--alone," he stammered, looking very red indeed. - -"He is--that is, he will be, soon--except for you, Mr. Gurnsey," -smiled Miss Holbrook, very brightly. She was already on her feet. - -"No, no, I beg of you," stammered Mr. Jack, growing still more -red. "Don't let me drive--that is, I mean, don't go, please. I -didn't know. I had no warning--I didn't see--Your carriage was -not at the door to-day." - -Miss Holbrook's eyebrows rose the fraction of an inch. - -"I sent it home. I am planning to walk back. I have several calls -to make on the way; and it's high time I was starting. Good-bye, -David." - -"But, Lady, of the Roses, please, please, don't go," besought -David, who had been looking from one to the other in worried -dismay. "Why, you've just come!" - -But neither coaxing nor argument availed; and before David really -knew just what had happened, he found himself alone with Mr. -Jack. - -Even then disappointment was piled on disappointment, for Mr. -Jack's visit was not the unalloyed happiness it usually was. Mr. -Jack himself was almost cross at first, and then he was silent -and restless, moving jerkily about the room in a way that -disturbed David very much. - -Mr. Jack had brought with him a book; but even that only made -matters worse, for when he saw the beautifully bound volumes that -Miss Holbrook had just left, he frowned, and told David that he -guessed he did not need his gift at all, with all those other -fine books. And David could not seem to make him understand that -the one book from him was just exactly as dear as were the whole -set of books that his Lady of the Roses brought. - -Certainly it was not a satisfactory visit at all, and for the -first time David was almost glad to have Mr. Jack go and leave -him with his books. The BOOKS, David told himself, he could -understand; Mr. Jack he could not--to-day. - -Several times after this David's Lady of the Roses and Mr. Jack -happened to call at the same hour; but never could David persuade -these two friends of his to stay together. Always, if one came -and the other was there, the other went away, in spite of David's -protestations that two people did not tire him at all and his -assertions that he often entertained as many as that at once. -Tractable as they were in all other ways, anxious as they seemed -to please him, on this one point they were obdurate: never would -they stay together. - -They were not angry with each other--David was sure of that, for -they were always very especially polite, and rose, and stood, and -bowed in a most delightful fashion. Still, he sometimes thought -that they did not quite like each other, for always, after the -one went away, the other, left behind, was silent and almost -stern--if it was Mr. Jack; and flushed-faced and nervous--if it -was Miss Holbrook. But why this was so David could not -understand. - -The span of handsome black horses came very frequently to the -Holly farmhouse now, and as time passed they often bore away -behind them a white-faced but happy-eyed boy on the seat beside -Miss Holbrook. - -"My, but I don't see how every one can be so good to me!" -exclaimed the boy, one day, to his Lady of the Roses. - -"Oh, that's easy, David," she smiled. "The only trouble is to -find out what you want--you ask for so little." - -"But I don't need to ask--you do it all beforehand," asserted -the, boy. "you and Mr. Jack, and everybody." - -"Really? That's good." For a brief moment Miss Holbrook -hesitated; then, as if casually, she asked: "And he tells you -stories, too, I suppose,--this Mr. Jack,--just as he used to, -doesn't he?" - -"Well, he never did tell me but one, you know, before; but he's -told me more now, since I've been sick." - -"Oh, yes, I remember, and that one was 'The Princess and the -Pauper,' wasn't it? Well, has he told you any more--like--that?" - -The boy shook his head with decision. - -"No, he doesn't tell me any more like that, and--and I don't -want him to, either." - -Miss Holbrook laughed a little oddly. - -"Why, David, what is the matter with that?" she queried. - -"The ending; it wasn't nice, you know." - -"Oh, yes, I--I remember." - -"I've asked him to change it," went on David, in a grieved voice. -"I asked him just the other day, but he wouldn't." - -"Perhaps he--he didn't want to." Miss Holbrook spoke very -quickly, but so low that David barely heard the words. - -"Didn't want to? Oh, yes, he did! He looked awful sober, and as -if he really cared, you know. And he said he'd give all he had in -the world if he really could change it, but he couldn't." - -"Did he say--just that?" Miss Holbrook was leaning forward a -little breathlessly now. - -"Yes--just that; and that's the part I couldn't understand," -commented David. "For I don't see why a story--just a story made -up out of somebody's head--can't be changed any way you want it. -And I told him so." - -"Well, and what did he say to that?" - -"He didn't say anything for a minute, and I had to ask him -again. Then he sat up suddenly, just as if he'd been asleep, you -know, and said, 'Eh, what, David?' And then I told him again what -I'd said. This time he shook his head, and smiled that kind of a -smile that isn't really a smile, you know, and said something -about a real, true-to-life story's never having but one ending, -and that was a logical ending. Lady of the Roses, what is a -logical ending?" - -The Lady of the Roses laughed unexpectedly. The two little red -spots, that David always loved to see, flamed into her cheeks, -and her eyes showed a sudden sparkle. When she answered, her -words came disconnectedly, with little laughing breaths between. - -"Well, David, I--I'm not sure I can--tell you. But perhaps I--can -find out. This much, however, I am sure of: Mr. Jack's logical -ending wouldn't be--mine!" - -What she meant David did not know; nor would she tell him when he -asked; but a few days later she sent for him, and very gladly -David--able now to go where he pleased--obeyed the summons. - -It was November, and the garden was bleak and cold; but in the -library a bright fire danced on the hearth, and before this Miss -Holbrook drew up two low chairs. - -She looked particularly pretty, David thought. The rich red of -her dress had apparently brought out an answering red in her -cheeks. Her eyes were very bright and her lips smiled; yet she -seemed oddly nervous and restless. She sewed a little, with a bit -of yellow silk on white--but not for long. She knitted with two -long ivory needles flashing in and out of a silky mesh of -blue--but this, too, she soon ceased doing. On a low stand at -David's side she had placed books and pictures, and for -a time she talked of those. Then very abruptly she asked:-- - -"David, when will you see--Mr. Jack again--do you suppose?" - -"Tomorrow. I'm going up to the House that Jack Built to tea, and -I'm to stay all night. It's Halloween--that is, it isn't really -Halloween, because it's too late. I lost that, being sick, you -know. So we're going to pretend, and Mr. Jack is going to show me -what it is like. That is what Mr. Jack and Jill always do; when -something ails the real thing, they just pretend with the -make-believe one. He's planned lots of things for Jill and me to -do; with nuts and apples and candles, you know. It's to-morrow -night. so I'll see him then." - -"To-morrow? So--so soon?" faltered Miss Holbrook. And to David, -gazing at her with wondering eyes, it seemed for a moment almost -as if she were looking about for a place to which she might run -and hide. Then determinedly, as if she were taking hold of -something with both hands, she leaned forward, looked David -squarely in the eyes, and began to talk hurriedly, yet very -distinctly. - -"David, listen. I've something I want you to say to Mr. Jack, and -I want you to be sure and get it just right. It's about the--the -story, 'The Princess and the Pauper,' you know. You can remember, -I think, for you remembered that so well. Will you say it to -him--what I'm going to tell you--just as I say it?" - -"Why, of course I will!" David's promise was unhesitating, though -his eyes were still puzzled. - -"It's about the--the ending," stammered Miss Holbrook. "That is, -it may--it may have something to do with the ending--perhaps," -she finished lamely. And again David noticed that odd shifting of -Miss Holbrook's gaze as if she were searching for some means of -escape. Then, as before, he saw her chin lift determinedly, as -she began to talk faster than ever. - -"Now, listen," she admonished him, earnestly. - -And David listened. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -A STORY REMODELED - - -The pretended Halloween was a great suceess. So very excited, -indeed, did David become over the swinging apples and popping -nuts that he quite forgot to tell Mr. Jack what the Lady of the -Roses had said until Jill had gone up to bed and he himself was -about to take from Mr. Jack's hand the little lighted lamp. - -"Oh, Mr. Jack, I forgot," he cried then. "There was something I -was going to tell you." - -"Never mind to-night, David; it's so late. Suppose we leave it -until to-morrow," suggested Mr. Jack, still with the lamp -extended in his hand. - -"But I promised the Lady of the Roses that I'd say it to-night," -demurred the boy, in a troubled voice. - -The man drew his lamp halfway back suddenly. - -"The Lady of the Roses! Do you mean--she sent a message--to ME?" -he demanded. - -"Yes; about the story, 'The Princess and the Pauper,' you know." - -With an abrupt exclamation Mr. Jack set the lamp on the table and -turned to a chair. He had apparently lost his haste to go to bed. - -"See here, David, suppose you come and sit down, and tell me just -what you're talking about. And first--just what does the Lady of -the Roses know about that--that 'Princess and the Pauper'?" - -"Why, she knows it all, of course," returned the boy in surprise. -"I told it to her." - -"You--told--it--to her!" Mr. Jack relaxed in his chair. "David!" - -"Yes. And she was just as interested as could be." - -"I don't doubt it!" Mr. Jack's lips snapped together a little -grimly. - -"Only she didn't like the ending, either." - -Mr. Jack sat up suddenly. - -"She didn't like--David, are you sure? Did she SAY that?" - -David frowned in thought. - -"Well, I don't know as I can tell, exactly, but I'm sure she did -n't like it, because just before she told me WHAT to say to you, -she said that--that what she was going to say would probably have -something to do with the ending, anyway. Still--" David paused in -yet deeper thought. "Come to think of it, there really isn't -anything--not in what she said--that CHANGED that ending, as I -can see. They didn't get married and live happy ever after, -anyhow." - -"Yes, but what did she say?" asked Mr. Jack in a voice that was -not quite steady. "Now, be careful, David, and tell it just as -she said it." - -"Oh, I will," nodded David. "SHE said to do that, too." - -"Did she?" Mr. Jack leaned farther forward in his chair. "But -tell me, how did she happen to--to say anything about it? Suppose -you begin at the beginning--away back, David. I want to hear it -all--all!" - -David gave a contented sigh, and settled himself more -comfortably. - -"Well, to begin with, you see, I told her the story long ago, -before I was sick, and she was ever so interested then, and asked -lots of questions. Then the other day something came up--I've -forgotten how--about the ending, and I told her how hard I'd -tried to have you change it, but you wouldn't. And she spoke -right up quick and said probably you didn't want to change it, -anyhow. But of course I settled THAT question without any -trouble," went on David confidently, "by just telling her how you -said you'd give anything in the world to change it." - -"And you told her that--just that, David?" cried the man. - -"Why, yes, I had to," answered David, in surprise, "else she -wouldn't have known that you DID want to change it. Don't you -see?" - -"Oh, yes! I--see--a good deal that I'm thinking you don't," -muttered Mr. Jack, fallig back in his chair. - -"Well, then is when I told her about the logical ending--what you -said, you know,--oh, yes! and that was when I found out she did -n't like the ending, because she laughed such a funny little -laugh and colored up, and said that she wasn't sure she could -tell me what a logical ending was, but that she would try to find -out, and that, anyhow, YOUR ending wouldn't be hers--she was -sure of that." - -"David, did she say that--really?" Mr. Jack was on his feet now. - -"She did; and then yesterday she asked me to come over, and she -said some more things,--about the story, I mean,--but she didn't -say another thing about the ending. She didn't ever say anything -about that except that little bit I told you of a minute ago." - -"Yes, yes, but what did she say?" demanded Mr. Jack, stopping -short in his walk up and down the room. - -"She said: 'You tell Mr. Jack that I know something about that -story of his that perhaps he doesn't. In the first place, I know -the Princess a lot better than he does, and she isn't a bit the -kind of girl he's pictured her." - -"Yes! Go on--go on!" - -" 'Now, for instance,' she says, 'when the boy made that call, -after the girl first came back, and when the boy didn't like it -because they talked of colleges and travels, and such things, you -tell him that I happen to know that that girl was just hoping and -hoping he'd speak of the old days and games; but that she could -n't speak, of course, when he hadn't been even once to see her -during all those weeks, and when he'd acted in every way just as -if he'd forgotten.' " - -"But she hadn't waved--that Princess hadn't waved--once!" -argued Mr. Jack; "and he looked and looked for it." - -"Yes, SHE spoke of that," returned David. "But SHE said she -shouldn't think the Princess would have waved, when she'd got to -be such a great big girl as that--WAVING to a BOY! She said that -for her part she should have been ashamed of her if she had!" - -"Oh, did she!" murmured Mr. Jack blankly, dropping suddenly into -his chair. - -"Yes, she did," repeated David, with a little virtuous uplifting -of his chin. - -It was plain to be seen that David's sympathies had unaccountably -met with a change of heart. - -"But--the Pauper--" - -"Oh, yes, and that's another thing," interrupted David. "The Lady -of the Roses said that she didn't like that name one bit; that -it wasn't true, anyway, because he wasn't a pauper. And she -said, too, that as for his picturing the Princess as being -perfectly happy in all that magnificence, he didn't get it right -at all. For SHE knew that the Princess wasn't one bit happy, -because she was so lonesome for things and people she had known -when she was just the girl." - -Again Mr. Jack sprang to his feet. For a minute he strode up and -down the room in silence; then in a shaking voice he asked:-- - -"David, you--you aren't making all this up, are you? You're -saying just what--what Miss Holbrook told you to?" - -"Why, of course, I'm not making it up," protested the boy -aggrievedly. "This is the Lady of the Roses' story--SHE made it -up--only she talked it as if 't was real, of course, just as you -did. She said another thing, too. She said that she happened to -know that the Princess had got all that magnificence around her -in the first place just to see if it wouldn't make her happy, -but that it hadn't, and that now she had one place--a little -room--that was left just as it used to be when she was the girl, -and that she went there and sat very often. And she said it was -right in sight of where the boy lived, too, where he could see it -every day; and that if he hadn't been so blind he could have -looked right through those gray walls and seen that, and seen -lots of other things. And what did she mean by that, Mr. Jack?" - -"I don't know--I don't know, David," half-groaned Mr. Jack. -"Sometimes I think she means--and then I think that can't -be--true." - -"But do you think it's helped it any--the story?" persisted the -boy. "She's only talked a little about the Princess. She didn't -really change things any--not the ending." - -"But she said it might, David--she said it might! Don't you -remember?" cried the man eagerly. And to David, his eagerness did -not seem at all strange. Mr. Jack had said before--long ago--that -he would be very glad indeed to have a happier ending to this -tale. "Think now," continued the man. "Perhaps she said something -else, too. Did she say anything else, David?" - -David shook his head slowly. - -"No, only--yes, there was a little something, but it doesn't -CHANGE things any, for it was only a 'supposing.' She said: 'Just -supposing, after long years, that the Princess found out about -how the boy felt long ago, and suppose he should look up at the -tower some day, at the old time, and see a ONE--TWO wave, which -meant, "Come over to see me." Just what do you suppose he would -do?' But of course, THAT can't do any good," finished David -gloomily, as he rose to go to bed, "for that was only a -'supposing.' " - -"Of course," agreed Mr. Jack steadily; and David did not know -that only stern self-control had forced the steadiness into that -voice, nor that, for Mr. Jack, the whole world had burst suddenly -into song. - -Neither did David, the next morning, know that long before eight -o'clock Mr. Jack stood at a certain window, his eyes unswervingly -fixed on the gray towers of Sunnycrest. What David did know, -however, was that just after eight, Mr. Jack strode through the -room where he and Jill were playing checkers, flung himself into -his hat and coat, and then fairly leaped down the steps toward -the path that led to the footbridge at the bottom of the hill. - -"Why, whatever in the world ails Jack?" gasped Jill. Then, after -a startled pause, she asked. "David, do folks ever go crazy for -joy? Yesterday, you see, Jack got two splendid pieces of news. -One was from his doctor. He was examined, and he's fine, the -doctor says; all well, so he can go back, now any time, to the -city and work. I shall go to school then, you know,--a young -ladies' school," she finished, a little importantly. - -"He's well? How splendid! But what was the other news? You said -there were two; only it couldn't have been nicer than that was; -to be well--all well!" - -"The other? Well, that was only that his old place in the city -was waiting for him. He was with a firm of big lawyers, you know, -and of course it is nice to have a place all waiting. But I can't -see anything in those things to make him act like this, now. Can -you?" - -"Why, yes, maybe," declared David. "He's found his work--don't -you see?--out in the world, and he's going to do it. I know how -I'd feel if I had found mine that father told me of! Only what I -can't understand is, if Mr. Jack knew all this yesterday, why did -n't he act like this then, instead of waiting till to-day?" - -"I wonder," said Jill. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD - - -David found many new songs in his violin those early winter days, -and they were very beautiful ones. To begin with, there were all -the kindly looks and deeds that were showered upon him from every -side. There was the first snowstorm, too, with the feathery -flakes turning all the world to fairy whiteness. This song David -played to Mr. Streeter, one day, and great was his disappointment -that the man could not seem to understand what the song said. - -"But don't you see?" pleaded David. "I'm telling you that it's -your pear-tree blossoms come back to say how glad they are that -you didn't kill them that day." - -"Pear-tree blossoms--come back!" ejaculated the old man. "Well, -no, I can't see. Where's yer pear-tree blossoms?" - -"Why, there--out of the window--everywhere," urged the boy. - -"THERE! By ginger! boy--ye don't mean--ye CAN'T mean the SNOW!" - -"Of course I do! Now, can't you see it? Why, the whole tree was -just a great big cloud of snowflakes. Don't you remember? Well, -now it's gone away and got a whole lot more trees, and all the -little white petals have come dancing down to celebrate, and to -tell you they sure are coming back next year." - -"Well, by ginger!" exclaimed the man again. Then, suddenly, he -threw back his head with a hearty laugh. David did not quite like -the laugh, neither did he care for the five-cent piece that the -man thrust into his fingers a little later; though--had David but -known it--both the laugh and the five-cent piece gift were--for -the uncomprehending man who gave them--white milestones along an -unfamiliar way. - -It was soon after this that there came to David the great -surprise--his beloved Lady of the Roses and his no less beloved -Mr. Jack were to be married at the beginning of the New Year. So -very surprised, indeed, was David at this, that even his violin -was mute, and had nothing, at first, to say about it. But to Mr. -Jack, as man to man, David said one day:-- - -"I thought men, when they married women, went courting. In -story-books they do. And you--you hardly ever said a word to my -beautiful Lady of the Roses; and you spoke once--long ago--as if -you scarcely remembered her at all. Now, what do you mean by -that?" - -And Mr. Jack laughed, but he grew red, too,--and then he told it -all,--that it was just the story of "The Princess and the -Pauper," and that he, David, had been the one, as it happened, to -do part of their courting for them. - -And how David had laughed then, and how he had fairly hugged -himself for joy! And when next he had picked up his violin, what -a beautiful, beautiful song he had found about it in the vibrant -strings! - -It was this same song, as it chanced, that he was playing in his -room that Saturday afternoon when the letter from Simeon Holly's -long-lost son John came to the Holly farmhouse. - -Downstairs in the kitchen, Simeon Holly stood, with the letter in -his hand. - -"Ellen, we've got a letter from--John," he said. That Simeon -Holly spoke of it at all showed how very far along HIS unfamiliar -way he had come since the last letter from John had arrived. - -"From--John? Oh, Simeon! From John?" - -"Yes." - -Simeon sat down and tried to hide the shaking of his hand as he -ran the point of his knife under the flap of the envelope. "We'll -see what--he says." And to hear him, one might have thought that -letters from John were everyday occurrences. - - -DEAR FATHER: Twice before I have written [ran the letter], and -received no answer. But I'm going to make one more effort for -forgiveness. May I not come to you this Christmas? I have a -little boy of my own now, and my heart aches for you. I know how -I should feel, should he, in years to come, do as I did. - -I'll not deceive you--I have not given up my art. You told me -once to choose between you and it--and I chose, I suppose; at -least, I ran away. Yet in the face of all that, I ask you again, -may I not come to you at Christmas? I want you, father, and I -want mother. And I want you to see my boy. - - -"Well?" said Simeon Holly, trying to speak with a steady coldness -that would not show how deeply moved he was. "Well, Ellen?" - -"Yes, Simeon, yes!" choked his wife, a world of mother-love and -longing in her pleading eyes and voice. "Yes--you'll let it -be--'Yes'!" - -"Uncle Simeon, Aunt Ellen," called David, clattering down the -stairs from his room, "I've found such a beautiful song in my -violin, and I'm going to play it over and over so as to be sure -and remember it for father--for it is a beautiful world, Uncle -Simeon, isn't it? Now, listen!" - -And Simeon Holly listened--but it was not the violin that he -heard. It was the voice of a little curly-headed boy out of the -past. - -When David stopped playing some time later, only the woman sat -watching him--the man was over at his desk, pen in hand. - -John, John's wife, and John's boy came the day before Christmas, -and great was the excitement in the Holly farmhouse. John was -found to be big, strong, and bronzed with the outdoor life of -many a sketching trip--a son to be proud of, and to be leaned -upon in one's old age. Mrs. John, according to Perry Larson, was -"the slickest little woman goin'." According to John's mother, -she was an almost unbelievable incarnation of a long-dreamed-of, -long-despaired-of daughter--sweet, lovable, and charmingly -beautiful. Little John--little John was himself; and he could not -have been more had he been an angel-cherub straight from -heaven--which, in fact, he was, in his doting grandparents' eyes. - -John Holly had been at his old home less than four hours when he -chanced upon David's violin. He was with his father and mother at -the time. There was no one else in the room. With a sidelong -glance at his parents, he picked up the instrument--John Holly -had not forgotten his own youth. His violin-playing in the old -days had not been welcome, he remembered. - -"A fiddle! Who plays?" he asked. - -"David." - -"Oh, the boy. You say you--took him in? By the way, what an odd -little shaver he is! Never did I see a BOY like HIM." Simeon -Holly's head came up almost aggressively. - -"David is a good boy--a very good boy, indeed, John. We think a -great deal of him." - -John Holly laughed lightly, yet his brow carried a puzzled frown. -Two things John Holly had not been able thus far to understand: -an indefinable change in his father, and the position of the boy -David, in the household-- John Holly was still remembering his -own repressed youth. - -"Hm-m," he murmured, softly picking the strings, then drawing -across them a tentative bow. "I've a fiddle at home that I play -sometimes. Do you mind if I--tune her up?" - -A flicker of something that was very near to humor flashed from -his father's eyes. - -"Oh, no. We are used to that--now." And again John Holly -remembered his youth. - -"Jove! but he's got the dandy instrument here," cried the player, -dropping his bow after the first half-dozen superbly vibrant -tones, and carrying the violin to the window. A moment later he -gave an amazed ejaculation and turned on his father a dumfounded -face. - -"Great Scott, father! Where did that boy get this instrument? I -KNOW something of violins, if I can't play them much; and this--! -Where DID he get it?" - -"Of his father, I suppose. He had it when he came here, anyway." - -" 'Had it when he came'! But, father, you said he was a tramp, -and--oh, come, tell me, what is the secret behind this? Here I -come home and find calmly reposing on my father's sitting-room -table a violin that's priceless, for all I know. Anyhow, I do -know that its value is reckoned in the thousands, not hundreds: -and yet you, with equal calmness, tell me it's owned by this boy -who, it's safe to say, doesn't know how to play sixteen notes on -it correctly, to say nothing of appreciating those he does play; -and who, by your own account, is nothing but--" A swiftly -uplifted hand of warning stayed the words on his lips. He turned -to see David himself in the doorway. - -"Come in, David," said Simeon Holly quietly. "My son wants to -hear you play. I don't think he has heard you." And again there -flashed from Simeon Holly's eyes a something very much like -humor. - -With obvious hesitation John Holly relinquished the violin. From -the expression on his face it was plain to be seen the sort of -torture he deemed was before him. But, as if constrained to ask -the question, he did say:-- - -"Where did you get this violin, boy?" - -"I don't know. We've always had it, ever since I could -remember--this and the other one." - -"The OTHER one!" - -"Father's." - -"Oh!" He hesitated; then, a little severely, he observed: "This -is a fine instrument, boy,--a very fine instrument." - -"Yes," nodded David, with a cheerful smile. "Father said it was. -I like it, too. This is an Amati, but the other is a -Stradivarius. I don't know which I do like best, sometimes, only -this is mine." - -With a half-smothered ejaculation John Holly fell back limply. - -"Then you--do--know?" he challenged. - -"Know--what?" - -"The value of that violin in your hands." - -There was no answer. The boy's eyes were questioning. - -"The worth, I mean,--what it's worth." - -"Why, no--yes--that is, it's worth everything--to me," answered -David, in a puzzled voice. - -With an impatient gesture John Holly brushed this aside. - -"But the other one--where is that?" - -"At Joe Glaspell's. I gave it to him to play on, because he had -n't any, and he liked to play so well." - -"You GAVE it to him--a Stradivarius!" - -"I loaned it to him," corrected David, in a troubled voice. -"Being father's, I couldn't bear to give it away. But Joe--Joe -had to have something to play on." - -" 'Something to play on'! Father, he doesn't mean the River -Street Glaspells?" cried John Holly. - -"I think he does. Joe is old Peleg Glaspell's grandson." John -Holly threw up both his hands. - -"A Stradivarius--to old Peleg's grandson! Oh, ye gods!" he -muttered. "Well, I'll be--" He did not finish his sentence. At -another word from Simeon Holly, David had begun to play. - -From his seat by the stove Simeon Holly watched his son's -face--and smiled. He saw amazement, unbelief, and delight -struggle for the mastery; but before the playing had ceased, he -was summoned by Perry Larson to the kitchen on a matter of -business. So it was into the kitchen that John Holly burst a -little later, eyes and cheek aflame. - -"Father, where in Heaven's name DID you get that boy?" he -demanded. "Who taught him to play like that? I've been trying to -find out from him, but I'd defy Sherlock Holmes himself to make -head or tail of the sort of lingo he talks, about mountain homes -and the Orchestra of Life! Father, what DOES it mean?" - -Obediently Simeon Holly told the story then, more fully than he -had told it before. He brought forward the letter, too, with its -mysterious signature. - -"Perhaps you can make it out, son," he laughed. "None of the rest -of us can, though I haven't shown it to anybody now for a long -time. I got discouraged long ago of anybody's ever making it -out." - -"Make it out--make it out!" cried John Holly excitedly; "I should -say I could! It's a name known the world over. It's the name of -one of the greatest violinists that ever lived." - -"But how--what--how came he in my barn?" demanded Simeon Holly. - -"Easily guessed, from the letter, and from what the world knows," -returned John, his voice still shaking with excitement. "He was -always a queer chap, they say, and full of his notions. Six or -eight years ago his wife died. They say he worshiped her, and for -weeks refused even to touch his violin. Then, very suddenly, he, -with his four-year-old son, disappeared--dropped quite -out of sight. Some people guessed the reason. I knew a man who -was well acquainted with him, and at the time of the -disappearance he told me quite a lot about him. He said he was -n't a bit surprised at what had happened. That already half a -dozen relatives were interfering with the way he wanted to bring -the boy up, and that David was in a fair way to be spoiled, even -then, with so much attention and flattery. The father had -determined to make a wonderful artist of his son, and he was -known to have said that he believed--as do so many others--that -the first dozen years of a child's life are the making of the -man, and that if he could have the boy to himself that long he -would risk the rest. So it seems he carried out his notion until -he was taken sick, and had to quit--poor chap!" - -"But why didn't he tell us plainly in that note who he was, -then?" fumed Simeon Holly, in manifest irritation. - -"He did, he thought," laughed the other. "He signed his name, and -he supposed that was so well known that just to mention it -would be enough. That's why he kept it so secret while he was -living on the mountain, you see, and that's why even David -himself didn't know it. Of course, if anybody found out who he -was, that ended his scheme, and he knew it. So he supposed all he -had to do at the last was to sign his name to that note, and -everybody would know who he was, and David would at once be sent -to his own people. (There's an aunt and some cousins, I believe.) -You see he didn't reckon on nobody's being able to READ his -name! Besides, being so ill, he probably wasn't quite sane, -anyway." - -"I see, I see," nodded Simeon Holly, frowning a little. "And of -course if we had made it out, some of us here would have known -it, probably. Now that you call it to mind I think I have heard -it myself in days gone by--though such names mean little to me. -But doubtless somebody would have known. However, that is all -past and gone now." - -"Oh, yes, and no harm done. He fell into good hands, luckily. -You'll soon see the last of him now, of course." - -"Last of him? Oh, no, I shall keep David," said Simeon Holly, -with decision. - -"Keep him! Why, father, you forget who he is! There are friends, -relatives, an adoring public, and a mint of money awaiting that -boy. You can't keep him. You could never have kept him this long -if this little town of yours hadn't been buried in this -forgotten valley up among these hills. You'll have the whole -world at your doors the minute they find out he is here--hills or -no hills! Besides, there are his people; they have some claim." - -There was no answer. With a suddenly old, drawn look on his face, -the elder man had turned away. - -Half an hour later Simeon Holly climbed the stairs to David's -room, and as gently and plainly as he could told the boy of this -great, good thing that had come to him. - -David was amazed, but overjoyed. That he was found to be the son -of a famous man affected him not at all, only so far as it seemed -to set his father right in other eyes--in David's own, the man -had always been supreme. But the going away--the marvelous going -away--filled him with excited wonder. - -"You mean, I shall go away and study--practice--learn more of my -violin?" - -"Yes, David." - -"And hear beautiful music like the organ in church, only -more--bigger--better?" - -"I suppose so.". - -"And know people--dear people--who will understand what I say -when I play?" - -Simeon Holly's face paled a little; still, he knew David had not -meant to make it so hard. - -"Yes." - -"Why, it's my 'start'--just what I was going to have with the -gold-pieces," cried David joyously. Then, uttering a sharp cry of -consternation, he clapped his fingers to his lips. - -"Your--what?" asked the man. - -"N--nothing, really, Mr. Holly,--Uncle Simeon,--n--nothing." - -Something, either the boy's agitation, or the luckless mention of -the gold-pieces sent a sudden dismayed suspicion into Simeon -Holly's eyes. - -"Your 'start'?--the 'gold-pieces'? David, what do you mean?" - -David shook his head. He did not intend to tell. But gently, -persistently, Simeon Holly questioned until the whole piteous -little tale lay bare before him: the hopes, the house of dreams, -the sacrifice. - -David saw then what it means when a strong man is shaken by an -emotion that has mastered him; and the sight awed and frightened -the boy. - -"Mr. Holly, is it because I'm--going--that you care--so much? I -never thought--or supposed--you'd--CARE," he faltered. - -There was no answer. Simeon Holly's eyes were turned quite away. - -"Uncle Simeon--PLEASE! I--I think I don't want to go, anyway. -I--I'm sure I don't want to go--and leave YOU!" - -Simeon Holly turned then, and spoke. - -"Go? Of course you'll go, David. Do you think I'd tie you here to -me--NOW?" he choked. "What don't I owe to you--home, son, -happiness! Go?--of course you'll go. I wonder if you really think -I'd let you stay! Come, we'll go down to mother and tell her. I -suspect she'll want to start in to-night to get your socks all -mended up!" And with head erect and a determined step, Simeon -Holly faced the mighty sacrifice in his turn, and led the way -downstairs. - . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . - - - - -The friends, the relatives, the adoring public, the mint of -money--they are all David's now. But once each year, man grown -though he is, he picks up his violin and journeys to a little -village far up among the hills. There in a quiet kitchen he plays -to an old man and an old woman; and always to himself he says -that he is practicing against the time when, his violin at his -chin and the bow drawn across the strings, he shall go to meet -his father in the far-away land, and tell him of the beautiful -world he has left. - - -End of the Project Gutenberg Etext of "Just David" - diff --git a/old/jusdv10.zip b/old/jusdv10.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 3f4c40d..0000000 --- a/old/jusdv10.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old-2025-03-08/440-h.zip b/old/old-2025-03-08/440-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e79b7b6..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-03-08/440-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old-2025-03-08/440-h/440-h.htm b/old/old-2025-03-08/440-h/440-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index a05bd49..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-03-08/440-h/440-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11754 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> -<HTML> -<HEAD> - -<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> - -<TITLE> -The Project Gutenberg E-text of Just David, by Eleanor H. Porter -</TITLE> - -<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> -BODY { color: Black; - background: White; - margin-right: 10%; - margin-left: 10%; - font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; - text-align: justify } - -P {text-indent: 4% } - -P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } - -P.poem {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10%; - font-size: small } - -P.letter {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 5%; - margin-left: 5%; - font-size: small } - -P.finis { text-align: center ; - text-indent: 0% ; - margin-left: 0% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -</STYLE> - -</HEAD> - -<BODY> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Just David, by Eleanor H. Porter - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Just David - -Author: Eleanor H. Porter - -Posting Date: August 12, 2008 [EBook #440] -Release Date: February, 1996 -[Last updated: October 6, 2013] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUST DAVID *** - - - - - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<BR><BR> - -<H1 ALIGN="center"> -JUST DAVID -</H1> - -<BR> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -BY -</H3> - -<H2 ALIGN="center"> -ELEANOR H. (HODGMAN) PORTER -</H2> - -<BR> - -<H4 ALIGN="center"> -AUTHOR POLLYANNA, MISS BILLY MARRIED, ETC. -</H4> - -<BR><BR> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> - TO<BR> - MY FRIEND<BR> - Mrs. James Harness<BR> -</H3> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<H2 ALIGN="center"> -CONTENTS -</H2> - -<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%"> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">I. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap01">THE MOUNTAIN HOME</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">II. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap02">THE TRAIL</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">III. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap03">THE VALLEY</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IV. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap04">TWO LETTERS</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">V. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap05">DISCORDS</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VI. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap06">NUISANCES, NECESSARY AND OTHERWISE</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VII. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap07">"YOU'RE WANTED—YOU'RE WANTED!"</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VIII. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap08">THE PUZZLING "DOS" AND "DON'TS"</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IX. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap09">JOE</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">X. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap10">THE LADY OF THE ROSES</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XI. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap11">JACK AND JILL</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XII. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap12">ANSWERS THAT DID NOT ANSWER</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIII. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap13">A SURPRISE FOR MR. JACK</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIV. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap14">THE TOWER WINDOW</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XV. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap15">SECRETS</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVI. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap16">DAVID'S CASTLE IN SPAIN</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVII. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap17">"THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER"</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVIII. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap18">DAVID TO THE RESCUE</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIX. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap19">THE UNBEAUTIFUL WORLD</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XX. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap20">THE UNFAMILIAR WAY</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXI. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap21">HEAVY HEARTS</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXII. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap22">AS PERRY SAW IT</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIII. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap23">PUZZLES</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIV. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap24">A STORY REMODELED</A></TD> -</TR> - -<TR> -<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXV. </TD> -<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> -<A HREF="#chap25">THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD</A></TD> -</TR> - -</TABLE> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap01"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER I -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -THE MOUNTAIN HOME -</H3> - -<P> -Far up on the mountain-side the little shack stood alone in the clearing. It was roughly -yet warmly built. Behind it jagged cliffs broke the north wind, and -towered gray-white in the sunshine. Before it a tiny expanse of green -sloped gently away to a point where the mountain dropped in another -sharp descent, wooded with scrubby firs and pines. At the left a -footpath led into the cool depths of the forest. But at the right the -mountain fell away again and disclosed to view the picture David loved -the best of all: the far-reaching valley; the silver pool of the lake -with its ribbon of a river flung far out; and above it the grays and -greens and purples of the mountains that climbed one upon another's -shoulders until the topmost thrust their heads into the wide dome of -the sky itself. -</P> - -<P> -There was no road, apparently, leading away from the cabin. There was -only the footpath that disappeared into the forest. Neither, anywhere, -was there a house in sight nearer than the white specks far down in the -valley by the river. -</P> - -<P> -Within the shack a wide fireplace dominated one side of the main room. -It was June now, and the ashes lay cold on the hearth; but from the -tiny lean-to in the rear came the smell and the sputter of bacon -sizzling over a blaze. The furnishings of the room were simple, yet, in -a way, out of the common. There were two bunks, a few rude but -comfortable chairs, a table, two music-racks, two violins with their -cases, and everywhere books, and scattered sheets of music. Nowhere was -there cushion, curtain, or knickknack that told of a woman's taste or -touch. On the other hand, neither was there anywhere gun, pelt, or -antlered head that spoke of a man's strength and skill. For decoration -there were a beautiful copy of the Sistine Madonna, several photographs -signed with names well known out in the great world beyond the -mountains, and a festoon of pine cones such as a child might gather and -hang. -</P> - -<P> -From the little lean-to kitchen the sound of the sputtering suddenly -ceased, and at the door appeared a pair of dark, wistful eyes. -</P> - -<P> -"Daddy!" called the owner of the eyes. -</P> - -<P> -There was no answer. -</P> - -<P> -"Father, are you there?" called the voice, more insistently. -</P> - -<P> -From one of the bunks came a slight stir and a murmured word. At the -sound the boy at the door leaped softly into the room and hurried to -the bunk in the corner. He was a slender lad with short, crisp curls at -his ears, and the red of perfect health in his cheeks. His hands, slim, -long, and with tapering fingers like a girl's, reached forward eagerly. -</P> - -<P> -"Daddy, come! I've done the bacon all myself, and the potatoes and the -coffee, too. Quick, it's all getting cold!" -</P> - -<P> -Slowly, with the aid of the boy's firm hands, the man pulled himself -half to a sitting posture. His cheeks, like the boy's, were red—but -not with health. His eyes were a little wild, but his voice was low and -very tender, like a caress. -</P> - -<P> -"David—it's my little son David!" -</P> - -<P> -"Of course it's David! Who else should it be?" laughed the boy. "Come!" -And he tugged at the man's hands. -</P> - -<P> -The man rose then, unsteadily, and by sheer will forced himself to -stand upright. The wild look left his eyes, and the flush his cheeks. -His face looked suddenly old and haggard. Yet with fairly sure steps he -crossed the room and entered the little kitchen. -</P> - -<P> -Half of the bacon was black; the other half was transparent and like -tough jelly. The potatoes were soggy, and had the unmistakable taste -that comes from a dish that has boiled dry. The coffee was lukewarm and -muddy. Even the milk was sour. -</P> - -<P> -David laughed a little ruefully. -</P> - -<P> -"Things aren't so nice as yours, father," he apologized. "I'm afraid -I'm nothing but a discord in that orchestra to-day! Somehow, some of -the stove was hotter than the rest, and burnt up the bacon in spots; -and all the water got out of the potatoes, too,—though THAT didn't -matter, for I just put more cold in. I forgot and left the milk in the -sun, and it tastes bad now; but I'm sure next time it'll be better—all -of it." -</P> - -<P> -The man smiled, but he shook his head sadly. -</P> - -<P> -"But there ought not to be any 'next time,' David." -</P> - -<P> -"Why not? What do you mean? Aren't you ever going to let me try again, -father?" There was real distress in the boy's voice. -</P> - -<P> -The man hesitated. His lips parted with an indrawn breath, as if behind -them lay a rush of words. But they closed abruptly, the words still -unsaid. Then, very lightly, came these others:— -</P> - -<P> -"Well, son, this isn't a very nice way to treat your supper, is it? -Now, if you please, I'll take some of that bacon. I think I feel my -appetite coming back." -</P> - -<P> -If the truant appetite "came back," however, it could not have stayed; -for the man ate but little. He frowned, too, as he saw how little the -boy ate. He sat silent while his son cleared the food and dishes away, -and he was still silent when, with the boy, he passed out of the house -and walked to the little bench facing the west. -</P> - -<P> -Unless it stormed very hard, David never went to bed without this last -look at his "Silver Lake," as he called the little sheet of water far -down in the valley. -</P> - -<P> -"Daddy, it's gold to-night—all gold with the sun!" he cried -rapturously, as his eyes fell upon his treasure. "Oh, daddy!" -</P> - -<P> -It was a long-drawn cry of ecstasy, and hearing it, the man winced, as -with sudden pain. -</P> - -<P> -"Daddy, I'm going to play it—I've got to play it!" cried the boy, -bounding toward the cabin. In a moment he had returned, violin at his -chin. -</P> - -<P> -The man watched and listened; and as he watched and listened, his face -became a battle-ground whereon pride and fear, hope and despair, joy -and sorrow, fought for the mastery. -</P> - -<P> -It was no new thing for David to "play" the sunset. Always, when he was -moved, David turned to his violin. Always in its quivering strings he -found the means to say that which his tongue could not express. -</P> - -<P> -Across the valley the grays and blues of the mountains had become all -purples now. Above, the sky in one vast flame of crimson and gold, was -a molten sea on which floated rose-pink cloud-boats. Below, the valley -with its lake and river picked out in rose and gold against the shadowy -greens of field and forest, seemed like some enchanted fairyland of -loveliness. -</P> - -<P> -And all this was in David's violin, and all this, too, was on David's -uplifted, rapturous face. -</P> - -<P> -As the last rose-glow turned to gray and the last strain quivered into -silence, the man spoke. His voice was almost harsh with self-control. -</P> - -<P> -"David, the time has come. We'll have to give it up—you and I." -</P> - -<P> -The boy turned wonderingly, his face still softly luminous. -</P> - -<P> -"Give what up?" -</P> - -<P> -"This—all this." -</P> - -<P> -"This! Why, father, what do you mean? This is home!" -</P> - -<P> -The man nodded wearily. -</P> - -<P> -"I know. It has been home; but, David, you didn't think we could always -live here, like this, did you?" -</P> - -<P> -David laughed softly, and turned his eyes once more to the distant -sky-line. -</P> - -<P> -"Why not?" he asked dreamily. "What better place could there be? I like -it, daddy." -</P> - -<P> -The man drew a troubled breath, and stirred restlessly. The teasing -pain in his side was very bad to-night, and no change of position eased -it. He was ill, very ill; and he knew it. Yet he also knew that, to -David, sickness, pain, and death meant nothing—or, at most, words that -had always been lightly, almost unconsciously passed over. For the -first time he wondered if, after all, his training—some of it—had -been wise. -</P> - -<P> -For six years he had had the boy under his exclusive care and guidance. -For six years the boy had eaten the food, worn the clothing, and -studied the books of his father's choosing. For six years that father -had thought, planned, breathed, moved, lived for his son. There had -been no others in the little cabin. There had been only the occasional -trips through the woods to the little town on the mountain-side for -food and clothing, to break the days of close companionship. -</P> - -<P> -All this the man had planned carefully. He had meant that only the good -and beautiful should have place in David's youth. It was not that he -intended that evil, unhappiness, and death should lack definition, only -definiteness, in the boy's mind. It should be a case where the good and -the beautiful should so fill the thoughts that there would be no room -for anything else. This had been his plan. And thus far he had -succeeded—succeeded so wonderfully that he began now, in the face of -his own illness, and of what he feared would come of it, to doubt the -wisdom of that planning. -</P> - -<P> -As he looked at the boy's rapt face, he remembered David's surprised -questioning at the first dead squirrel he had found in the woods. David -was six then. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, daddy, he's asleep, and he won't wake up!" he had cried. Then, -after a gentle touch: "And he's cold—oh, so cold!" -</P> - -<P> -The father had hurried his son away at the time, and had evaded his -questions; and David had seemed content. But the next day the boy had -gone back to the subject. His eyes were wide then, and a little -frightened. -</P> - -<P> -"Father, what is it to be—dead?" -</P> - -<P> -"What do you mean, David?" -</P> - -<P> -"The boy who brings the milk—he had the squirrel this morning. He said -it was not asleep. It was—dead." -</P> - -<P> -"It means that the squirrel, the real squirrel under the fur, has gone -away, David." -</P> - -<P> -"Where?" -</P> - -<P> -"To a far country, perhaps." -</P> - -<P> -"Will he come back?" -</P> - -<P> -"No." -</P> - -<P> -"Did he want to go?" -</P> - -<P> -"We'll hope so." -</P> - -<P> -"But he left his—his fur coat behind him. Didn't he need—that?" -</P> - -<P> -"No, or he'd have taken it with him." -</P> - -<P> -David had fallen silent at this. He had remained strangely silent -indeed for some days; then, out in the woods with his father one -morning, he gave a joyous shout. He was standing by the ice-covered -brook, and looking at a little black hole through which the hurrying -water could be plainly seen. -</P> - -<P> -"Daddy, oh, daddy, I know now how it is, about being—dead." -</P> - -<P> -"Why—David!" -</P> - -<P> -"It's like the water in the brook, you know; THAT'S going to a far -country, and it isn't coming back. And it leaves its little cold -ice-coat behind it just as the squirrel did, too. It does n't need it. -It can go without it. Don't you see? And it's singing—listen!—it's -singing as it goes. It WANTS to go!" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, David." And David's father had sighed with relief that his son -had found his own explanation of the mystery, and one that satisfied. -</P> - -<P> -Later, in his books, David found death again. It was a man, this time. -The boy had looked up with startled eyes. -</P> - -<P> -"Do people, real people, like you and me, be dead, father? Do they go -to a far country? -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, son in time—to a far country ruled over by a great and good King -they tell us." -</P> - -<P> -David's father had trembled as he said it, and had waited fearfully for -the result. But David had only smiled happily as he answered: -</P> - -<P> -"But they go singing, father, like the little brook. You know I heard -it!" -</P> - -<P> -And there the matter had ended. David was ten now, and not yet for him -did death spell terror. Because of this David's father was relieved; -and yet—still because of this—he was afraid. -</P> - -<P> -"David," he said gently. "Listen to me." -</P> - -<P> -The boy turned with a long sigh. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, father." -</P> - -<P> -"We must go away. Out in the great world there are men and women and -children waiting for you. You've a beautiful work to do; and one can't -do one's work on a mountain-top." -</P> - -<P> -"Why not? I like it here, and I've always been here." -</P> - -<P> -"Not always, David; six years. You were four when I brought you here. -You don't remember, perhaps." -</P> - -<P> -David shook his head. His eyes were again dreamily fixed on the sky. -</P> - -<P> -"I think I'd like it—to go—if I could sail away on that little -cloud-boat up there," he murmured. -</P> - -<P> -The man sighed and shook his head. -</P> - -<P> -"We can't go on cloud-boats. We must walk, David, for a way—and we -must go soon—soon," he added feverishly. "I must get you back—back -among friends, before—" -</P> - -<P> -He rose unsteadily, and tried to walk erect. His limbs shook, and the -blood throbbed at his temples. He was appalled at his weakness. With a -fierceness born of his terror he turned sharply to the boy at his side. -</P> - -<P> -"David, we've got to go! We've got to go—TO-MORROW!" -</P> - -<P> -"Father!" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, yes, come!" He stumbled blindly, yet in some way he reached the -cabin door. -</P> - -<P> -Behind him David still sat, inert, staring. The next minute the boy had -sprung to his feet and was hurrying after his father. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap02"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER II -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -THE TRAIL -</H3> - -<P> -A curious strength seemed to have come to the man. With almost steady -hands he took down the photographs and the Sistine Madonna, packing -them neatly away in a box to be left. From beneath his bunk he dragged -a large, dusty traveling-bag, and in this he stowed a little food, a -few garments, and a great deal of the music scattered about the room. -</P> - -<P> -David, in the doorway, stared in dazed wonder. Gradually into his eyes -crept a look never seen there before. -</P> - -<P> -"Father, where are we going?" he asked at last in a shaking voice, as -he came slowly into the room. -</P> - -<P> -"Back, son; we're going back." -</P> - -<P> -"To the village, where we get our eggs and bacon?" -</P> - -<P> -"No, no, lad, not there. The other way. We go down into the valley this -time." -</P> - -<P> -"The valley—MY valley, with the Silver Lake?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, my son; and beyond—far beyond." The man spoke dreamily. He was -looking at a photograph in his hand. It had slipped in among the loose -sheets of music, and had not been put away with the others. It was the -likeness of a beautiful woman. -</P> - -<P> -For a moment David eyed him uncertainly; then he spoke. -</P> - -<P> -"Daddy, who is that? Who are all these people in the pictures? You've -never told me about any of them except the little round one that you -wear in your pocket. Who are they?" -</P> - -<P> -Instead of answering, the man turned faraway eyes on the boy and smiled -wistfully. -</P> - -<P> -"Ah, David, lad, how they'll love you! How they will love you! But you -mustn't let them spoil you, son. You must remember—remember all I've -told you." -</P> - -<P> -Once again David asked his question, but this time the man only turned -back to the photograph, muttering something the boy could not -understand. -</P> - -<P> -After that David did not question any more. He was too amazed, too -distressed. He had never before seen his father like this. With nervous -haste the man was setting the little room to rights, crowding things -into the bag, and packing other things away in an old trunk. His cheeks -were very red, and his eyes very bright. He talked, too, almost -constantly, though David could understand scarcely a word of what was -said. Later, the man caught up his violin and played; and never before -had David heard his father play like that. The boy's eyes filled, and -his heart ached with a pain that choked and numbed—though why, David -could not have told. Still later, the man dropped his violin and sank -exhausted into a chair; and then David, worn and frightened with it -all, crept to his bunk and fell asleep. -</P> - -<P> -In the gray dawn of the morning David awoke to a different world. His -father, white-faced and gentle, was calling him to get ready for -breakfast. The little room, dismantled of its decorations, was bare and -cold. The bag, closed and strapped, rested on the floor by the door, -together with the two violins in their cases, ready to carry. -</P> - -<P> -"We must hurry, son. It's a long tramp before we take the cars." -</P> - -<P> -"The cars—the real cars? Do we go in those?" David was fully awake now. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes." -</P> - -<P> -"And is that all we're to carry?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. Hurry, son." -</P> - -<P> -"But we come back—sometime?" -</P> - -<P> -There was no answer. -</P> - -<P> -"Father, we're coming back—sometime?" David's voice was insistent now. -</P> - -<P> -The man stooped and tightened a strap that was already quite tight -enough. Then he laughed lightly. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, of course you're coming back sometime, David. Only think of all -these things we're leaving!" -</P> - -<P> -When the last dish was put away, the last garment adjusted, and the -last look given to the little room, the travelers picked up the bag and -the violins, and went out into the sweet freshness of the morning. As -he fastened the door the man sighed profoundly; but David did not -notice this. His face was turned toward the east—always David looked -toward the sun. -</P> - -<P> -"Daddy, let's not go, after all! Let's stay here," he cried ardently, -drinking in the beauty of the morning. -</P> - -<P> -"We must go, David. Come, son." And the man led the way across the -green slope to the west. -</P> - -<P> -It was a scarcely perceptible trail, but the man found it, and followed -it with evident confidence. There was only the pause now and then to -steady his none-too-sure step, or to ease the burden of the bag. Very -soon the forest lay all about them, with the birds singing over their -heads, and with numberless tiny feet scurrying through the underbrush -on all sides. Just out of sight a brook babbled noisily of its delight -in being alive; and away up in the treetops the morning sun played -hide-and-seek among the dancing leaves. -</P> - -<P> -And David leaped, and laughed, and loved it all, nor was any of it -strange to him. The birds, the trees, the sun, the brook, the scurrying -little creatures of the forest, all were friends of his. But the -man—the man did not leap or laugh, though he, too, loved it all. The -man was afraid. -</P> - -<P> -He knew now that he had undertaken more than he could carry out. Step -by step the bag had grown heavier, and hour by hour the insistent, -teasing pain in his side had increased until now it was a torture. He -had forgotten that the way to the valley was so long; he had not -realized how nearly spent was his strength before he even started down -the trail. Throbbing through his brain was the question, what if, after -all, he could not—but even to himself he would not say the words. -</P> - -<P> -At noon they paused for luncheon, and at night they camped where the -chattering brook had stopped to rest in a still, black pool. The next -morning the man and the boy picked up the trail again, but without the -bag. Under some leaves in a little hollow, the man had hidden the bag, -and had then said, as if casually:— -</P> - -<P> -"I believe, after all, I won't carry this along. There's nothing in it -that we really need, you know, now that I've taken out the luncheon -box, and by night we'll be down in the valley." -</P> - -<P> -"Of course!" laughed David. "We don't need that." And he laughed again, -for pure joy. Little use had David for bags or baggage! -</P> - -<P> -They were more than halfway down the mountain now, and soon they -reached a grass-grown road, little traveled, but yet a road. Still -later they came to where four ways crossed, and two of them bore the -marks of many wheels. By sundown the little brook at their side -murmured softly of quiet fields and meadows, and David knew that the -valley was reached. -</P> - -<P> -David was not laughing now. He was watching his father with startled -eyes. David had not known what anxiety was. He was finding out -now—though he but vaguely realized that something was not right. For -some time his father had said but little, and that little had been in a -voice that was thick and unnatural-sounding. He was walking fast, yet -David noticed that every step seemed an effort, and that every breath -came in short gasps. His eyes were very bright, and were fixedly bent -on the road ahead, as if even the haste he was making was not haste -enough. Twice David spoke to him, but he did not answer; and the boy -could only trudge along on his weary little feet and sigh for the dear -home on the mountain-top which they had left behind them the morning -before. -</P> - -<P> -They met few fellow travelers, and those they did meet paid scant -attention to the man and the boy carrying the violins. As it chanced, -there was no one in sight when the man, walking in the grass at the -side of the road, stumbled and fell heavily to the ground. -</P> - -<P> -David sprang quickly forward. -</P> - -<P> -"Father, what is it? WHAT IS IT?" -</P> - -<P> -There was no answer. -</P> - -<P> -"Daddy, why don't you speak to me? See, it's David!" -</P> - -<P> -With a painful effort the man roused himself and sat up. For a moment -he gazed dully into the boy's face; then a half-forgotten something -seemed to stir him into feverish action. With shaking fingers he handed -David his watch and a small ivory miniature. Then he searched his -pockets until on the ground before him lay a shining pile of -gold-pieces—to David there seemed to be a hundred of them. -</P> - -<P> -"Take them—hide them—keep them. David, until you—need them," panted -the man. "Then go—go on. I can't." -</P> - -<P> -"Alone? Without you?" demurred the boy, aghast. "Why, father, I -couldn't! I don't know the way. Besides, I'd rather stay with you," he -added soothingly, as he slipped the watch and the miniature into his -pocket; "then we can both go." And he dropped himself down at his -father's side. -</P> - -<P> -The man shook his head feebly, and pointed again to the gold-pieces. -</P> - -<P> -"Take them, David,—hide them," he chattered with pale lips. -</P> - -<P> -Almost impatiently the boy began picking up the money and tucking it -into his pockets. -</P> - -<P> -"But, father, I'm not going without you," he declared stoutly, as the -last bit of gold slipped out of sight, and a horse and wagon rattled -around the turn of the road above. -</P> - -<P> -The driver of the horse glanced disapprovingly at the man and the boy -by the roadside; but he did not stop. After he had passed, the boy -turned again to his father. The man was fumbling once more in his -pockets. This time from his coat he produced a pencil and a small -notebook from which he tore a page, and began to write, laboriously, -painfully. -</P> - -<P> -David sighed and looked about him. He was tired and hungry, and he did -not understand things at all. Something very wrong, very terrible, must -be the matter with his father. Here it was almost dark, yet they had no -place to go, no supper to eat, while far, far up on the mountain-side -was their own dear home sad and lonely without them. Up there, too, the -sun still shone, doubtless,—at least there were the rose-glow and the -Silver Lake to look at, while down here there was nothing, nothing but -gray shadows, a long dreary road, and a straggling house or two in -sight. From above, the valley might look to be a fairyland of -loveliness, but in reality it was nothing but a dismal waste of gloom, -decided David. -</P> - -<P> -David's father had torn a second page from his book and was beginning -another note, when the boy suddenly jumped to his feet. One of the -straggling houses was near the road where they sat, and its presence -had given David an idea. With swift steps he hurried to the front door -and knocked upon it. In answer a tall, unsmiling woman appeared, and -said, "Well?" -</P> - -<P> -David removed his cap as his father had taught him to do when one of -the mountain women spoke to him. -</P> - -<P> -"Good evening, lady; I'm David," he began frankly. "My father is so -tired he fell down back there, and we should like very much to stay -with you all night, if you don't mind." -</P> - -<P> -The woman in the doorway stared. For a moment she was dumb with -amazement. Her eyes swept the plain, rather rough garments of the boy, -then sought the half-recumbent figure of the man by the roadside. Her -chin came up angrily. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, would you, indeed! Well, upon my word!" she scouted. "Humph! We -don't accommodate tramps, little boy." And she shut the door hard. -</P> - -<P> -It was David's turn to stare. Just what a tramp might be, he did not -know; but never before had a request of his been so angrily refused. He -knew that. A fierce something rose within him—a fierce new something -that sent the swift red to his neck and brow. He raised a determined -hand to the doorknob—he had something to say to that woman!—when the -door suddenly opened again from the inside. -</P> - -<P> -"See here, boy," began the woman, looking out at him a little less -unkindly, "if you're hungry I'll give you some milk and bread. Go -around to the back porch and I'll get it for you." And she shut the -door again. -</P> - -<P> -David's hand dropped to his side. The red still stayed on his face and -neck, however, and that fierce new something within him bade him refuse -to take food from this woman.... But there was his father—his poor -father, who was so tired; and there was his own stomach clamoring to be -fed. No, he could not refuse. And with slow steps and hanging head -David went around the corner of the house to the rear. -</P> - -<P> -As the half-loaf of bread and the pail of milk were placed in his -hands, David remembered suddenly that in the village store on the -mountain, his father paid money for his food. David was glad, now, that -he had those gold-pieces in his pocket, for he could pay money. -Instantly his head came up. Once more erect with self-respect, he -shifted his burdens to one hand and thrust the other into his pocket. A -moment later he presented on his outstretched palm a shining disk of -gold. -</P> - -<P> -"Will you take this, to pay, please, for the bread and milk?" he asked -proudly. -</P> - -<P> -The woman began to shake her head; but, as her eyes fell on the money, -she started, and bent closer to examine it. The next instant she jerked -herself upright with an angry exclamation. -</P> - -<P> -"It's gold! A ten-dollar gold-piece! So you're a thief, too, are you, -as well as a tramp? Humph! Well, I guess you don't need this then," she -finished sharply, snatching the bread and the pail of milk from the -boy's hand. -</P> - -<P> -The next moment David stood alone on the doorstep, with the sound of a -quickly thrown bolt in his ears. -</P> - -<P> -A thief! David knew little of thieves, but he knew what they were. Only -a month before a man had tried to steal the violins from the cabin; and -he was a thief, the milk-boy said. David flushed now again, angrily, as -he faced the closed door. But he did not tarry. He turned and ran to -his father. -</P> - -<P> -"Father, come away, quick! You must come away," he choked. -</P> - -<P> -So urgent was the boy's voice that almost unconsciously the sick man -got to his feet. With shaking hands he thrust the notes he had been -writing into his pocket. The little book, from which he had torn the -leaves for this purpose, had already dropped unheeded into the grass at -his feet. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, son, yes, we'll go," muttered the man. "I feel better now. I -can—walk." -</P> - -<P> -And he did walk, though very slowly, ten, a dozen, twenty steps. From -behind came the sound of wheels that stopped close beside them. -</P> - -<P> -"Hullo, there! Going to the village?" called a voice. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, sir." David's answer was unhesitating. Where "the village" was, -he did not know; he knew only that it must be somewhere away from the -woman who had called him a thief. And that was all he cared to know. -</P> - -<P> -"I'm going 'most there myself. Want a lift?" asked the man, still -kindly. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, sir. Thank you!" cried the boy joyfully. And together they aided -his father to climb into the roomy wagon-body. -</P> - -<P> -There were few words said. The man at the reins drove rapidly, and paid -little attention to anything but his horses. The sick man dozed and -rested. The boy sat, wistful-eyed and silent, watching the trees and -houses flit by. The sun had long ago set, but it was not dark, for the -moon was round and bright, and the sky was cloudless. Where the road -forked sharply the man drew his horses to a stop. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, I'm sorry, but I guess I'll have to drop you here, friends. I -turn off to the right; but 't ain't more 'n a quarter of a mile for -you, now" he finished cheerily, pointing with his whip to a cluster of -twinkling lights. -</P> - -<P> -"Thank you, sir, thank you," breathed David gratefully, steadying his -father's steps. "You've helped us lots. Thank you!" -</P> - -<P> -In David's heart was a wild desire to lay at his good man's feet all of -his shining gold-pieces as payment for this timely aid. But caution -held him back: it seemed that only in stores did money pay; outside it -branded one as a thief! -</P> - -<P> -Alone with his father, David faced once more his problem. Where should -they go for the night? Plainly his father could not walk far. He had -begun to talk again, too,—low, half-finished sentences that David -could not understand, and that vaguely troubled him. There was a house -near by, and several others down the road toward the village; but David -had had all the experience he wanted that night with strange houses, -and strange women. There was a barn, a big one, which was nearest of -all; and it was toward this barn that David finally turned his father's -steps. -</P> - -<P> -"We'll go there, daddy, if we can get in," he proposed softly. "And -we'll stay all night and rest." -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap03"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER III -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -THE VALLEY -</H3> - -<P> -The long twilight of the June day had changed into a night that was -scarcely darker, so bright was the moonlight. Seen from the house, the -barn and the low buildings beyond loomed shadowy and unreal, yet very -beautiful. On the side porch of the house sat Simeon Holly and his -wife, content to rest mind and body only because a full day's work lay -well done behind them. -</P> - -<P> -It was just as Simeon rose to his feet to go indoors that a long note -from a violin reached their ears. -</P> - -<P> -"Simeon!" cried the woman. "What was that?" -</P> - -<P> -The man did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the barn. -</P> - -<P> -"Simeon, it's a fiddle!" exclaimed Mrs. Holly, as a second tone -quivered on the air "And it's in our barn!" -</P> - -<P> -Simeon's jaw set. With a stern ejaculation he crossed the porch and -entered the kitchen. -</P> - -<P> -In another minute he had returned, a lighted lantern in his hand. -</P> - -<P> -"Simeon, d—don't go," begged the woman, tremulously. "You—you don't -know what's there." -</P> - -<P> -"Fiddles are not played without hands, Ellen," retorted the man -severely. "Would you have me go to bed and leave a half-drunken, -ungodly minstrel fellow in possession of our barn? To-night, on my way -home, I passed a pretty pair of them lying by the roadside—a man and a -boy with two violins. They're the culprits, likely,—though how they -got this far, I don't see. Do you think I want to leave my barn to -tramps like them?" -</P> - -<P> -"N—no, I suppose not," faltered the woman, as she rose tremblingly to -her feet, and followed her husband's shadow across the yard. -</P> - -<P> -Once inside the barn Simeon Holly and his wife paused involuntarily. -The music was all about them now, filling the air with runs and trills -and rollicking bits of melody. Giving an angry exclamation, the man -turned then to the narrow stairway and climbed to the hayloft above. At -his heels came his wife, and so her eyes, almost as soon as his fell -upon the man lying back on the hay with the moonlight full upon his -face. Instantly the music dropped to a whisper, and a low voice came -out of the gloom beyond the square of moonlight which came from the -window in the roof. -</P> - -<P> -"If you'll please be as still as you can, sir. You see he's asleep and -he's so tired," said the voice. -</P> - -<P> -For a moment the man and the woman on the stairway paused in amazement, -then the man lifted his lantern and strode toward the voice. -</P> - -<P> -"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he demanded sharply. -</P> - -<P> -A boy's face, round, tanned, and just now a bit anxious, flashed out of -the dark. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, please, sir, if you would speak lower," pleaded the boy. "He's so -tired! I'm David, sir, and that's father. We came in here to rest and -sleep." -</P> - -<P> -Simeon Holly's unrelenting gaze left the boy's face and swept that of -the man lying back on the hay. The next instant he lowered the lantern -and leaned nearer, putting forth a cautious hand. At once he -straightened himself, muttering a brusque word under his breath. Then -he turned with the angry question:— -</P> - -<P> -"Boy, what do you mean by playing a jig on your fiddle at such a time -as this?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, father asked me to play" returned the boy cheerily. "He said he -could walk through green forests then, with the ripple of brooks in his -ears, and that the birds and the squirrels—" -</P> - -<P> -"See here, boy, who are you?" cut in Simeon Holly sternly. "Where did -you come from?" -</P> - -<P> -"From home, sir." -</P> - -<P> -"Where is that?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, home, sir, where I live. In the mountains, 'way up, up, up—oh, -so far up! And there's such a big, big sky, so much nicer than down -here." The boy's voice quivered, and almost broke, and his eyes -constantly sought the white face on the hay. -</P> - -<P> -It was then that Simeon Holly awoke to the sudden realization that it -was time for action. He turned to his wife. -</P> - -<P> -"Take the boy to the house," he directed incisively. "We'll have to -keep him to-night, I suppose. I'll go for Higgins. Of course the whole -thing will have to be put in his hands at once. You can't do anything -here," he added, as he caught her questioning glance. "Leave everything -just as it is. The man is dead." -</P> - -<P> -"Dead?" It was a sharp cry from the boy, yet there was more of wonder -than of terror in it. "Do you mean that he has gone—like the water in -the brook—to the far country?" he faltered. -</P> - -<P> -Simeon Holly stared. Then he said more distinctly:— -</P> - -<P> -"Your father is dead, boy." -</P> - -<P> -"And he won't come back any more?" David's voice broke now. -</P> - -<P> -There was no answer. Mrs. Holly caught her breath convulsively and -looked away. Even Simeon Holly refused to meet the boy's pleading eyes. -</P> - -<P> -With a quick cry David sprang to his father's side. -</P> - -<P> -"But he's here—right here," he challenged shrilly. "Daddy, daddy, -speak to me! It's David!" Reaching out his hand, he gently touched his -father's face. He drew back then, at once, his eyes distended with -terror. "He isn't! He is—gone," he chattered frenziedly. "This isn't -the father-part that KNOWS. It's the other—that they leave. He's left -it behind him—like the squirrel, and the water in the brook." -</P> - -<P> -Suddenly the boy's face changed. It grew rapt and luminous as he leaped -to his feet, crying joyously: "But he asked me to play, so he went -singing—singing just as he said that they did. And I made him walk -through green forests with the ripple of the brooks in his ears! -Listen—like this!" And once more the boy raised the violin to his -chin, and once more the music trilled and rippled about the shocked, -amazed ears of Simeon Holly and his wife. -</P> - -<P> -For a time neither the man nor the woman could speak. There was nothing -in their humdrum, habit-smoothed tilling of the soil and washing of -pots and pans to prepare them for a scene like this—a moonlit barn, a -strange dead man, and that dead man's son babbling of brooks and -squirrels, and playing jigs on a fiddle for a dirge. At last, however, -Simeon found his voice. -</P> - -<P> -"Boy, boy, stop that!" he thundered. "Are you mad—clean mad? Go into -the house, I say!" And the boy, dazed but obedient, put up his violin, -and followed the woman, who, with tear-blinded eyes, was leading the -way down the stairs. -</P> - -<P> -Mrs. Holly was frightened, but she was also strangely moved. From the -long ago the sound of another violin had come to her—a violin, too, -played by a boy's hands. But of this, all this, Mrs. Holly did not like -to think. -</P> - -<P> -In the kitchen now she turned and faced her young guest. -</P> - -<P> -"Are you hungry, little boy?" -</P> - -<P> -David hesitated; he had not forgotten the woman, the milk, and the -gold-piece. -</P> - -<P> -"Are you hungry—dear?" stammered Mrs. Holly again; and this time -David's clamorous stomach forced a "yes" from his unwilling lips; which -sent Mrs. Holly at once into the pantry for bread and milk and a -heaped-up plate of doughnuts such as David had never seen before. -</P> - -<P> -Like any hungry boy David ate his supper; and Mrs. Holly, in the face -of this very ordinary sight of hunger being appeased at her table, -breathed more freely, and ventured to think that perhaps this strange -little boy was not so very strange, after all. -</P> - -<P> -"What is your name?" she found courage to ask then. -</P> - -<P> -"David." -</P> - -<P> -"David what?" -</P> - -<P> -"Just David." -</P> - -<P> -"But your father's name?" Mrs. Holly had almost asked, but stopped in -time. She did not want to speak of him. "Where do you live?" she asked -instead. -</P> - -<P> -"On the mountain, 'way up, up on the mountain where I can see my Silver -Lake every day, you know." -</P> - -<P> -"But you didn't live there alone?" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, no; with father—before he—went away" faltered the boy. -</P> - -<P> -The woman flushed red and bit her lip. -</P> - -<P> -"No, no, I mean—were there no other houses but yours?" she stammered. -</P> - -<P> -"No, ma'am." -</P> - -<P> -"But, wasn't your mother—anywhere?" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, in father's pocket." -</P> - -<P> -"Your MOTHER—in your father's POCKET!" -</P> - -<P> -So plainly aghast was the questioner that David looked not a little -surprised as he explained. -</P> - -<P> -"You don't understand. She is an angel-mother, and angel-mothers don't -have anything only their pictures down here with us. And that's what we -have, and father always carried it in his pocket." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh——h," murmured Mrs. Holly, a quick mist in her eyes. Then, gently: -"And did you always live there—on the mountain?" -</P> - -<P> -"Six years, father said." -</P> - -<P> -"But what did you do all day? Weren't you ever—lonesome?" -</P> - -<P> -"Lonesome?" The boy's eyes were puzzled. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. Didn't you miss things—people, other houses, boys of your own -age, and—and such things?" -</P> - -<P> -David's eyes widened. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, how could I?" he cried. "When I had daddy, and my violin, and my -Silver Lake, and the whole of the great big woods with everything in -them to talk to, and to talk to me?" -</P> - -<P> -"Woods, and things in them to—to TALK to you!" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, yes. It was the little brook, you know, after the squirrel, that -told me about being dead, and—" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, yes; but never mind, dear, now," stammered the woman, rising -hurriedly to her feet—the boy was a little wild, after all, she -thought. "You—you should go to bed. Haven't you a—a bag, or—or -anything?" -</P> - -<P> -"No, ma'am; we left it," smiled David apologetically. "You see, we had -so much in it that it got too heavy to carry. So we did n't bring it." -</P> - -<P> -"So much in it you didn't bring it, indeed!" repeated Mrs. Holly, under -her breath, throwing up her hands with a gesture of despair. "Boy, what -are you, anyway?" -</P> - -<P> -It was not meant for a question, but, to the woman's surprise, the boy -answered, frankly, simply:— -</P> - -<P> -"Father says that I'm one little instrument in the great Orchestra of -Life, and that I must see to it that I'm always in tune, and don't drag -or hit false notes." -</P> - -<P> -"My land!" breathed the woman, dropping back in her chair, her eyes -fixed on the boy. Then, with an effort, she got to her feet. -</P> - -<P> -"Come, you must go to bed," she stammered. "I'm sure bed is—is the -best place you. I think I can find what—what you need," she finished -feebly. -</P> - -<P> -In a snug little room over the kitchen some minutes later, David found -himself at last alone. The room, though it had once belonged to a boy -of his own age, looked very strange to David. On the floor was a -rag-carpet rug, the first he had ever seen. On the walls were a -fishing-rod, a toy shotgun, and a case full of bugs and moths, each -little body impaled on a pin, to David's shuddering horror. The bed had -four tall posts at the corners, and a very puffy top that filled David -with wonder as to how he was to reach it, or stay there if he did gain -it. Across a chair lay a boy's long yellow-white nightshirt that the -kind lady had left, after hurriedly wiping her eyes with the edge of -its hem. In all the circle of the candlelight there was just one -familiar object to David's homesick eyes—the long black violin case -which he had brought in himself, and which held his beloved violin. -</P> - -<P> -With his back carefully turned toward the impaled bugs and moths on the -wall, David undressed himself and slipped into the yellow-white -nightshirt, which he sniffed at gratefully, so like pine woods was the -perfume that hung about its folds. Then he blew out the candle and -groped his way to the one window the little room contained. -</P> - -<P> -The moon still shone, but little could be seen through the thick green -branches of the tree outside. From the yard below came the sound of -wheels, and of men's excited voices. There came also the twinkle of -lanterns borne by hurrying hands, and the tramp of shuffling feet. In -the window David shivered. There were no wide sweep of mountain, hill, -and valley, no Silver Lake, no restful hush, no daddy,—no beautiful -Things that Were. There was only the dreary, hollow mockery of the -Things they had Become. -</P> - -<P> -Long minutes later, David, with the violin in his arms, lay down upon -the rug, and, for the first time since babyhood, sobbed himself to -sleep—but it was a sleep that brought no rest; for in it he dreamed -that he was a big, white-winged moth pinned with a star to an ink-black -sky. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap04"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER IV -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -TWO LETTERS -</H3> - -<P> -In the early gray dawn David awoke. His first sensation was the -physical numbness and stiffness that came from his hard bed on the -floor. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, daddy," he began, pulling himself half-erect, "I slept all night -on—" He stopped suddenly, brushing his eyes with the backs of his -hands. "Why, daddy, where—" Then full consciousness came to him. -</P> - -<P> -With a low cry he sprang to his feet and ran to the window. Through the -trees he could see the sunrise glow of the eastern sky. Down in the -yard no one was in sight; but the barn door was open, and, with a quick -indrawing of his breath, David turned back into the room and began to -thrust himself into his clothing. -</P> - -<P> -The gold in his sagging pockets clinked and jingled musically; and once -half a dozen pieces rolled out upon the floor. For a moment the boy -looked as if he were going to let them remain where they were. But the -next minute, with an impatient gesture, he had picked them up and -thrust them deep into one of his pockets, silencing their jingling with -his handkerchief. -</P> - -<P> -Once dressed, David picked up his violin and stepped softly into the -hall. At first no sound reached his ears; then from the kitchen below -came the clatter of brisk feet and the rattle of tins and crockery. -Tightening his clasp on the violin, David slipped quietly down the back -stairs and out to the yard. It was only a few seconds then before he -was hurrying through the open doorway of the barn and up the narrow -stairway to the loft above. -</P> - -<P> -At the top, however, he came to a sharp pause, with a low cry. The next -moment he turned to see a kindly-faced man looking up at him from the -foot of the stairs. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, sir, please—please, where is he? What have you done with him?" -appealed the boy, almost plunging headlong down the stairs in his haste -to reach the bottom. -</P> - -<P> -Into the man's weather-beaten face came a look of sincere but awkward -sympathy. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, hullo, sonny! So you're the boy, are ye?" he began diffidently. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, yes, I'm David. But where is he—my father, you know? I mean -the—the part he—he left behind him?" choked the boy. "The part -like—the ice-coat?" -</P> - -<P> -The man stared. Then, involuntarily, he began to back away. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, ye see, I—I—" -</P> - -<P> -"But, maybe you don't know," interrupted David feverishly. "You aren't -the man I saw last night. Who are you? Where is he—the other one, -please?" -</P> - -<P> -"No, I—I wa'n't here—that is, not at the first," spoke up the man -quickly, still unconsciously backing away. "Me—I'm only Larson, Perry -Larson, ye know. 'T was Mr. Holly you see last night—him that I works -for." -</P> - -<P> -"Then, where is Mr. Holly, please?" faltered the boy, hurrying toward -the barn door. "Maybe he would know—about father. Oh, there he is!" -And David ran out of the barn and across the yard to the kitchen porch. -</P> - -<P> -It was an unhappy ten minutes that David spent then. Besides Mr. Holly, -there were Mrs. Holly, and the man, Perry Larson. And they all talked. -But little of what they said could David understand. To none of his -questions could he obtain an answer that satisfied. -</P> - -<P> -Neither, on his part, could he seem to reply to their questions in a -way that pleased them. -</P> - -<P> -They went in to breakfast then, Mr. and Mrs. Holly, and the man, Perry -Larson. They asked David to go—at least, Mrs. Holly asked him. But -David shook his head and said "No, no, thank you very much; I'd rather -not, if you please—not now." Then he dropped himself down on the steps -to think. As if he could EAT—with that great choking lump in his -throat that refused to be swallowed! -</P> - -<P> -David was thoroughly dazed, frightened, and dismayed. He knew now that -never again in this world would he see his dear father, or hear him -speak. This much had been made very clear to him during the last ten -minutes. Why this should be so, or what his father would want him to -do, he could not seem to find out. Not until now had he realized at all -what this going away of his father was to mean to him. And he told -himself frantically that he could not have it so. HE COULD NOT HAVE IT -SO! But even as he said the words, he knew that it was so—irrevocably -so. -</P> - -<P> - David began then to long for his mountain home. There at least<BR> -he would have his dear forest all about him, with the birds and the -squirrels and the friendly little brooks. There he would have his -Silver Lake to look at, too, and all of them would speak to him of his -father. He believed, indeed, that up there it would almost seem as if -his father were really with him. And, anyway, if his father ever should -come back, it would be there that he would be sure to seek him—up -there in the little mountain home so dear to them both. Back to the -cabin he would go now, then. Yes; indeed he would! -</P> - -<P> -With a low word and a passionately intent expression, David got to his -feet, picked up his violin, and hurried, firm-footed, down the driveway -and out upon the main highway, turning in the direction from whence he -had come with his father the night before. -</P> - -<P> -The Hollys had just finished breakfast when Higgins, the coroner, drove -into the yard accompanied by William Streeter, the town's most -prominent farmer,—and the most miserly one, if report was to be -credited. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, could you get anything out of the boy?" demanded Higgins, -without ceremony, as Simeon Holly and Larson appeared on the kitchen -porch. -</P> - -<P> -"Very little. Really nothing of importance," answered Simeon Holly. -</P> - -<P> -"Where is he now?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, he was here on the steps a few minutes ago." Simeon Holly looked -about him a bit impatiently. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, I want to see him. I've got a letter for him." -</P> - -<P> -"A letter!" exclaimed Simeon Holly and Larson in amazed unison. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. Found it in his father's pocket," nodded the coroner, with all -the tantalizing brevity of a man who knows he has a choice morsel of -information that is eagerly awaited. "It's addressed to 'My boy David,' -so I calculated we'd better give it to him first without reading it, -seeing it's his. After he reads it, though, I want to see it. I want to -see if what it says is any nearer being horse-sense than the other one -is." -</P> - -<P> -"The other one!" exclaimed the amazed chorus again. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, there's another one," spoke up William Streeter tersely. "And -I've read it—all but the scrawl at the end. There couldn't anybody -read that!" Higgins laughed. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, I'm free to confess 't is a sticker—that name," he admitted. -"And it's the name we want, of course, to tell us who they are—since -it seems the boy don't know, from what you said last night. I was in -hopes, by this morning, you'd have found out more from him." -</P> - -<P> -Simeon Holly shook his head. -</P> - -<P> -"'T was impossible." -</P> - -<P> -"Gosh! I should say 't was," cut in Perry Larson, with emphasis. "An' -queer ain't no name for it. One minute he'd be talkin' good common -sense like anybody: an' the next he'd be chatterin' of coats made o' -ice, an' birds an' squirrels an' babbling brooks. He sure is dippy! -Listen. He actually don't seem ter know the diff'rence between himself -an' his fiddle. We was tryin' ter find out this mornin' what he could -do, an' what he wanted ter do, when if he didn't up an' say that his -father told him it didn't make so much diff'rence WHAT he did so long -as he kept hisself in tune an' didn't strike false notes. Now, what do -yer think o' that?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, I, know" nodded Higgins musingly. "There WAS something queer -about them, and they weren't just ordinary tramps. Did I tell you? I -overtook them last night away up on the Fairbanks road by the Taylor -place, and I gave 'em a lift. I particularly noticed what a decent sort -they were. They were clean and quiet-spoken, and their clothes were -good, even if they were rough. Yet they didn't have any baggage but -them fiddles." -</P> - -<P> -"But what was that second letter you mentioned?" asked Simeon Holly. -</P> - -<P> -Higgins smiled oddly, and reached into his pocket. -</P> - -<P> -"The letter? Oh, you're welcome to read the letter," he said, as he -handed over a bit of folded paper. -</P> - -<P> -Simeon took it gingerly and examined it. -</P> - -<P> -It was a leaf torn apparently from a note book. It was folded three -times, and bore on the outside the superscription "To whom it may -concern." The handwriting was peculiar, irregular, and not very -legible. But as near as it could be deciphered, the note ran thus:— -</P> - -<BR> - -<P> -Now that the time has come when I must give David back to the world, I -have set out for that purpose. -</P> - -<P> -But I am ill—very ill, and should Death have swifter feet than I, I -must leave my task for others to complete. Deal gently with him. He -knows only that which is good and beautiful. He knows nothing of sin -nor evil. -</P> - -<BR> - -<P> -Then followed the signature—a thing of scrawls and flourishes that -conveyed no sort of meaning to Simeon Holly's puzzled eyes. -</P> - -<P> -"Well?" prompted Higgins expectantly. -</P> - -<P> -Simeon Holly shook his head. -</P> - -<P> -"I can make little of it. It certainly is a most remarkable note." -</P> - -<P> -"Could you read the name?" -</P> - -<P> -"No." -</P> - -<P> -"Well, I couldn't. Neither could half a dozen others that's seen it. -But where's the boy? Mebbe his note'll talk sense." -</P> - -<P> -"I'll go find him," volunteered Larson. "He must be somewheres 'round." -</P> - -<P> -But David was very evidently not "somewheres 'round." At least he was -not in the barn, the shed, the kitchen bedroom, nor anywhere else that -Larson looked; and the man was just coming back with a crestfallen, -perplexed frown, when Mrs. Holly hurried out on to the porch. -</P> - -<P> -"Mr. Higgins," she cried, in obvious excitement, "your wife has just -telephoned that her sister Mollie has just telephoned HER that that -little tramp boy with the violin is at her house." -</P> - -<P> -"At Mollie's!" exclaimed Higgins. "Why, that's a mile or more from -here." -</P> - -<P> -"So that's where he is!" interposed Larson, hurrying forward. "Doggone -the little rascal! He must 'a' slipped away while we was eatin' -breakfast." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. But, Simeon,—Mr. Higgins,—we hadn't ought to let him go like -that," appealed Mrs. Holly tremulously. "Your wife said Mollie said she -found him crying at the crossroads, because he didn't know which way to -take. He said he was going back home. He means to that wretched cabin -on the mountain, you know; and we can't let him do that alone—a child -like that!" -</P> - -<P> -"Where is he now?" demanded Higgins. -</P> - -<P> -"In Mollie's kitchen eating bread and milk; but she said she had an -awful time getting him to eat. And she wants to know what to do with -him. That's why she telephoned your wife. She thought you ought to know -he was there." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, of course. Well, tell her to tell him to come back." -</P> - -<P> -"Mollie said she tried to have him come back, but that he said, no, -thank you, he'd rather not. He was going home where his father could -find him if he should ever want him. Mr. Higgins, we—we CAN'T let him -go off like that. Why, the child would die up there alone in those -dreadful woods, even if he could get there in the first place—which I -very much doubt." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, of course, of course," muttered Higgins, with a thoughtful frown. -"There's his letter, too. Say!" he added, brightening, "what'll you bet -that letter won't fetch him? He seems to think the world and all of his -daddy. Here," he directed, turning to Mrs. Holly, "you tell my wife to -tell—better yet, you telephone Mollie yourself, please, and tell her -to tell the boy we've got a letter here for him from his father, and he -can have it if he'll come back.". -</P> - -<P> -"I will, I will," called Mrs. Holly, over her shoulder, as she hurried -into the house. In an unbelievably short time she was back, her face -beaming. -</P> - -<P> -"He's started, so soon," she nodded. "He's crazy with joy, Mollie said. -He even left part of his breakfast, he was in such a hurry. So I guess -we'll see him all right." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, we'll see him all right," echoed Simeon Holly grimly. "But -that isn't telling what we'll do with him when we do see him." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, well, maybe this letter of his will help us out on that," -suggested Higgins soothingly. "Anyhow, even if it doesn't, I'm not -worrying any. I guess some one will want him—a good healthy boy like -that." -</P> - -<P> -"Did you find any money on the body?" asked Streeter. -</P> - -<P> -"A little change—a few cents. Nothing to count. If the boy's letter -doesn't tell us where any of their folks are, it'll be up to the town -to bury him all right." -</P> - -<P> -"He had a fiddle, didn't he? And the boy had one, too. Wouldn't they -bring anything?" Streeter's round blue eyes gleamed shrewdly. -</P> - -<P> -Higgins gave a slow shake of his head. -</P> - -<P> -"Maybe—if there was a market for 'em. But who'd buy 'em? There ain't a -soul in town plays but Jack Gurnsey; and he's got one. Besides, he's -sick, and got all he can do to buy bread and butter for him and his -sister without taking in more fiddles, I guess. HE wouldn't buy 'em." -</P> - -<P> -"Hm—m; maybe not, maybe not," grunted Streeter. "An', as you say, he's -the only one that's got any use for 'em here; an' like enough they -ain't worth much, anyway. So I guess 't is up to the town all right." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes; but—if yer'll take it from me,"—interrupted Larson,—"you'll be -wise if ye keep still before the boy. It's no use ASKIN' him anythin'. -We've proved that fast enough. An' if he once turns 'round an' begins -ter ask YOU questions, yer done for!" -</P> - -<P> -"I guess you're right," nodded Higgins, with a quizzical smile. "And as -long as questioning CAN'T do any good, why, we'll just keep whist -before the boy. Meanwhile I wish the little rascal would hurry up and -get here. I want to see the inside of that letter to HIM. I'm relying -on that being some help to unsnarl this tangle of telling who they are." -</P> - -<P> -"Well, he's started," reiterated Mrs. Holly, as she turned back into -the house; "so I guess he'll get here if you wait long enough." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, he'll get here if we wait long enough," echoed Simeon Holly -again, crustily. -</P> - -<P> -The two men in the wagon settled themselves more comfortably in their -seats, and Perry Larson, after a half-uneasy, half-apologetic glance at -his employer, dropped himself onto the bottom step. Simeon Holly had -already sat down stiffly in one of the porch chairs. Simeon Holly never -"dropped himself" anywhere. Indeed, according to Perry Larson, if there -were a hard way to do a thing, Simeon Holly found it—and did it. The -fact that, this morning, he had allowed, and was still allowing, the -sacred routine of the day's work to be thus interrupted, for nothing -more important than the expected arrival of a strolling urchin, was -something Larson would not have believed had he not seen it. Even now -he was conscious once or twice of an involuntary desire to rub his eyes -to make sure they were not deceiving him. -</P> - -<P> -Impatient as the waiting men were for the arrival of David, they were -yet almost surprised, so soon did he appear, running up the driveway. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, where is it, please?" he panted. "They said you had a letter for -me from daddy!" -</P> - -<P> -"You're right, sonny; we have. And here it is," answered Higgins -promptly, holding out the folded paper. -</P> - -<P> -Plainly eager as he was, David did not open the note till he had first -carefully set down the case holding his violin; then he devoured it -with eager eyes. -</P> - -<P> -As he read, the four men watched his face. They saw first the quick -tears that had to be blinked away. Then they saw the radiant glow that -grew and deepened until the whole boyish face was aflame with the -splendor of it. They saw the shining wonder of his eyes, too, as he -looked up from the letter. -</P> - -<P> -"And daddy wrote this to me from the far country?" he breathed. -</P> - -<P> -Simeon Holly scowled. Larson choked over a stifled chuckle. William -Streeter stared and shrugged his shoulders; but Higgins flushed a dull -red. -</P> - -<P> -"No, sonny," he stammered. "We found it on the—er—I mean, -it—er—your father left it in his pocket for you," finished the man, a -little explosively. -</P> - -<P> -A swift shadow crossed the boy's face. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, I hoped I'd heard—" he began. Then suddenly he stopped, his face -once more alight. "But it's 'most the same as if he wrote it from -there, isn't it? He left it for me, and he told me what to do." -</P> - -<P> -"What's that, what's that?" cried Higgins, instantly alert. "DID he -tell you what to do? Then, let's have it, so WE'LL know. You will let -us read it, won't you, boy?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, y—yes," stammered David, holding it out politely, but with -evident reluctance. -</P> - -<P> -"Thank you," nodded Higgins, as he reached for the note. -</P> - -<P> -David's letter was very different from the other one. It was longer, -but it did not help much, though it was easily read. In his letter, in -spite of the wavering lines, each word was formed with a care that told -of a father's thought for the young eyes that would read it. It was -written on two of the notebook's leaves, and at the end came the single -word "Daddy." -</P> - -<BR> - -<P CLASS="letter"> -David, my boy [read Higgins aloud], in the far country I am waiting for -you. Do not grieve, for that will grieve me. I shall not return, but -some day you will come to me, your violin at your chin, and the bow -drawn across the strings to greet me. See that it tells me of the -beautiful world you have left—for it is a beautiful world, David; -never forget that. And if sometime you are tempted to think it is not a -beautiful world, just remember that you yourself can make it beautiful -if you will. -</P> - -<P CLASS="letter"> -You are among new faces, surrounded by things and people that are -strange to you. Some of them you will not understand; some of them you -may not like. But do not fear, David, and do not plead to go back to -the hills. Remember this, my boy,—in your violin lie all the things -you long for. You have only to play, and the broad skies of your -mountain home will be over you, and the dear friends and comrades of -your mountain forests will be about you. -<BR><BR> - DADDY.<BR> -</P> - -<BR> - -<P> -"Gorry! that's worse than the other," groaned Higgins, when he had -finished the note. "There's actually nothing in it! Wouldn't you -think—if a man wrote anything at such a time—that he'd 'a' wrote -something that had some sense to it—something that one could get hold -of, and find out who the boy is?" -</P> - -<P> -There was no answering this. The assembled men could only grunt and nod -in agreement, which, after all, was no real help. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap05"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER V -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -DISCORDS -</H3> - -<P> -The dead man found in Farmer Holly's barn created a decided stir in the -village of Hinsdale. The case was a peculiar one for many reasons. -First, because of the boy—Hinsdale supposed it knew boys, but it felt -inclined to change its mind after seeing this one. Second, because of -the circumstances. The boy and his father had entered the town like -tramps, yet Higgins, who talked freely of his having given the pair a -"lift" on that very evening, did not hesitate to declare that he did -not believe them to be ordinary tramps at all. -</P> - -<P> -As there had been little found in the dead man's pockets, save the two -notes, and as nobody could be found who wanted the violins, there -seemed to be nothing to do but to turn the body over to the town for -burial. Nothing was said of this to David; indeed, as little as -possible was said to David about anything after that morning when -Higgins had given him his father's letter. At that time the men had -made one more effort to "get track of SOMETHING," as Higgins had -despairingly put it. But the boy's answers to their questions were -anything but satisfying, anything but helpful, and were often most -disconcerting. The boy was, in fact, regarded by most of the men, after -that morning, as being "a little off"; and was hence let severely alone. -</P> - -<P> -Who the man was the town authorities certainly did not know, neither -could they apparently find out. His name, as written by himself, was -unreadable. His notes told nothing; his son could tell little more—of -consequence. A report, to be sure, did come from the village, far up -the mountain, that such a man and boy had lived in a hut that was -almost inaccessible; but even this did not help solve the mystery. -</P> - -<P> -David was left at the Holly farmhouse, though Simeon Holly mentally -declared that he should lose no time in looking about for some one to -take the boy away. -</P> - -<P> -On that first day Higgins, picking up the reins preparatory to driving -from the yard, had said, with a nod of his head toward David:— -</P> - -<P> -"Well, how about it, Holly? Shall we leave him here till we find -somebody that wants him?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, y—yes, I suppose so," hesitated Simeon Holly, with uncordial -accent. -</P> - -<P> -But his wife, hovering in the background, hastened forward at once. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes; yes, indeed," she urged. "I'm sure he—he won't be a mite of -trouble, Simeon." -</P> - -<P> -"Perhaps not," conceded Simeon Holly darkly. "Neither, it is safe to -say, will he be anything else—worth anything." -</P> - -<P> -"That's it exactly," spoke up Streeter, from his seat in the wagon. "If -I thought he'd be worth his salt, now, I'd take him myself; but—well, -look at him this minute," he finished, with a disdainful shrug. -</P> - -<P> -David, on the lowest step, was very evidently not hearing a word of -what was being said. With his sensitive face illumined, he was again -poring over his father's letter. -</P> - -<P> -Something in the sudden quiet cut through his absorption as the noisy -hum of voices had not been able to do, and he raised his head. His eyes -were starlike. -</P> - -<P> -"I'm so glad father told me what to do," he breathed. "It'll be easier -now." -</P> - -<P> -Receiving no answer from the somewhat awkwardly silent men, he went on, -as if in explanation:— -</P> - -<P> -"You know he's waiting for me—in the far country, I mean. He said he -was. And when you've got somebody waiting, you don't mind staying -behind yourself for a little while. Besides, I've GOT to stay to find -out about the beautiful world, you know, so I can tell him, when <I>I</I> -go. That's the way I used to do back home on the mountain, you -see,—tell him about things. Lots of days we'd go to walk; then, when -we got home, he'd have me tell him, with my violin, what I'd seen. And -now he says I'm to stay here." -</P> - -<P> -"Here!" It was the quick, stern voice of Simeon Holly. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes," nodded David earnestly; "to learn about the beautiful world. -Don't you remember? And he said I was not to want to go back to my -mountains; that I would not need to, anyway, because the mountains, and -the sky, and the birds and squirrels and brooks are really in my -violin, you know. And—" But with an angry frown Simeon Holly stalked -away, motioning Larson to follow him; and with a merry glance and a low -chuckle Higgins turned his horse about and drove from the yard. A -moment later David found himself alone with Mrs. Holly, who was looking -at him with wistful, though slightly fearful eyes. -</P> - -<P> -"Did you have all the breakfast you wanted?" she asked timidly, -resorting, as she had resorted the night before, to the everyday things -of her world in the hope that they might make this strange little boy -seem less wild, and more nearly human. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, thank you." David's eyes had strayed back to the note in his -hand. Suddenly he looked up, a new something in his eyes. "What is it -to be a—a tramp?" he asked. "Those men said daddy and I were tramps." -</P> - -<P> -"A tramp? Oh—er—why, just a—a tramp," stammered Mrs. Holly. "But -never mind that, David. I—I wouldn't think any more about it." -</P> - -<P> -"But what is a tramp?" persisted David, a smouldering fire beginning to -show in his eyes. "Because if they meant THIEVES—" -</P> - -<P> -"No, no, David," interrupted Mrs. Holly soothingly. "They never meant -thieves at all." -</P> - -<P> -"Then, what is it to be a tramp?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, it's just to—to tramp," explained Mrs. Holly desperately;—"walk -along the road from one town to another, and—and not live in a house -at all." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh!" David's face cleared. "That's all right, then. I'd love to be a -tramp, and so'd father. And we were tramps, sometimes, too, 'cause lots -of times, in the summer, we didn't stay in the cabin hardly any—just -lived out of doors all day and all night. Why, I never knew really what -the pine trees were saying till I heard them at night, lying under -them. You know what I mean. You've heard them, haven't you?" -</P> - -<P> -"At night? Pine trees?" stammered Mrs. Holly helplessly. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. Oh, haven't you ever heard them at night?" cried the boy, in his -voice a very genuine sympathy as for a grievous loss. "Why, then, if -you've only heard them daytimes, you don't know a bit what pine trees -really are. But I can tell you. Listen! This is what they say," -finished the boy, whipping his violin from its case, and, after a swift -testing of the strings, plunging into a weird, haunting little melody. -</P> - -<P> -In the doorway, Mrs. Holly, bewildered, yet bewitched, stood -motionless, her eyes half-fearfully, half-longingly fixed on David's -glorified face. She was still in the same position when Simeon Holly -came around the corner of the house. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, Ellen," he began, with quiet scorn, after a moment's stern -watching of the scene before him, "have you nothing better to do this -morning than to listen to this minstrel fellow?" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, Simeon! Why, yes, of course. I—I forgot—what I was doing," -faltered Mrs. Holly, flushing guiltily from neck to brow as she turned -and hurried into the house. -</P> - -<P> -David, on the porch steps, seemed to have heard nothing. He was still -playing, his rapt gaze on the distant sky-line, when Simeon Holly -turned upon him with disapproving eyes. -</P> - -<P> -"See here, boy, can't you do anything but fiddle?" he demanded. Then, -as David still continued to play, he added sharply: "Did n't you hear -me, boy?" -</P> - -<P> -The music stopped abruptly. David looked up with the slightly dazed air -of one who has been summoned as from another world. -</P> - -<P> -"Did you speak to me, sir?" he asked. -</P> - -<P> -"I did—twice. I asked if you never did anything but play that fiddle." -</P> - -<P> -"You mean at home?" David's face expressed mild wonder without a trace -of anger or resentment. "Why, yes, of course. I couldn't play ALL the -time, you know. I had to eat and sleep and study my books; and every -day we went to walk—like tramps, as you call them," he elucidated, his -face brightening with obvious delight at being able, for once, to -explain matters in terms that he felt sure would be understood. -</P> - -<P> -"Tramps, indeed!" muttered Simeon Holly, under his breath. Then, -sharply: "Did you never perform any useful labor, boy? Were your days -always spent in this ungodly idleness?" -</P> - -<P> -Again David frowned in mild wonder. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, I wasn't idle, sir. Father said I must never be that. He said -every instrument was needed in the great Orchestra of Life; and that I -was one, you know, even if I was only a little boy. And he said if I -kept still and didn't do my part, the harmony wouldn't be complete, -and—" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, yes, but never mind that now, boy," interrupted Simeon Holly, -with harsh impatience. "I mean, did he never set you to work—real -work?" -</P> - -<P> -"Work?" David meditated again. Then suddenly his face cleared. "Oh, -yes, sir, he said I had a beautiful work to do, and that it was waiting -for me out in the world. That's why we came down from the mountain, you -know, to find it. Is that what you mean?" -</P> - -<P> -"Well, no," retorted the man, "I can't say that it was. I was referring -to work—real work about the house. Did you never do any of that?" -</P> - -<P> -David gave a relieved laugh. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, you mean getting the meals and tidying up the house," he replied. -"Oh, yes, I did that with father, only"—his face grew wistful—"I'm -afraid I didn't do it very well. My bacon was never as nice and crisp -as father's, and the fire was always spoiling my potatoes." -</P> - -<P> -"Humph! bacon and potatoes, indeed!" scorned Simeon Holly. "Well, boy, -we call that women's work down here. We set men to something else. Do -you see that woodpile by the shed door?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, sir." -</P> - -<P> -"Very good. In the kitchen you'll find an empty woodbox. Do you think -you could fill it with wood from that woodpile? You'll find plenty of -short, small sticks already chopped." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, sir, I'd like to," nodded David, hastily but carefully -tucking his violin into its case. A minute later he had attacked the -woodpile with a will; and Simeon Holly, after a sharply watchful -glance, had turned away. -</P> - -<P> -But the woodbox, after all, was not filled. At least, it was not filled -immediately, for at the very beginning of gathering the second armful -of wood, David picked up a stick that had long lain in one position on -the ground, thereby disclosing sundry and diverse crawling things of -many legs, which filled David's soul with delight, and drove away every -thought of the empty woodbox. -</P> - -<P> -It was only a matter of some strength and more patience, and still more -time, to overturn other and bigger sticks, to find other and bigger of -the many-legged, many-jointed creatures. One, indeed, was so very -wonderful that David, with a whoop of glee, summoned Mrs. Holly from -the shed doorway to come and see. -</P> - -<P> -So urgent was his plea that Mrs. Holly came with hurried steps—but she -went away with steps even more hurried; and David, sitting back on his -woodpile seat, was left to wonder why she should scream and shudder and -say "Ugh-h-h!" at such a beautiful, interesting thing as was this -little creature who lived in her woodpile. -</P> - -<P> -Even then David did not think of that empty woodbox waiting behind the -kitchen stove. This time it was a butterfly, a big black butterfly -banded with gold; and it danced and fluttered all through the back yard -and out into the garden, David delightedly following with soft-treading -steps, and movements that would not startle. From the garden to the -orchard, and from the orchard back to the garden danced the -butterfly—and David; and in the garden, near the house, David came -upon Mrs. Holly's pansy-bed. Even the butterfly was forgotten then, for -down in the path by the pansy-bed David dropped to his knees in -veritable worship. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, you're just like little people," he cried softly. "You've got -faces; and some of you are happy, and some of you are sad. And you—you -big spotted yellow one—you're laughing at me. Oh, I'm going to play -you—all of you. You'll make such a pretty song, you're so different -from each other!" And David leaped lightly to his feet and ran around -to the side porch for his violin. -</P> - -<P> -Five minutes later, Simeon Holly, coming into the kitchen, heard the -sound of a violin through the open window. At the same moment his eyes -fell on the woodbox, empty save for a few small sticks at the bottom. -With an angry frown he strode through the outer door and around the -corner of the house to the garden. At once then he came upon David, -sitting Turk-fashion in the middle of the path before the pansy-bed, -his violin at his chin, and his whole face aglow. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, boy, is this the way you fill the woodbox?" demanded the man -crisply. -</P> - -<P> -David shook his head. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, no, sir, this isn't filling the woodbox," he laughed, softening -his music, but not stopping it. "Did you think that was what I was -playing? It's the flowers here that I'm playing—the little faces, like -people, you know. See, this is that big yellow one over there that's -laughing," he finished, letting the music under his fingers burst into -a gay little melody. -</P> - -<P> -Simeon Holly raised an imperious hand; and at the gesture David stopped -his melody in the middle of a run, his eyes flying wide open in plain -wonderment. -</P> - -<P> -"You mean—I'm not playing—right?" he asked. -</P> - -<P> -"I'm not talking of your playing," retorted Simeon Holly severely. "I'm -talking of that woodbox I asked you to fill." -</P> - -<P> -David's face cleared. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, sir. I'll go and do it," he nodded, getting cheerfully to his -feet. -</P> - -<P> -"But I told you to do it before." -</P> - -<P> -David's eyes grew puzzled again. -</P> - -<P> -"I know, sir, and I started to," he answered, with the obvious patience -of one who finds himself obliged to explain what should be a -self-evident fact; "but I saw so many beautiful things, one after -another, and when I found these funny little flower-people I just had -to play them. Don't you see?" -</P> - -<P> -"No, I can't say that I do, when I'd already told you to fill the -woodbox," rejoined the man, with uncompromising coldness. -</P> - -<P> -"You mean—even then that I ought to have filled the woodbox first?" -</P> - -<P> -"I certainly do." -</P> - -<P> -David's eyes flew wide open again. -</P> - -<P> -"But my song—I'd have lost it!" he exclaimed. "And father said always -when a song came to me to play it at once. Songs are like the mists of -the morning and the rainbows, you know, and they don't stay with you -long. You just have to catch them quick, before they go. Now, don't you -see?" -</P> - -<P> -But Simeon Holly, with a despairingly scornful gesture, had turned -away; and David, after a moment's following him with wistful eyes, -soberly walked toward the kitchen door. Two minutes later he was -industriously working at his task of filling the woodbox. -</P> - -<P> -That for David the affair was not satisfactorily settled was evidenced -by his thoughtful countenance and preoccupied air, however; nor were -matters helped any by the question David put to Mr. Holly just before -dinner. -</P> - -<P> -"Do you mean," he asked, "that because I didn't fill the woodbox right -away, I was being a discord?" -</P> - -<P> -"You were what?" demanded the amazed Simeon Holly. -</P> - -<P> -"Being a discord—playing out of tune, you know," explained David, with -patient earnestness. "Father said—" But again Simeon Holly had turned -irritably away; and David was left with his perplexed questions still -unanswered. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap06"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER VI -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -NUISANCES, NECESSARY AND OTHERWISE -</H3> - -<P> -For some time after dinner, that first day, David watched Mrs. Holly in -silence while she cleared the table and began to wash the dishes. -</P> - -<P> -"Do you want me to—help?" he asked at last, a little wistfully. -</P> - -<P> -Mrs. Holly, with a dubious glance at the boy's brown little hands, -shook her head. -</P> - -<P> -"No, I don't. No, thank you," she amended her answer. -</P> - -<P> -For another sixty seconds David was silent; then, still more wistfully, -he asked:— -</P> - -<P> -"Are all these things you've been doing all day 'useful labor'?" -</P> - -<P> -Mrs. Holly lifted dripping hands from the dishpan and held them -suspended for an amazed instant. -</P> - -<P> -"Are they—Why, of course they are! What a silly question! What put -that idea into your head, child?" -</P> - -<P> -"Mr. Holly; and you see it's so different from what father used to call -them." -</P> - -<P> -"Different?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. He said they were a necessary nuisance,—dishes, and getting -meals, and clearing up,—and he didn't do half as many of them as you -do, either." -</P> - -<P> -"Nuisance, indeed!" Mrs. Holly resumed her dishwashing with some -asperity. "Well, I should think that might have been just about like -him." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, it was. He was always that way," nodded David pleasantly. Then, -after a moment, he queried: "But aren't you going to walk at all -to-day?" -</P> - -<P> -"To walk? Where?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, through the woods and fields—anywhere." -</P> - -<P> -"Walking in the woods, NOW—JUST WALKING? Land's sake, boy, I've got -something else to do!" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, that's too bad, isn't it?" David's face expressed sympathetic -regret. "And it's such a nice day! Maybe it'll rain by tomorrow." -</P> - -<P> -"Maybe it will," retorted Mrs. Holly, with slightly uplifted eyebrows -and an expressive glance. "But whether it does or does n't won't make -any difference in my going to walk, I guess." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, won't it?" beamed David, his face changing. "I'm so glad! I don't -mind the rain, either. Father and I used to go in the rain lots of -times, only, of course, we couldn't take our violins then, so we used -to like the pleasant days better. But there are some things you find on -rainy days that you couldn't find any other time, aren't there? The -dance of the drops on the leaves, and the rush of the rain when the -wind gets behind it. Don't you love to feel it, out in the open spaces, -where the wind just gets a good chance to push?" -</P> - -<P> -Mrs. Holly stared. Then she shivered and threw up her hands with a -gesture of hopeless abandonment. -</P> - -<P> -"Land's sake, boy!" she ejaculated feebly, as she turned back to her -work. -</P> - -<P> -From dishes to sweeping, and from sweeping to dusting, hurried Mrs. -Holly, going at last into the somber parlor, always carefully guarded -from sun and air. Watching her, mutely, David trailed behind, his eyes -staring a little as they fell upon the multitude of objects that parlor -contained: the haircloth chairs, the long sofa, the marble-topped -table, the curtains, cushions, spreads, and "throws," the innumerable -mats and tidies, the hair-wreath, the wax flowers under their glass -dome, the dried grasses, the marvelous bouquets of scarlet, green, and -purple everlastings, the stones and shells and many-sized, many-shaped -vases arranged as if in line of battle along the corner shelves. -</P> - -<P> -"Y—yes, you may come in," called Mrs. Holly, glancing back at the -hesitating boy in the doorway. "But you mustn't touch anything. I'm -going to dust." -</P> - -<P> -"But I haven't seen this room before," ruminated David. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, no," deigned Mrs. Holly, with just a touch of superiority. "We -don't use this room common, little boy, nor the bedroom there, either. -This is the company room, for ministers and funerals, and—" She -stopped hastily, with a quick look at David; but the boy did not seem -to have heard. -</P> - -<P> -"And doesn't anybody live here in this house, but just you and Mr. -Holly, and Mr. Perry Larson?" he asked, still looking wonderingly about -him. -</P> - -<P> -"No, not—now." Mrs. Holly drew in her breath with a little catch, and -glanced at the framed portrait of a little boy on the wall. -</P> - -<P> -"But you've got such a lot of rooms and—and things," remarked David. -"Why, daddy and I only had two rooms, and not hardly any THINGS. It was -so—different, you know, in my home." -</P> - -<P> -"I should say it might have been!" Mrs. Holly began to dust hurriedly, -but carefully. Her voice still carried its hint of superiority. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes," smiled David. "But you say you don't use this room much, so -that helps." -</P> - -<P> -"Helps!" In her stupefaction Mrs. Holly stopped her work and stared. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, yes. I mean, you've got so many other rooms you can live in -those. You don't HAVE to live in here." -</P> - -<P> -"'Have to live in here'!" ejaculated the woman, still too -uncomprehending to be anything but amazed. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. But do you have to KEEP all these things, and clean them and -clean them, like this, every day? Couldn't you give them to somebody, -or throw them away?" -</P> - -<P> -"Throw—these—things—away!" With a wild sweep of her arms, the -horrified woman seemed to be trying to encompass in a protective -embrace each last endangered treasure of mat and tidy. "Boy, are you -crazy? These things are—are valuable. They cost money, and time -and—and labor. Don't you know beautiful things when you see them?" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, I love BEAUTIFUL things," smiled David, with unconsciously -rude emphasis. "And up on the mountain I had them always. There was the -sunrise, and the sunset, and the moon and the stars, and my Silver -Lake, and the cloud-boats that sailed—" -</P> - -<P> -But Mrs. Holly, with a vexed gesture, stopped him. -</P> - -<P> -"Never mind, little boy. I might have known—brought up as you have -been. Of course you could not appreciate such things as these. Throw -them away, indeed!" And she fell to work again; but this time her -fingers carried a something in their touch that was almost like the -caress a mother might bestow upon an aggrieved child. -</P> - -<P> -David, vaguely disturbed and uncomfortable, watched her with troubled -eyes; then, apologetically, he explained:— -</P> - -<P> -"It was only that I thought if you didn't have to clean so many of -these things, you could maybe go to walk more—to-day, and other days, -you know. You said—you didn't have time," he reminded her. -</P> - -<P> -But Mrs. Holly only shook her head and sighed:— -</P> - -<P> -"Well, well, never mind, little boy. I dare say you meant all right. -You couldn't understand, of course." -</P> - -<P> -And David, after another moment's wistful eyeing of the caressing -fingers, turned about and wandered out onto the side porch. A minute -later, having seated himself on the porch steps, he had taken from his -pocket two small pieces of folded paper. And then, through tear-dimmed -eyes, he read once more his father's letter. -</P> - -<P> -"He said I mustn't grieve, for that would grieve him," murmured the -boy, after a time, his eyes on the far-away hills. "And he said if I'd -play, my mountains would come to me here, and I'd really be at home up -there. He said in my violin were all those things I'm wanting—so bad!" -</P> - -<P> -With a little choking breath, David tucked the note back into his -pocket and reached for his violin. -</P> - -<P> -Some time later, Mrs. Holly, dusting the chairs in the parlor, stopped -her work, tiptoed to the door, and listened breathlessly. When she -turned back, still later, to her work, her eyes were wet. -</P> - -<P> -"I wonder why, when he plays, I always get to thinking of—John," she -sighed to herself, as she picked up her dusting-cloth. -</P> - -<P> -After supper that night, Simeon Holly and his wife again sat on the -kitchen porch, resting from the labor of the day. Simeon's eyes were -closed. His wife's were on the dim outlines of the shed, the barn, the -road, or a passing horse and wagon. David, sitting on the steps, was -watching the moon climb higher and higher above the tree-tops. After a -time he slipped into the house and came out with his violin. -</P> - -<P> -At the first long-drawn note of sweetness, Simeon Holly opened his eyes -and sat up, stern-lipped. But his wife laid a timid hand on his arm. -</P> - -<P> -"Don't say anything, please," she entreated softly. "Let him play, just -for to-night. He's lonesome—poor little fellow." And Simeon Holly, -with a frowning shrug of his shoulders, sat back in his chair. -</P> - -<P> -Later, it was Mrs. Holly herself who stopped the music by saying: -"Come, David, it's bedtime for little boys. I'll go upstairs with you." -And she led the way into the house and lighted the candle for him. -</P> - -<P> -Upstairs, in the little room over the kitchen, David found himself once -more alone. As before, the little yellow-white nightshirt lay over the -chair-back; and as before, Mrs. Holly had brushed away a tear as she -had placed it there. As before, too, the big four-posted bed loomed -tall and formidable in the corner. But this time the coverlet and sheet -were turned back invitingly—Mrs. Holly had been much disturbed to find -that David had slept on the floor the night before. -</P> - -<P> -Once more, with his back carefully turned toward the impaled bugs and -moths on the wall, David undressed himself. Then, before blowing out -the candle, he went to the window kneeled down, and looked up at the -moon through the trees. -</P> - -<P> -David was sorely puzzled. He was beginning to wonder just what was to -become of himself. -</P> - -<P> -His father had said that out in the world there was a beautiful work -for him to do; but what was it? How was he to find it? Or how was he to -do it if he did find it? And another thing; where was he to live? Could -he stay where he was? It was not home, to be sure; but there was the -little room over the kitchen where he might sleep, and there was the -kind woman who smiled at him sometimes with the sad, far-away look in -her eyes that somehow hurt. He would not like, now, to leave her—with -daddy gone. -</P> - -<P> -There were the gold-pieces, too; and concerning these David was equally -puzzled. What should he do with them? He did not need them—the kind -woman was giving him plenty of food, so that he did not have to go to -the store and buy; and there was nothing else, apparently, that he -could use them for. They were heavy, and disagreeable to carry; yet he -did not like to throw them away, nor to let anybody know that he had -them: he had been called a thief just for one little piece, and what -would they say if they knew he had all those others? -</P> - -<P> -David remembered now, suddenly, that his father had said to hide -them—to hide them until he needed them. David was relieved at once. -Why had he not thought of it before? He knew just the place, too,—the -little cupboard behind the chimney there in this very room! And with a -satisfied sigh, David got to his feet, gathered all the little yellow -disks from his pockets, and tucked them well out of sight behind the -piles of books on the cupboard shelves. There, too, he hid the watch; -but the little miniature of the angel-mother he slipped back into one -of his pockets. -</P> - -<P> -David's second morning at the farmhouse was not unlike the first, -except that this time, when Simeon Holly asked him to fill the woodbox, -David resolutely ignored every enticing bug and butterfly, and kept -rigorously to the task before him until it was done. -</P> - -<P> -He was in the kitchen when, just before dinner, Perry Larson came into -the room with a worried frown on his face. -</P> - -<P> -"Mis' Holly, would ye mind just steppin' to the side door? There's a -woman an' a little boy there, an' somethin' ails 'em. She can't talk -English, an' I'm blest if I can make head nor tail out of the lingo she -DOES talk. But maybe you can." -</P> - -<P> -"Why, Perry, I don't know—" began Mrs. Holly. But she turned at once -toward the door. -</P> - -<P> -On the porch steps stood a very pretty, but frightened-looking young -woman with a boy perhaps ten years old at her side. Upon catching sight -of Mrs. Holly she burst into a torrent of unintelligible words, -supplemented by numerous and vehement gestures. -</P> - -<P> -Mrs. Holly shrank back, and cast appealing eyes toward her husband who -at that moment had come across the yard from the barn. -</P> - -<P> -"Simeon, can you tell what she wants?" -</P> - -<P> -At sight of the newcomer on the scene, the strange woman began again, -with even more volubility. -</P> - -<P> -"No," said Simeon Holly, after a moment's scowling scrutiny of the -gesticulating woman. "She's talking French, I think. And she -wants—something." -</P> - -<P> -"Gosh! I should say she did," muttered Perry Larson. "An' whatever 't -is, she wants it powerful bad." -</P> - -<P> -"Are you hungry?" questioned Mrs. Holly timidly. -</P> - -<P> -"Can't you speak English at all?" demanded Simeon Holly. -</P> - -<P> -The woman looked from one to the other with the piteous, pleading eyes -of the stranger in the strange land who cannot understand or make -others understand. She had turned away with a despairing shake of her -head, when suddenly she gave a wild cry of joy and wheeled about, her -whole face alight. -</P> - -<P> -The Hollys and Perry Larson saw then that David had come out onto the -porch and was speaking to the woman—and his words were just as -unintelligible as the woman's had been. -</P> - -<P> -Mrs. Holly and Perry Larson stared. Simeon Holly interrupted David with -a sharp:— -</P> - -<P> -"Do you, then, understand this woman, boy?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, yes! Didn't you? She's lost her way, and—" But the woman had -hurried forward and was pouring her story into David's ears. -</P> - -<P> -At its conclusion David turned to find the look of stupefaction still -on the others' faces. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, what does she want?" asked Simeon Holly crisply. -</P> - -<P> -"She wants to find the way to Francois Lavelle's house. He's her -husband's brother. She came in on the train this morning. Her husband -stopped off a minute somewhere, she says, and got left behind. He could -talk English, but she can't. She's only been in this country a week. -She came from France." -</P> - -<P> -"Gorry! Won't ye listen ter that, now?" cried Perry Larson admiringly. -"Reads her just like a book, don't he? There's a French family over in -West Hinsdale—two of 'em, I think. What'll ye bet 't ain't one o' -them?" -</P> - -<P> -"Very likely," acceded Simeon Holly, his eyes bent disapprovingly on -David's face. It was plain to be seen that Simeon Holly's attention was -occupied by David, not the woman. -</P> - -<P> -"An', say, Mr. Holly," resumed Perry Larson, a little excitedly, "you -know I was goin' over ter West Hinsdale in a day or two ter see Harlow -about them steers. Why can't I go this afternoon an' tote her an' the -kid along?" -</P> - -<P> -"Very well," nodded Simeon Holly curtly, his eyes still on David's face. -</P> - -<P> -Perry Larson turned to the woman, and by a flourish of his arms and a -jumble of broken English attempted to make her understand that he was -to take her where she undoubtedly wished to go. The woman still looked -uncomprehending, however, and David promptly came to the rescue, saying -a few rapid words that quickly brought a flood of delighted -understanding to the woman's face. -</P> - -<P> -"Can't you ask her if she's hungry?" ventured Mrs. Holly, then. -</P> - -<P> -"She says no, thank you," translated David, with a smile, when he had -received his answer. "But the boy says he is, if you please." -</P> - -<P> -"Then, tell them to come into the kitchen," directed Mrs. Holly, -hurrying into the house. -</P> - -<P> -"So you're French, are you?" said Simeon Holly to David. -</P> - -<P> -"French? Oh, no, sir," smiled David, proudly. "I'm an American. Father -said I was. He said I was born in this country." -</P> - -<P> -"But how comes it you can speak French like that?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, I learned it." Then, divining that his words were still -unconvincing, he added: "Same as I learned German and other things with -father, out of books, you know. Didn't you learn French when you were a -little boy?" -</P> - -<P> -"Humph!" vouchsafed Simeon Holly, stalking away without answering the -question. -</P> - -<P> -Immediately after dinner Perry Larson drove away with the woman and the -little boy. The woman's face was wreathed with smiles, and her last -adoring glance was for David, waving his hand to her from the porch -steps. -</P> - -<P> -In the afternoon David took his violin and went off toward the hill -behind the house for a walk. He had asked Mrs. Holly to accompany him, -but she had refused, though she was not sweeping or dusting at the -time. She was doing nothing more important, apparently, than making -holes in a piece of white cloth, and sewing them up again with a needle -and thread. -</P> - -<P> -David had then asked Mr. Holly to go; but his refusal was even more -strangely impatient than his wife's had been. -</P> - -<P> -"And why, pray, should I go for a useless walk now—or any time, for -that matter?" he demanded sharply. -</P> - -<P> -David had shrunk back unconsciously, though he had still smiled. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, but it wouldn't be a useless walk, sir. Father said nothing was -useless that helped to keep us in tune, you know." -</P> - -<P> -"In tune!" -</P> - -<P> -"I mean, you looked as father used to look sometimes, when he felt out -of tune. And he always said there was nothing like a walk to put him -back again. I—I was feeling a little out of tune myself to-day, and I -thought, by the way you looked, that you were, too. So I asked you to -go to walk." -</P> - -<P> -"Humph! Well, I—That will do, boy. No impertinence, you understand!" -And he had turned away in very obvious anger. -</P> - -<P> -David, with a puzzled sorrow in his heart had started alone then, on -his walk. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap07"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER VII -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -"YOU'RE WANTED—YOU'RE WANTED!" -</H3> - -<P> -It was Saturday night, and the end of David's third day at the -farmhouse. Upstairs, in the hot little room over the kitchen, the boy -knelt at the window and tried to find a breath of cool air from the -hills. Downstairs on the porch Simeon Holly and his wife discussed the -events of the past few days, and talked of what should be done with -David. -</P> - -<P> -"But what shall we do with him?" moaned Mrs. Holly at last, breaking a -long silence that had fallen between them. "What can we do with him? -Doesn't anybody want him?" -</P> - -<P> -"No, of course, nobody wants him," retorted her husband relentlessly. -</P> - -<P> -And at the words a small figure in a yellow-white nightshirt stopped -short. David, violin in hand, had fled from the little hot room, and -stood now just inside the kitchen door. -</P> - -<P> -"Who can want a child that has been brought up in that heathenish -fashion?" continued Simeon Holly. "According to his own story, even his -father did nothing but play the fiddle and tramp through the woods day -in and day out, with an occasional trip to the mountain village to get -food and clothing when they had absolutely nothing to eat and wear. Of -course nobody wants him!" -</P> - -<P> -David, at the kitchen door, caught his breath chokingly. Then he sped -across the floor to the back hall, and on through the long sheds to the -hayloft in the barn—the place where his father seemed always nearest. -</P> - -<P> -David was frightened and heartsick. NOBODY WANTED HIM. He had heard it -with his own ears, so there was no mistake. What now about all those -long days and nights ahead before he might go, violin in hand, to meet -his father in that far-away country? How was he to live those days and -nights if nobody wanted him? How was his violin to speak in a voice -that was true and pure and full, and tell of the beautiful world, as -his father had said that it must do? David quite cried aloud at the -thought. Then he thought of something else that his father had said: -"Remember this, my boy,—in your violin lie all the things you long -for. You have only to play, and the broad skies of your mountain home -will be over you, and the dear friends and comrades of your mountain -forests will be all about you." With a quick cry David raised his -violin and drew the bow across the strings. -</P> - -<P> -Back on the porch at that moment Mrs. Holly was saying:— -</P> - -<P> -"Of course there's the orphan asylum, or maybe the poorhouse—if they'd -take him; but—Simeon," she broke off sharply, "where's that child -playing now?" -</P> - -<P> -Simeon listened with intent ears. -</P> - -<P> -"In the barn, I should say." -</P> - -<P> -"But he'd gone to bed!" -</P> - -<P> -"And he'll go to bed again," asserted Simeon Holly grimly, as he rose -to his feet and stalked across the moonlit yard to the barn. -</P> - -<P> -As before, Mrs. Holly followed him, and as before, both involuntarily -paused just inside the barn door to listen. No runs and trills and -rollicking bits of melody floated down the stairway to-night. The notes -were long-drawn, and plaintively sweet; and they rose and swelled and -died almost into silence while the man and the woman by the door stood -listening. -</P> - -<P> -They were back in the long ago—Simeon Holly and his wife—back with a -boy of their own who had made those same rafters ring with shouts of -laughter, and who, also, had played the violin—though not like this; -and the same thought had come to each: "What if, after all, it were -John playing all alone in the moonlight!" -</P> - -<P> -It had not been the violin, in the end, that had driven John Holly from -home. It had been the possibilities in a piece of crayon. All through -childhood the boy had drawn his beloved "pictures" on every inviting -space that offered,—whether it were the "best-room" wall-paper, or the -fly leaf of the big plush album,—and at eighteen he had announced his -determination to be an artist. For a year after that Simeon Holly -fought with all the strength of a stubborn will, banished chalk and -crayon from the house, and set the boy to homely tasks that left no -time for anything but food and sleep—then John ran away. -</P> - -<P> -That was fifteen years ago, and they had not seen him since; though two -unanswered letters in Simeon Holly's desk testified that perhaps this, -at least, was not the boy's fault. -</P> - -<P> -It was not of the grown-up John, the willful boy and runaway son, -however, that Simeon Holly and his wife were thinking, as they stood -just inside the barn door; it was of Baby John, the little curly-headed -fellow that had played at their knees, frolicked in this very barn, and -nestled in their arms when the day was done. -</P> - -<P> -Mrs. Holly spoke first—and it was not as she had spoken on the porch. -</P> - -<P> -"Simeon," she began tremulously, "that dear child must go to bed!" And -she hurried across the floor and up the stairs, followed by her -husband. "Come, David," she said, as she reached the top; "it's time -little boys were asleep! Come!" -</P> - -<P> -Her voice was low, and not quite steady. To David her voice sounded as -her eyes looked when there was in them the far-away something that -hurt. Very slowly he came forward into the moonlight, his gaze -searching the woman's face long and earnestly. -</P> - -<P> -"And do you—want me?" he faltered. -</P> - -<P> -The woman drew in her breath with a little sob. Before her stood the -slender figure in the yellow-white gown—John's gown. Into her eyes -looked those other eyes, dark and wistful,—like John's eyes. And her -arms ached with emptiness. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, yes, for my very own—and for always!" she cried with sudden -passion, clasping the little form close. "For always!" -</P> - -<P> -And David sighed his content. -</P> - -<P> -Simeon Holly's lips parted, but they closed again with no words said. -The man turned then, with a curiously baffled look, and stalked down -the stairs. -</P> - -<P> -On the porch long minutes later, when once more David had gone to bed, -Simeon Holly said coldly to his wife:— -</P> - -<P> -"I suppose you realize, Ellen, just what you've pledged yourself to, by -that absurd outburst of yours in the barn to-night—and all because -that ungodly music and the moonshine had gone to your head!" -</P> - -<P> -"But I want the boy, Simeon. He—he makes me think of—John." -</P> - -<P> -Harsh lines came to the man's mouth, but there was a perceptible shake -in his voice as he answered:— -</P> - -<P> -"We're not talking of John, Ellen. We're talking of this irresponsible, -hardly sane boy upstairs. He can work, I suppose, if he's taught, and -in that way he won't perhaps be a dead loss. Still, he's another mouth -to feed, and that counts now. There's the note, you know,—it's due in -August." -</P> - -<P> -"But you say there's money—almost enough for it—in the bank." Mrs. -Holly's voice was anxiously apologetic. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, I know" vouchsafed the man. "But almost enough is not quite -enough." -</P> - -<P> -"But there's time—more than two months. It isn't due till the last of -August, Simeon." -</P> - -<P> -"I know, I know. Meanwhile, there's the boy. What are you going to do -with him?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, can't you use him—on the farm—a little?" -</P> - -<P> -"Perhaps. I doubt it, though," gloomed the man. "One can't hoe corn nor -pull weeds with a fiddle-bow—and that's all he seems to know how to -handle." -</P> - -<P> -"But he can learn—and he does play beautifully," murmured the woman; -whenever before had Ellen Holly ventured to use words of argument with -her husband, and in extenuation, too, of an act of her own! -</P> - -<P> -There was no reply except a muttered "Humph!" under the breath. Then -Simeon Holly rose and stalked into the house. -</P> - -<P> -The next day was Sunday, and Sunday at the farmhouse was a thing of -stern repression and solemn silence. In Simeon Holly's veins ran the -blood of the Puritans, and he was more than strict as to what he -considered right and wrong. When half-trained for the ministry, -ill-health had forced him to resort to a less confining life, though -never had it taken from him the uncompromising rigor of his views. It -was a distinct shock to him, therefore, on this Sunday morning to be -awakened by a peal of music such as the little house had never known -before. All the while that he was thrusting his indignant self into his -clothing, the runs and turns and crashing chords whirled about him -until it seemed that a whole orchestra must be imprisoned in the little -room over the kitchen, so skillful was the boy's double stopping. -Simeon Holly was white with anger when he finally hurried down the hall -and threw open David's bedroom door. -</P> - -<P> -"Boy, what do you mean by this?" he demanded. -</P> - -<P> -David laughed gleefully. -</P> - -<P> -"And didn't you know?" he asked. "Why, I thought my music would tell -you. I was so happy, so glad! The birds in the trees woke me up -singing, 'You're wanted—you're wanted;' and the sun came over the hill -there and said, 'You're wanted—you're wanted;' and the little -tree-branch tapped on my window pane and said 'You're wanted—you're -wanted!' And I just had to take up my violin and tell you about it!" -</P> - -<P> -"But it's Sunday—the Lord's Day," remonstrated the man sternly. -</P> - -<P> -David stood motionless, his eyes questioning. -</P> - -<P> -"Are you quite a heathen, then?" catechised the man sharply. "Have they -never told you anything about God, boy?" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, 'God'?—of course," smiled David, in open relief. "God wraps up -the buds in their little brown blankets, and covers the roots with—" -</P> - -<P> -"I am not talking about brown blankets nor roots," interrupted the man -severely. "This is God's day, and as such should be kept holy." -</P> - -<P> -"'Holy'?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. You should not fiddle nor laugh nor sing." -</P> - -<P> -"But those are good things, and beautiful things," defended David, his -eyes wide and puzzled. -</P> - -<P> -"In their place, perhaps," conceded the man, stiffly, "but not on God's -day." -</P> - -<P> -"You mean—He wouldn't like them?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh!"—and David's face cleared. "That's all right, then. Your God -isn't the same one, sir, for mine loves all beautiful things every day -in the year." -</P> - -<P> -There was a moment's silence. For the first time in his life Simeon -Holly found himself without words. -</P> - -<P> -"We won't talk of this any more, David," he said at last; "but we'll -put it another way—I don't wish you to play your fiddle on Sunday. -Now, put it up till to-morrow." And he turned and went down the hall. -</P> - -<P> -Breakfast was a very quiet meal that morning. Meals were never things -of hilarious joy at the Holly farmhouse, as David had already found -out; but he had not seen one before quite so somber as this. It was -followed immediately by a half-hour of Scripture-reading and prayer, -with Mrs. Holly and Perry Larson sitting very stiff and solemn in their -chairs, while Mr. Holly read. David tried to sit very stiff and solemn -in his chair, also; but the roses at the window were nodding their -heads and beckoning; and the birds in the bushes beyond were sending to -him coaxing little chirps of "Come out, come out!" And how could one -expect to sit stiff and solemn in the face of all that, particularly -when one's fingers were tingling to take up the interrupted song of the -morning and tell the whole world how beautiful it was to be wanted! -</P> - -<P> -Yet David sat very still,—or as still as he could sit,—and only the -tapping of his foot, and the roving of his wistful eyes told that his -mind was not with Farmer Holly and the Children of Israel in their -wanderings in the wilderness. -</P> - -<P> -After the devotions came an hour of subdued haste and confusion while -the family prepared for church. David had never been to church. He -asked Perry Larson what it was like; but Perry only shrugged his -shoulders and said, to nobody, apparently:— -</P> - -<P> -"Sugar! Won't ye hear that, now?"—which to David was certainly no -answer at all. -</P> - -<P> -That one must be spick and span to go to church, David soon found -out—never before had he been so scrubbed and brushed and combed. There -was, too, brought out for him to wear a little clean white blouse and a -red tie, over which Mrs. Holly cried a little as she had over the -nightshirt that first evening. -</P> - -<P> -The church was in the village only a quarter of a mile away; and in due -time David, open-eyed and interested, was following Mr. and Mrs. Holly -down its long center aisle. The Hollys were early as usual, and service -had not begun. Even the organist had not taken his seat beneath the -great pipes of blue and gold that towered to the ceiling. -</P> - -<P> -It was the pride of the town—that organ. It had been given by a great -man (out in the world) whose birthplace the town was. More than that, a -yearly donation from this same great man paid for the skilled organist -who came every Sunday from the city to play it. To-day, as the organist -took his seat, he noticed a new face in the Holly pew, and he almost -gave a friendly smile as he met the wondering gaze of the small boy -there; then he lost himself, as usual, in the music before him. -</P> - -<P> -Down in the Holly pew the small boy held his breath. A score of violins -were singing in his ears; and a score of other instruments that he -could not name, crashed over his head, and brought him to his feet in -ecstasy. Before a detaining hand could stop him, he was out in the -aisle, his eyes on the blue-and-gold pipes from which seemed to come -those wondrous sounds. Then his gaze fell on the man and on the banks -of keys; and with soft steps he crept along the aisle and up the stairs -to the organ-loft. -</P> - -<P> -For long minutes he stood motionless, listening; then the music died -into silence and the minister rose for the invocation. It was a boy's -voice, and not a man's, however, that broke the pause. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, sir, please," it said, "would you—could you teach ME to do that?" -</P> - -<P> -The organist choked over a cough, and the soprano reached out and drew -David to her side, whispering something in his ear. The minister, after -a dazed silence, bowed his head; while down in the Holly pew an angry -man and a sorely mortified woman vowed that, before David came to -church again, he should have learned some things. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap08"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER VIII -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -THE PUZZLING "DOS" AND "DON'TS" -</H3> - -<P> -With the coming of Monday arrived a new life for David—a curious life -full of "don'ts" and "dos." David wondered sometimes why all the -pleasant things were "don'ts" and all the unpleasant ones "dos." Corn -to be hoed, weeds to be pulled, woodboxes to be filled; with all these -it was "do this, do this, do this." But when it came to lying under the -apple trees, exploring the brook that ran by the field, or even -watching the bugs and worms that one found in the earth—all these were -"don'ts." -</P> - -<P> -As to Farmer Holly—Farmer Holly himself awoke to some new experiences -that Monday morning. One of them was the difficulty in successfully -combating the cheerfully expressed opinion that weeds were so pretty -growing that it was a pity to pull them up and let them all wither and -die. Another was the equally great difficulty of keeping a small boy at -useful labor of any sort in the face of the attractions displayed by a -passing cloud, a blossoming shrub, or a bird singing on a tree-branch. -</P> - -<P> -In spite of all this, however, David so evidently did his best to carry -out the "dos" and avoid the "don'ts," that at four o'clock that first -Monday he won from the stern but would-be-just Farmer Holly his freedom -for the rest of the day; and very gayly he set off for a walk. He went -without his violin, as there was the smell of rain in the air; but his -face and his step and the very swing of his arms were singing (to -David) the joyous song of the morning before. Even yet, in spite of the -vicissitudes of the day's work, the whole world, to David's homesick, -lonely little heart, was still caroling that blessed "You're wanted, -you're wanted, you're wanted!" -</P> - -<P> -And then he saw the crow. -</P> - -<P> -David knew crows. In his home on the mountain he had had several of -them for friends. He had learned to know and answer their calls. He had -learned to admire their wisdom and to respect their moods and tempers. -He loved to watch them. Especially he loved to see the great birds cut -through the air with a wide sweep of wings, so alive, so gloriously -free! -</P> - -<P> -But this crow— -</P> - -<P> -This crow was not cutting through the air with a wide sweep of wing. It -was in the middle of a cornfield, and it was rising and falling and -flopping about in a most extraordinary fashion. Very soon David, -running toward it, saw why. By a long leather strip it was fastened -securely to a stake in the ground. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, oh, oh!" exclaimed David, in sympathetic consternation. "Here, you -just wait a minute. I'll fix it." -</P> - -<P> -With confident celerity David whipped out his jackknife to cut the -thong; but he found then that to "fix it" and to say he would "fix it" -were two different matters. -</P> - -<P> -The crow did not seem to recognize in David a friend. He saw in him, -apparently, but another of the stone-throwing, gun-shooting, torturing -humans who were responsible for his present hateful captivity. With -beak and claw and wing, therefore, he fought this new evil that had -come presumedly to torment; and not until David had hit upon the -expedient of taking off his blouse, and throwing it over the angry -bird, could the boy get near enough to accomplish his purpose. Even -then David had to leave upon the slender leg a twist of leather. -</P> - -<P> -A moment later, with a whir of wings and a frightened squawk that -quickly turned into a surprised caw of triumphant rejoicing, the crow -soared into the air and made straight for a distant tree-top. David, -after a minute's glad surveying of his work, donned his blouse again -and resumed his walk. -</P> - -<P> -It was almost six o'clock when David got back to the Holly farmhouse. -In the barn doorway sat Perry Larson. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, sonny," the man greeted him cheerily, "did ye get yer weedin' -done?" -</P> - -<P> -"Y—yes," hesitated David. "I got it done; but I didn't like it." -</P> - -<P> -"'T is kinder hot work." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, I didn't mind that part," returned David. "What I didn't like was -pulling up all those pretty little plants and letting them die." -</P> - -<P> -"Weeds—'pretty little plants'!" ejaculated the man. "Well, I'll be -jiggered!" -</P> - -<P> -"But they WERE pretty," defended David, reading aright the scorn in -Perry Larson's voice. "The very prettiest and biggest there were, -always. Mr. Holly showed me, you know,—and I had to pull them up." -</P> - -<P> -"Well, I'll be jiggered!" muttered Perry Larson again. -</P> - -<P> -"But I've been to walk since. I feel better now." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, ye do!" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes. I had a splendid walk. I went 'way up in the woods on the -hill there. I was singing all the time—inside, you know. I was so glad -Mrs. Holly—wanted me. You know what it is, when you sing inside." -</P> - -<P> -Perry Larson scratched his head. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, no, sonny, I can't really say I do," he retorted. "I ain't much -on singin'." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, but I don't mean aloud. I mean inside. When you're happy, you -know." -</P> - -<P> -"When I'm—oh!" The man stopped and stared, his mouth falling open. -Suddenly his face changed, and he grinned appreciatively. "Well, if you -ain't the beat 'em, boy! 'T is kinder like singin'—the way ye feel -inside, when yer 'specially happy, ain't it? But I never thought of it -before." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes. Why, that's where I get my songs—inside of me, you -know—that I play on my violin. And I made a crow sing, too. Only HE -sang outside." -</P> - -<P> -"SING—A CROW!" scoffed the man. "Shucks! It'll take more 'n you ter -make me think a crow can sing, my lad." -</P> - -<P> -"But they do, when they're happy," maintained the boy. "Anyhow, it -doesn't sound the same as it does when they're cross, or plagued over -something. You ought to have heard this one to-day. He sang. He was so -glad to get away. I let him loose, you see." -</P> - -<P> -"You mean, you CAUGHT a crow up there in them woods?" The man's voice -was skeptical. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, no, I didn't catch it. But somebody had, and tied him up. And he -was so unhappy!" -</P> - -<P> -"A crow tied up in the woods!" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, I didn't find THAT in the woods. It was before I went up the hill -at all." -</P> - -<P> -"A crow tied up—Look a-here, boy, what are you talkin' about? Where -was that crow?" Perry Larson's whole self had become suddenly alert. -</P> - -<P> -"In the field 'Way over there. And somebody—" -</P> - -<P> -"The cornfield! Jingo! Boy, you don't mean you touched THAT crow?" -</P> - -<P> -"Well, he wouldn't let me TOUCH him," half-apologized David. "He was so -afraid, you see. Why, I had to put my blouse over his head before he'd -let me cut him loose at all." -</P> - -<P> -"Cut him loose!" Perry Larson sprang to his feet. "You did n't—you -DIDn't let that crow go!" -</P> - -<P> -David shrank back. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, yes; he WANTED to go. He—" But the man before him had fallen -back despairingly to his old position. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, sir, you've done it now. What the boss'll say, I don't know; but -I know what I'd like ter say to ye. I was a whole week, off an' on, -gettin' hold of that crow, an' I wouldn't have got him at all if I -hadn't hid half the night an' all the mornin' in that clump o' bushes, -watchin' a chance ter wing him, jest enough an' not too much. An' even -then the job wa'n't done. Let me tell yer, 't wa'n't no small thing ter -get him hitched. I'm wearin' the marks of the rascal's beak yet. An' -now you've gone an' let him go—just like that," he finished, snapping -his fingers angrily. -</P> - -<P> -In David's face there was no contrition. There was only incredulous -horror. -</P> - -<P> -"You mean, YOU tied him there, on purpose?" -</P> - -<P> -"Sure I did!" -</P> - -<P> -"But he didn't like it. Couldn't you see he didn't like it?" cried -David. -</P> - -<P> -"Like it! What if he didn't? I didn't like ter have my corn pulled up, -either. See here, sonny, you no need ter look at me in that tone o' -voice. I didn't hurt the varmint none ter speak of—ye see he could -fly, didn't ye?—an' he wa'n't starvin'. I saw to it that he had enough -ter eat an' a dish o' water handy. An' if he didn't flop an' pull an' -try ter get away he needn't 'a' hurt hisself never. I ain't ter blame -for what pullin' he done." -</P> - -<P> -"But wouldn't you pull if you had two big wings that could carry you to -the top of that big tree there, and away up, up in the sky, where you -could talk to the stars?—wouldn't you pull if somebody a hundred times -bigger'n you came along and tied your leg to that post there?" -</P> - -<P> -The man, Perry, flushed an angry red. -</P> - -<P> -"See here, sonny, I wa'n't askin' you ter do no preachin'. What I did -ain't no more'n any man 'round here does—if he's smart enough ter -catch one. Rigged-up broomsticks ain't in it with a live bird when it -comes ter drivin' away them pesky, thievin' crows. There ain't a farmer -'round here that hain't been green with envy, ever since I caught the -critter. An' now ter have you come along an' with one flip o'yer knife -spile it all, I—Well, it jest makes me mad, clean through! That's all." -</P> - -<P> -"You mean, you tied him there to frighten away the other crows?" -</P> - -<P> -"Sure! There ain't nothin' like it." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, I'm so sorry!" -</P> - -<P> -"Well, you'd better be. But that won't bring back my crow!" -</P> - -<P> -David's face brightened. -</P> - -<P> -"No, that's so, isn't it? I'm glad of that. I was thinking of the -crows, you see. I'm so sorry for them! Only think how we'd hate to be -tied like that—" But Perry Larson, with a stare and an indignant -snort, had got to his feet, and was rapidly walking toward the house. -</P> - -<P> -Very plainly, that evening, David was in disgrace, and it took all of -Mrs. Holly's tact and patience, and some private pleading, to keep a -general explosion from wrecking all chances of his staying longer at -the farmhouse. Even as it was, David was sorrowfully aware that he was -proving to be a great disappointment so soon, and his violin playing -that evening carried a moaning plaintiveness that would have been very -significant to one who knew David well. -</P> - -<P> -Very faithfully, the next day, the boy tried to carry out all the -"dos," and though he did not always succeed, yet his efforts were so -obvious, that even the indignant owner of the liberated crow was -somewhat mollified; and again Simeon Holly released David from work at -four o'clock. -</P> - -<P> -Alas, for David's peace of mind, however; for on his walk to-day, -though he found no captive crow to demand his sympathy, he found -something else quite as heartrending, and as incomprehensible. -</P> - -<P> -It was on the edge of the woods that he came upon two boys, each -carrying a rifle, a dead squirrel, and a dead rabbit. The threatened -rain of the day before had not materialized, and David had his violin. -He had been playing softly when he came upon the boys where the path -entered the woods. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh!" At sight of the boys and their burden David gave an involuntary -cry, and stopped playing. -</P> - -<P> -The boys, scarcely less surprised at sight of David and his violin, -paused and stared frankly. -</P> - -<P> -"It's the tramp kid with his fiddle," whispered one to the other -huskily. -</P> - -<P> -David, his grieved eyes on the motionless little bodies in the boys' -hands, shuddered. -</P> - -<P> -"Are they—dead, too?" -</P> - -<P> -The bigger boy nodded self-importantly. -</P> - -<P> -"Sure. We just shot 'em—the squirrels. Ben here trapped the rabbits." -He paused, manifestly waiting for the proper awed admiration to come -into David's face. -</P> - -<P> -But in David's startled eyes there was no awed admiration, there was -only disbelieving horror. -</P> - -<P> -"You mean, you SENT them to the far country?" -</P> - -<P> -"We—what?" -</P> - -<P> -"Sent them. Made them go yourselves—to the far country?" -</P> - -<P> -The younger boy still stared. The older one grinned disagreeably. -</P> - -<P> -"Sure," he answered with laconic indifference. "We sent 'em to the far -country, all right." -</P> - -<P> -"But—how did you know they WANTED to go?" -</P> - -<P> -"Wanted—Eh?" exploded the big boy. Then he grinned again, still more -disagreeably. "Well, you see, my dear, we didn't ask 'em," he gibed. -</P> - -<P> -Real distress came into David's face. -</P> - -<P> -"Then you don't know at all. And maybe they DIDn't want to go. And if -they didn't, how COULD they go singing, as father said? Father wasn't -sent. He WENT. And he went singing. He said he did. But these—How -would YOU like to have somebody come along and send YOU to the far -country, without even knowing if you wanted to go?" -</P> - -<P> -There was no answer. The boys, with a growing fear in their eyes, as at -sight of something inexplicable and uncanny, were sidling away; and in -a moment they were hurrying down the hill, not, however, without a -backward glance or two, of something very like terror. -</P> - -<P> -David, left alone, went on his way with troubled eyes and a thoughtful -frown. -</P> - -<P> -David often wore, during those first few days at the Holly farmhouse, a -thoughtful face and a troubled frown. There were so many, many things -that were different from his mountain home. Over and over, as those -first long days passed, he read his letter until he knew it by -heart—and he had need to. Was he not already surrounded by things and -people that were strange to him? -</P> - -<P> -And they were so very strange—these people! There were the boys and -men who rose at dawn—yet never paused to watch the sun flood the world -with light; who stayed in the fields all day—yet never raised their -eyes to the big fleecy clouds overhead; who knew birds only as thieves -after fruit and grain, and squirrels and rabbits only as creatures to -be trapped or shot. The women—they were even more incomprehensible. -They spent the long hours behind screened doors and windows, washing -the same dishes and sweeping the same floors day after day. They, too, -never raised their eyes to the blue sky outside, nor even to the -crimson roses that peeped in at the window. They seemed rather to be -looking always for dirt, yet not pleased when they found it—especially -if it had been tracked in on the heel of a small boy's shoe! -</P> - -<P> -More extraordinary than all this to David, however, was the fact that -these people regarded HIM, not themselves, as being strange. As if it -were not the most natural thing in the world to live with one's father -in one's home on the mountain-top, and spend one's days trailing -through the forest paths, or lying with a book beside some babbling -little stream! As if it were not equally natural to take one's violin -with one at times, and learn to catch upon the quivering strings the -whisper of the winds through the trees! Even in winter, when the clouds -themselves came down from the sky and covered the earth with their soft -whiteness,—even then the forest was beautiful; and the song of the -brook under its icy coat carried a charm and mystery that were quite -wanting in the chattering freedom of summer. Surely there was nothing -strange in all this, and yet these people seemed to think there was! -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap09"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER IX -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -JOE -</H3> - -<P> -Day by day, however, as time passed, David diligently tried to perform -the "dos" and avoid the "don'ts"; and day by day he came to realize how -important weeds and woodboxes were, if he were to conform to what was -evidently Farmer Holly's idea of "playing in, tune" in this strange new -Orchestra of Life in which he found himself. -</P> - -<P> -But, try as he would, there was yet an unreality about it all, a -persistent feeling of uselessness and waste, that would not be set -aside. So that, after all, the only part of this strange new life of -his that seemed real to him was the time that came after four o'clock -each day, when he was released from work. -</P> - -<P> -And how full he filled those hours! There was so much to see, so much -to do. For sunny days there were field and stream and pasture land and -the whole wide town to explore. For rainy days, if he did not care to -go to walk, there was his room with the books in the chimney cupboard. -Some of them David had read before, but many of them he had not. One or -two were old friends; but not so "Dare Devil Dick," and "The Pirates of -Pigeon Cove" (which he found hidden in an obscure corner behind a loose -board). Side by side stood "The Lady of the Lake," "Treasure Island," -and "David Copperfield"; and coverless and dogeared lay "Robinson -Crusoe," "The Arabian Nights," and "Grimm's Fairy Tales." There were -more, many more, and David devoured them all with eager eyes. The good -in them he absorbed as he absorbed the sunshine; the evil he cast aside -unconsciously—it rolled off, indeed, like the proverbial water from -the duck's back. -</P> - -<P> -David hardly knew sometimes which he liked the better, his imaginative -adventures between the covers of his books or his real adventures in -his daily strolls. True, it was not his mountain home—this place in -which he found himself; neither was there anywhere his Silver Lake with -its far, far-reaching sky above. More deplorable yet, nowhere was there -the dear father he loved so well. But the sun still set in rose and -gold, and the sky, though small, still carried the snowy sails of its -cloud-boats; while as to his father—his father had told him not to -grieve, and David was trying very hard to obey. -</P> - -<P> -With his violin for company David started out each day, unless he -elected to stay indoors with his books. Sometimes it was toward the -village that he turned his steps; sometimes it was toward the hills -back of the town. Whichever way it was, there was always sure to be -something waiting at the end for him and his violin to discover, if it -was nothing more than a big white rose in bloom, or a squirrel sitting -by the roadside. -</P> - -<P> -Very soon, however, David discovered that there was something to be -found in his wanderings besides squirrels and roses; and that -was—people. In spite of the strangeness of these people, they were -wonderfully interesting, David thought. And after that he turned his -steps more and more frequently toward the village when four o'clock -released him from the day's work. -</P> - -<P> -At first David did not talk much to these people. He shrank sensitively -from their bold stares and unpleasantly audible comments. He watched -them with round eyes of wonder and interest, however,—when he did not -think they were watching him. And in time he came to know not a little -about them and about the strange ways in which they passed their time. -</P> - -<P> -There was the greenhouse man. It would be pleasant to spend one's day -growing plants and flowers—but not under that hot, stifling glass -roof, decided David. Besides, he would not want always to pick and send -away the very prettiest ones to the city every morning, as the -greenhouse man did. -</P> - -<P> -There was the doctor who rode all day long behind the gray mare, making -sick folks well. David liked him, and mentally vowed that he himself -would be a doctor sometime. Still, there was the stage-driver—David -was not sure but he would prefer to follow this man's profession for a -life-work; for in his, one could still have the freedom of long days in -the open, and yet not be saddened by the sight of the sick before they -had been made well—which was where the stage-driver had the better of -the doctor, in David's opinion. There were the blacksmith and the -storekeepers, too, but to these David gave little thought or attention. -</P> - -<P> -Though he might not know what he did want to do, he knew very well what -he did not. All of which merely goes to prove that David was still on -the lookout for that great work which his father had said was waiting -for him out in the world. -</P> - -<P> -Meanwhile David played his violin. If he found a crimson rambler in -bloom in a door-yard, he put it into a little melody of pure -delight—that a woman in the house behind the rambler heard the music -and was cheered at her task, David did not know. If he found a kitten -at play in the sunshine, he put it into a riotous abandonment of -tumbling turns and trills—that a fretful baby heard and stopped its -wailing, David also did not know. And once, just because the sky was -blue and the air was sweet, and it was so good to be alive, David -lifted his bow and put it all into a rapturous paean of ringing -exultation—that a sick man in a darkened chamber above the street -lifted his head, drew in his breath, and took suddenly a new lease of -life, David still again did not know. All of which merely goes to prove -that David had perhaps found his work and was doing it—although yet -still again David did not know. -</P> - -<P> -It was in the cemetery one afternoon that David came upon the Lady in -Black. She was on her knees putting flowers on a little mound before -her. She looked up as David approached. For a moment she gazed -wistfully at him; then as if impelled by a hidden force, she spoke. -</P> - -<P> -"Little boy, who are you?" -</P> - -<P> -"I'm David." -</P> - -<P> -"David! David who? Do you live here? I've seen you here before." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, I've been here quite a lot of times." Purposely the boy -evaded the questions. David was getting tired of questions—especially -these questions. -</P> - -<P> -"And have you—lost one dear to you, little boy?" -</P> - -<P> -"Lost some one?" -</P> - -<P> -"I mean—is your father or mother—here?" -</P> - -<P> - "Here? Oh, no, they aren't here. My mother is an angel-mother,<BR> -and my father has gone to the far country. He is waiting for me there, -you know." -</P> - -<P> -"But, that's the same—that is—" She stopped helplessly, bewildered -eyes on David's serene face. Then suddenly a great light came to her -own. "Oh, little boy, I wish I could understand that—just that," she -breathed. "It would make it so much easier—if I could just remember -that they aren't here—that they're WAITING—over there!" -</P> - -<P> -But David apparently did not hear. He had turned and was playing softly -as he walked away. Silently the Lady in Black knelt, listening, looking -after him. When she rose some time later and left the cemetery, the -light on her face was still there, deeper, more glorified. -</P> - -<P> -Toward boys and girls—especially boys—of his own age, David -frequently turned wistful eyes. David wanted a friend, a friend who -would know and understand; a friend who would see things as he saw -them, who would understand what he was saying when he played. It seemed -to David that in some boy of his own age he ought to find such a -friend. He had seen many boys—but he had not yet found the friend. -David had begun to think, indeed, that of all these strange beings in -this new life of his, boys were the strangest. -</P> - -<P> -They stared and nudged each other unpleasantly when they came upon him -playing. They jeered when he tried to tell them what he had been -playing. They had never heard of the great Orchestra of Life, and they -fell into most disconcerting fits of laughter, or else backed away as -if afraid, when he told them that they themselves were instruments in -it, and that if they did not keep themselves in tune, there was sure to -be a discord somewhere. -</P> - -<P> -Then there were their games and frolics. Such as were played with -balls, bats, and bags of beans, David thought he would like very much. -But the boys only scoffed when he asked them to teach him how to play. -They laughed when a dog chased a cat, and they thought it very, very -funny when Tony, the old black man, tripped on the string they drew -across his path. They liked to throw stones and shoot guns, and the -more creeping, crawling, or flying creatures that they could send to -the far country, the happier they were, apparently. Nor did they like -it at all when he asked them if they were sure all these creeping, -crawling, flying creatures wanted to leave this beautiful world and to -be made dead. They sneered and called him a sissy. David did not know -what a sissy was; but from the way they said it, he judged it must be -even worse to be a sissy than to be a thief. -</P> - -<P> -And then he discovered Joe. -</P> - -<P> -David had found himself in a very strange, very unlovely neighborhood -that afternoon. The street was full of papers and tin cans, the houses -were unspeakably forlorn with sagging blinds and lack of paint. Untidy -women and blear-eyed men leaned over the dilapidated fences, or lolled -on mud-tracked doorsteps. David, his shrinking eyes turning from one -side to the other, passed slowly through the street, his violin under -his arm. Nowhere could David find here the tiniest spot of beauty to -"play." He had reached quite the most forlorn little shanty on the -street when the promise in his father's letter occurred to him. With a -suddenly illumined face, he raised his violin to position and plunged -into a veritable whirl of trills and runs and tripping melodies. -</P> - -<P> -"If I didn't just entirely forget that I didn't NEED to SEE anything -beautiful to play," laughed David softly to himself. "Why, it's already -right here in my violin!" -</P> - -<P> -David had passed the tumble-down shanty, and was hesitating where two -streets crossed, when he felt a light touch on his arm. He turned to -confront a small girl in a patched and faded calico dress, obviously -outgrown. Her eyes were wide and frightened. In the middle of her -outstretched dirty little palm was a copper cent. -</P> - -<P> -"If you please, Joe sent this—to you," she faltered. -</P> - -<P> -"To me? What for?" David stopped playing and lowered his violin. -</P> - -<P> -The little girl backed away perceptibly, though she still held out the -coin. -</P> - -<P> -"He wanted you to stay and play some more. He said to tell you he'd 'a' -sent more money if he could. But he didn't have it. He just had this -cent." -</P> - -<P> -David's eyes flew wide open. -</P> - -<P> -"You mean he WANTS me to play? He likes it?" he asked joyfully. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. He said he knew 't wa'n't much—the cent. But he thought maybe -you'd play a LITTLE for it." -</P> - -<P> -"Play? Of course I'll play" cried David. "Oh, no, I don't want the -money," he added, waving the again-proffered coin aside. "I don't need -money where I'm living now. Where is he—the one that wanted me to -play?" he finished eagerly. -</P> - -<P> -"In there by the window. It's Joe. He's my brother." The little girl, -in spite of her evident satisfaction at the accomplishment of her -purpose, yet kept quite aloof from the boy. Nor did the fact that he -refused the money appear to bring her anything but uneasy surprise. -</P> - -<P> -In the window David saw a boy apparently about his own age, a boy with -sandy hair, pale cheeks, and wide-open, curiously intent blue eyes. -</P> - -<P> -"Is he coming? Did you get him? Will he play?" called the boy at the -window eagerly. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, I'm right here. I'm the one. Can't you see the violin? Shall I -play here or come in?" answered David, not one whit less eagerly. -</P> - -<P> -The small girl opened her lips as if to explain something; but the boy -in the window did not wait. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, come in. WILL you come in?" he cried unbelievingly. "And will you -just let me touch it—the fiddle? Come! You WILL come? See, there isn't -anybody home, only just Betty and me." -</P> - -<P> -"Of course I will!" David fairly stumbled up the broken steps in his -impatience to reach the wide-open door. "Did you like it—what I -played? And did you know what I was playing? Did you understand? Could -you see the cloud-boats up in the sky, and my Silver Lake down in the -valley? And could you hear the birds, and the winds in the trees, and -the little brooks? Could you? Oh, did you understand? I've so wanted to -find some one that could! But I wouldn't think that YOU—HERE—" With a -gesture, and an expression on his face that were unmistakable, David -came to a helpless pause. -</P> - -<P> -"There, Joe, what'd I tell you," cried the little girl, in a husky -whisper, darting to her brother's side. "Oh, why did you make me get -him here? Everybody says he's crazy as a loon, and—" -</P> - -<P> -But the boy reached out a quickly silencing hand. His face was -curiously alight, as if from an inward glow. His eyes, still widely -intent, were staring straight ahead. -</P> - -<P> -"Stop, Betty, wait," he hushed her. "Maybe—I think I DO understand. -Boy, you mean—INSIDE of you, you see those things, and then you try to -make your fiddle tell what you are seeing. Is that it?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, yes," cried David. "Oh, you DO understand. And I never thought -you could. I never thought that anybody could that did n't have -anything to look at but him—but these things." -</P> - -<P> -"'Anything but these to look at'!" echoed the boy, with a sudden -anguish in his voice. "Anything but these! I guess if I could see -ANYTHING, I wouldn't mind WHAT I see! An' you wouldn't, neither, if you -was—blind, like me." -</P> - -<P> -"Blind!" David fell back. Face and voice were full of horror. "You mean -you can't see—anything, with your eyes?" -</P> - -<P> -"Nothin'." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh! I never saw any one blind before. There was one in a book—but -father took it away. Since then, in books down here, I've found -others—but—" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, yes. Well, never mind that," cut in the blind boy, growing -restive under the pity in the other's voice. "Play. Won't you?" -</P> - -<P> -"But how are you EVER going to know what a beautiful world it is?" -shuddered David. "How can you know? And how can you ever play in tune? -You're one of the instruments. Father said everybody was. And he said -everybody was playing SOMETHING all the time; and if you didn't play in -tune—" -</P> - -<P> -"Joe, Joe, please," begged the little girl "Won't you let him go? I'm -afraid. I told you—" -</P> - -<P> -"Shucks, Betty! He won't hurt ye," laughed Joe, a little irritably. -Then to David he turned again with some sharpness. -</P> - -<P> -"Play, won't ye? You SAID you'd play!" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, oh, yes, I'll play," faltered David, bringing his violin hastily -to position, and testing the strings with fingers that shook a little. -</P> - -<P> -"There!" breathed Joe, settling back in his chair with a contented -sigh. "Now, play it again—what you did before." -</P> - -<P> -But David did not play what he did before—at first. There were no airy -cloud-boats, no far-reaching sky, no birds, or murmuring forest brooks -in his music this time. There were only the poverty-stricken room, the -dirty street, the boy alone at the window, with his sightless eyes—the -boy who never, never would know what a beautiful world he lived in. -</P> - -<P> -Then suddenly to David came a new thought. This boy, Joe, had said -before that he understood. He had seemed to know that he was being told -of the sunny skies and the forest winds, the singing birds and the -babbling brooks. Perhaps again now he would understand. -</P> - -<P> -What if, for those sightless eyes, one could create a world? -</P> - -<P> -Possibly never before had David played as he played then. It was as if -upon those four quivering strings, he was laying the purple and gold of -a thousand sunsets, the rose and amber of a thousand sunrises, the -green of a boundless earth, the blue of a sky that reached to heaven -itself—to make Joe understand. -</P> - -<P> -"Gee!" breathed Joe, when the music came to an end with a crashing -chord. "Say, wa'n't that just great? Won't you let me, please, just -touch that fiddle?" And David, looking into the blind boy's exalted -face, knew that Joe had indeed—understood. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap10"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER X -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -THE LADY OF THE ROSES -</H3> - -<P> -It was a new world, indeed, that David created for Joe after that—a -world that had to do with entrancing music where once was silence; -delightful companionship where once was loneliness; and toothsome -cookies and doughnuts where once was hunger. -</P> - -<P> -The Widow Glaspell, Joe's mother, worked out by the day, scrubbing and -washing; and Joe, perforce, was left to the somewhat erratic and -decidedly unskillful ministrations of Betty. Betty was no worse, and no -better, than any other untaught, irresponsible twelve-year-old girl, -and it was not to be expected, perhaps, that she would care to spend -all the bright sunny hours shut up with her sorely afflicted and -somewhat fretful brother. True, at noon she never failed to appear and -prepare something that passed for a dinner for herself and Joe. But the -Glaspell larder was frequently almost as empty as were the hungry -stomachs that looked to it for refreshment; and it would have taken a -far more skillful cook than was the fly-away Betty to evolve anything -from it that was either palatable or satisfying. -</P> - -<P> -With the coming of David into Joe's life all this was changed. First, -there were the music and the companionship. Joe's father had "played in -the band" in his youth, and (according to the Widow Glaspell) had been -a "powerful hand for music." It was from him, presumably, that Joe had -inherited his passion for melody and harmony; and it was no wonder that -David recognized so soon in the blind boy the spirit that made them -kin. At the first stroke of David's bow, indeed, the dingy walls about -them would crumble into nothingness, and together the two boys were off -in a fairy world of loveliness and joy. -</P> - -<P> -Nor was listening always Joe's part. From "just touching" the -violin—his first longing plea—he came to drawing a timid bow across -the strings. In an incredibly short time, then, he was picking out bits -of melody; and by the end of a fortnight David had brought his father's -violin for Joe to practice on. -</P> - -<P> -"I can't GIVE it to you—not for keeps," David had explained, a bit -tremulously, "because it was daddy's, you know; and when I see it, it -seems almost as if I was seeing him. But you may take it. Then you can -have it here to play on whenever you like." -</P> - -<P> -After that, in Joe's own hands lay the power to transport himself into -another world, for with the violin for company he knew no loneliness. -</P> - -<P> -Nor was the violin all that David brought to the house. There were the -doughnuts and the cookies. Very early in his visits David had -discovered, much to his surprise, that Joe and Betty were often hungry. -</P> - -<P> -"But why don't you go down to the store and buy something?" he had -queried at once. -</P> - -<P> -Upon being told that there was no money to buy with, David's first -impulse had been to bring several of the gold-pieces the next time he -came; but upon second thoughts David decided that he did not dare. He -was not wishing to be called a thief a second time. It would be better, -he concluded, to bring some food from the house instead. -</P> - -<P> -In his mountain home everything the house afforded in the way of food -had always been freely given to the few strangers that found their way -to the cabin door. So now David had no hesitation in going to Mrs. -Holly's pantry for supplies, upon the occasion of his next visit to Joe -Glaspell's. -</P> - -<P> -Mrs. Holly, coming into the kitchen, found him merging from the pantry -with both hands full of cookies and doughnuts. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, David, what in the world does this mean?" she demanded. -</P> - -<P> -"They're for Joe and Betty," smiled David happily. -</P> - -<P> -"For Joe and—But those doughnuts and cookies don't belong to you. -They're mine!" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, I know they are. I told them you had plenty," nodded David. -</P> - -<P> -"Plenty! What if I have?" remonstrated Mrs. Holly, in growing -indignation. "That doesn't mean that you can take—" Something in -David's face stopped the words half-spoken. -</P> - -<P> -"You don't mean that I CAN'T take them to Joe and Betty, do you? Why, -Mrs. Holly, they're hungry! Joe and Betty are. They don't have half -enough to eat. Betty said so. And we've got more than we want. There's -food left on the table every day. Why, if YOU were hungry, wouldn't you -want somebody to bring—" -</P> - -<P> -But Mrs. Holly stopped him with a despairing gesture. -</P> - -<P> -"There, there, never mind. Run along. Of course you can take them. -I'm—I'm GLAD to have you," she finished, in a desperate attempt to -drive from David's face that look of shocked incredulity with which he -was still regarding her. -</P> - -<P> -Never again did Mrs. Holly attempt to thwart David's generosity to the -Glaspells; but she did try to regulate it. She saw to it that -thereafter, upon his visits to the house, he took only certain things -and a certain amount, and invariably things of her own choosing. -</P> - -<P> -But not always toward the Glaspell shanty did David turn his steps. -Very frequently it was in quite another direction. He had been at the -Holly farmhouse three weeks when he found his Lady of the Roses. -</P> - -<P> -He had passed quite through the village that day, and had come to a -road that was new to him. It was a beautiful road, smooth, white, and -firm. Two huge granite posts topped with flaming nasturtiums marked the -point where it turned off from the main highway. Beyond these, as David -soon found, it ran between wide-spreading lawns and flowering shrubs, -leading up the gentle slope of a hill. Where it led to, David did not -know, but he proceeded unhesitatingly to try to find out. For some time -he climbed the slope in silence, his violin, mute, under his arm; but -the white road still lay in tantalizing mystery before him when a -by-path offered the greater temptation, and lured him to explore its -cool shadowy depths instead. -</P> - -<P> -Had David but known it, he was at Sunny-crest, Hinsdale's one "show -place," the country home of its one really rich resident, Miss Barbara -Holbrook. Had he also but known it, Miss Holbrook was not celebrated -for her graciousness to any visitors, certainly not to those who -ventured to approach her otherwise than by a conventional ring at her -front doorbell. But David did not know all this; and he therefore very -happily followed the shady path until he came to the Wonder at the end -of it. -</P> - -<P> -The Wonder, in Hinsdale parlance, was only Miss Holbrook's garden, but -in David's eyes it was fairyland come true. For one whole minute he -could only stand like a very ordinary little boy and stare. At the end -of the minute he became himself once more; and being himself, he -expressed his delight at once in the only way he knew how to do—by -raising his violin and beginning to play. -</P> - -<P> -He had meant to tell of the limpid pool and of the arch of the bridge -it reflected; of the terraced lawns and marble steps, and of the -gleaming white of the sculptured nymphs and fauns; of the splashes of -glorious crimson, yellow, blush-pink, and snowy white against the -green, where the roses rioted in luxurious bloom. He had meant, also, -to tell of the Queen Rose of them all—the beauteous lady with hair -like the gold of sunrise, and a gown like the shimmer of the moon on -water—of all this he had meant to tell; but he had scarcely begun to -tell it at all when the Beauteous Lady of the Roses sprang to her feet -and became so very much like an angry young woman who is seriously -displeased that David could only lower his violin in dismay. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, boy, what does this mean?" she demanded. -</P> - -<P> -David sighed a little impatiently as he came forward into the sunlight. -</P> - -<P> -"But I was just telling you," he remonstrated, "and you would not let -me finish." -</P> - -<P> -"Telling me!" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, with my violin. COULDn't you understand?" appealed the boy -wistfully. "You looked as if you could!" -</P> - -<P> -"Looked as if I could!" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. Joe understood, you see, and I was surprised when HE did. But I -was just sure you could—with all this to look at." -</P> - -<P> -The lady frowned. Half-unconsciously she glanced about her as if -contemplating flight. Then she turned back to the boy. -</P> - -<P> -"But how came you here? Who are you?" she cried. -</P> - -<P> -"I'm David. I walked here through the little path back there. I didn't -know where it went to, but I'm so glad now I found out!" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, are you!" murmured the lady, with slightly uplifted brows. -</P> - -<P> -She was about to tell him very coldly that now that he had found his -way there he might occupy himself in finding it home again, when the -boy interposed rapturously, his eyes sweeping the scene before him:— -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. I didn't suppose, anywhere, down here, there was a place one half -so beautiful!" -</P> - -<P> -An odd feeling of uncanniness sent a swift exclamation to the lady's -lips. -</P> - -<P> -"'Down here'! What do you mean by that? You speak as if you came -from—above," she almost laughed. -</P> - -<P> -"I did," returned David simply. "But even up there I never found -anything quite like this,"—with a sweep of his hands,—"nor like you, -O Lady of the Roses," he finished with an admiration that was as open -as it was ardent. -</P> - -<P> -This time the lady laughed outright. She even blushed a little. -</P> - -<P> -"Very prettily put, Sir Flatterer" she retorted; "but when you are -older, young man, you won't make your compliments quite so broad. I am -no Lady of the Roses. I am Miss Holbrook; and—and I am not in the -habit of receiving gentlemen callers who are uninvited -and—unannounced," she concluded, a little sharply. -</P> - -<P> -Pointless the shaft fell at David's feet. He had turned again to the -beauties about him, and at that moment he spied the sundial—something -he had never seen before. -</P> - -<P> -"What is it?" he cried eagerly, hurrying forward. "It isn't exactly -pretty, and yet it looks as if 't were meant for—something." -</P> - -<P> -"It is. It is a sundial. It marks the time by the sun." -</P> - -<P> -Even as she spoke, Miss Holbrook wondered why she answered the question -at all; why she did not send this small piece of nonchalant -impertinence about his business, as he so richly deserved. The next -instant she found herself staring at the boy in amazement. With -unmistakable ease, and with the trained accent of the scholar, he was -reading aloud the Latin inscription on the dial: "'Horas non numero -nisi serenas,' 'I count—no—hours but—unclouded ones,'" he translated -then, slowly, though with confidence. "That's pretty; but what does it -mean—about 'counting'?" -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook rose to her feet. -</P> - -<P> -"For Heaven's sake, boy, who, and what are you?" she demanded. "Can YOU -read Latin?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, of course! Can't you?" With a disdainful gesture Miss Holbrook -swept this aside. -</P> - -<P> -"Boy, who are you?" she demanded again imperatively. -</P> - -<P> -"I'm David. I told you." -</P> - -<P> -"But David who? Where do you live?" -</P> - -<P> -The boy's face clouded. -</P> - -<P> -"I'm David—just David. I live at Farmer Holly's now; but I did live on -the mountain with—father, you know." -</P> - -<P> -A great light of understanding broke over Miss Holbrook's face. She -dropped back into her seat. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, I remember," she murmured. "You're the little—er—boy whom he -took. I have heard the story. So THAT is who you are," she added, the -old look of aversion coming back to her eyes. She had almost said "the -little tramp boy"—but she had stopped in time. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. And now what do they mean, please,—those words,—'I count no -hours but unclouded ones'?" -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook stirred in her seat and frowned. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, it means what it says, of course, boy. A sundial counts its hours -by the shadow the sun throws, and when there is no sun there is no -shadow; hence it's only the sunny hours that are counted by the dial," -she explained a little fretfully. -</P> - -<P> -David's face radiated delight. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, but I like that!" he exclaimed. -</P> - -<P> -"You like it!" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. I should like to be one myself, you know." -</P> - -<P> -"Well, really! And how, pray?" In spite of herself a faint gleam of -interest came into Miss Holbrook's eyes. -</P> - -<P> -David laughed and dropped himself easily to the ground at her feet. He -was holding his violin on his knees now. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, it would be such fun," he chuckled, "to just forget all about the -hours when the sun didn't shine, and remember only the nice, pleasant -ones. Now for me, there wouldn't be any hours, really, until after four -o'clock, except little specks of minutes that I'd get in between when I -DID see something interesting." -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook stared frankly. -</P> - -<P> -"What an extraordinary boy you are, to be sure," she murmured. "And -what, may I ask, is it that you do every day until four o'clock, that -you wish to forget?" -</P> - -<P> -David sighed. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, there are lots of things. I hoed potatoes and corn, first, but -they're too big now, mostly; and I pulled up weeds, too, till they were -gone. I've been picking up stones, lately, and clearing up the yard. -Then, of course, there's always the woodbox to fill, and the eggs to -hunt, besides the chickens to feed,—though I don't mind THEM so much; -but I do the other things, 'specially the weeds. They were so much -prettier than the things I had to let grow, 'most always." -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook laughed. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, they were; and really" persisted the boy, in answer to the -merriment in her eyes; "now wouldn't it be nice to be like the sundial, -and forget everything the sun didn't shine on? Would n't you like it? -Isn't there anything YOU want to forget?" -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook sobered instantly. The change in her face was so very -marked, indeed, that involuntarily David looked about for something -that might have cast upon it so great a shadow. For a long minute she -did not speak; then very slowly, very bitterly, she said aloud—yet as -if to herself:— -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. If I had my way I'd forget them every one—these hours; every -single one!" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, Lady of the Roses!" expostulated David in a voice quivering with -shocked dismay. "You don't mean—you can't mean that you don't have -ANY—sun!" -</P> - -<P> -"I mean just that," bowed Miss Holbrook wearily, her eyes on the somber -shadows of the pool; "just that!" -</P> - -<P> -David sat stunned, confounded. Across the marble steps and the terraces -the shadows lengthened, and David watched them as the sun dipped behind -the tree-tops. They seemed to make more vivid the chill and the gloom -of the lady's words—more real the day that had no sun. After a time -the boy picked up his violin and began to play, softly, and at first -with evident hesitation. Even when his touch became more confident, -there was still in the music a questioning appeal that seemed to find -no answer—an appeal that even the player himself could not have -explained. -</P> - -<P> -For long minutes the young woman and the boy sat thus in the twilight. -Then suddenly the woman got to her feet. -</P> - -<P> -"Come, come, boy, what can I be thinking of?" she cried sharply. "I -must go in and you must go home. Good-night." And she swept across the -grass to the path that led toward the house. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap11"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER XI -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -JACK AND JILL -</H3> - -<P> -David was tempted to go for a second visit to his Lady of the Roses, -but something he could not define held him back. The lady was in his -mind almost constantly, however; and very vivid to him was the picture -of the garden, though always it was as he had seen it last with the -hush and shadow of twilight, and with the lady's face gloomily turned -toward the sunless pool. David could not forget that for her there were -no hours to count; she had said it herself. He could not understand how -this could be so; and the thought filled him with vague unrest and pain. -</P> - -<P> -Perhaps it was this restlessness that drove David to explore even more -persistently the village itself, sending him into new streets in search -of something strange and interesting. One day the sound of shouts and -laughter drew him to an open lot back of the church where some boys -were at play. -</P> - -<P> -David still knew very little of boys. In his mountain home he had never -had them for playmates, and he had not seen much of them when he went -with his father to the mountain village for supplies. There had been, -it is true, the boy who frequently brought milk and eggs to the cabin; -but he had been very quiet and shy, appearing always afraid and anxious -to get away, as if he had been told not to stay. More recently, since -David had been at the Holly farmhouse, his experience with boys had -been even less satisfying. The boys—with the exception of blind -Joe—had very clearly let it be understood that they had little use for -a youth who could find nothing better to do than to tramp through the -woods and the streets with a fiddle under his arm. -</P> - -<P> -To-day, however, there came a change. Perhaps they were more used to -him; or perhaps they had decided suddenly that it might be good fun to -satisfy their curiosity, anyway, regardless of consequences. Whatever -it was, the lads hailed his appearance with wild shouts of glee. -</P> - -<P> -"Golly, boys, look! Here's the fiddlin' kid," yelled one; and the -others joined in the "Hurrah!" he gave. -</P> - -<P> -David smiled delightedly; once more he had found some one who wanted -him—and it was so nice to be wanted! Truth to tell, David had felt not -a little hurt at the persistent avoidance of all those boys and girls -of his own age. -</P> - -<P> -"How—how do you do?" he said diffidently, but still with that beaming -smile. -</P> - -<P> -Again the boys shouted gleefully as they hurried forward. Several had -short sticks in their hands. One had an old tomato can with a string -tied to it. The tallest boy had something that he was trying to hold -beneath his coat. -</P> - -<P> -"'H—how do you do?'" they mimicked. "How do you do, fiddlin' kid?" -</P> - -<P> -"I'm David; my name is David." The reminder was graciously given, with -a smile. -</P> - -<P> -"David! David! His name is David," chanted the boys, as if they were a -comic-opera chorus. -</P> - -<P> -David laughed outright. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, sing it again, sing it again!" he crowed. "That sounded fine!" -</P> - -<P> -The boys stared, then sniffed disdainfully, and cast derisive glances -into each other's eyes—it appeared that this little sissy tramp boy -did not even know enough to discover when he was being laughed at! -</P> - -<P> -"David! David! His name is David," they jeered into his face again. -"Come on, tune her up! We want ter dance." -</P> - -<P> -"Play? Of course I'll play," cried David joyously, raising his violin -and testing a string for its tone. -</P> - -<P> -"Here, hold on," yelled the tallest boy. "The Queen o' the Ballet ain't -ready". And he cautiously pulled from beneath his coat a struggling -kitten with a perforated bag tied over its head. -</P> - -<P> -"Sure! We want her in the middle," grinned the boy with the tin can. -"Hold on till I get her train tied to her," he finished, trying to -capture the swishing, fluffy tail of the frightened little cat. -</P> - -<P> -David had begun to play, but he stopped his music with a discordant -stroke of the bow. -</P> - -<P> -"What are you doing? What is the matter with that cat?" he demanded. -</P> - -<P> -"'Matter'!" called a derisive voice. "Sure, nothin' 's the matter with -her. She's the Queen o' the Ballet—she is!" -</P> - -<P> -"What do you mean?" cried David. At that moment the string bit hard -into the captured tail, and the kitten cried out with the pain. "Look -out! You're hurting her," cautioned David sharply. -</P> - -<P> -Only a laugh and a jeering word answered. Then the kitten, with the bag -on its head and the tin can tied to its tail, was let warily to the -ground, the tall boy still holding its back with both hands. -</P> - -<P> -"Ready, now! Come on, play," he ordered; "then we'll set her dancing." -</P> - -<P> -David's eyes flashed. -</P> - -<P> -"I will not play—for that." -</P> - -<P> -The boys stopped laughing suddenly. -</P> - -<P> -"Eh? What?" They could scarcely have been more surprised if the kitten -itself had said the words. -</P> - -<P> -"I say I won't play—I can't play—unless you let that cat go." -</P> - -<P> -"Hoity-toity! Won't ye hear that now?" laughed a mocking voice. "And -what if we say we won't let her go, eh?" -</P> - -<P> -"Then I'll make you," vowed David, aflame with a newborn something that -seemed to have sprung full-grown into being. -</P> - -<P> -"Yow!" hooted the tallest boy, removing both hands from the captive -kitten. -</P> - -<P> -The kitten, released, began to back frantically. The can, dangling at -its heels, rattled and banged and thumped, until the frightened little -creature, crazed with terror, became nothing but a whirling mass of -misery. The boys, formed now into a crowing circle of delight, kept the -kitten within bounds, and flouted David mercilessly. -</P> - -<P> -"Ah, ha!—stop us, will ye? Why don't ye stop us?" they gibed. -</P> - -<P> -For a moment David stood without movement, his eyes staring. The next -instant he turned and ran. The jeers became a chorus of triumphant -shouts then—but not for long. David had only hurried to the woodpile -to lay down his violin. He came back then, on the run—and before the -tallest boy could catch his breath he was felled by a stinging blow on -the jaw. -</P> - -<P> -Over by the church a small girl, red-haired and red-eyed, clambered -hastily over the fence behind which for long minutes she had been -crying and wringing her hands. -</P> - -<P> -"He'll be killed, he'll be killed," she moaned. "And it's my fault, -'cause it's my kitty—it's my kitty," she sobbed, straining her eyes to -catch a glimpse of the kitten's protector in the squirming mass of legs -and arms. -</P> - -<P> -The kitten, unheeded now by the boys, was pursuing its backward whirl -to destruction some distance away, and very soon the little girl -discovered her. With a bound and a choking cry she reached the kitten, -removed the bag and unbound the cruel string. Then, sitting on the -ground, a safe distance away, she soothed the palpitating little bunch -of gray fur, and watched with fearful eyes the fight. -</P> - -<P> -And what a fight it was! There was no question, of course, as to its -final outcome, with six against one; but meanwhile the one was giving -the six the surprise of their lives in the shape of well-dealt blows -and skillful twists and turns that caused their own strength and weight -to react upon themselves in a most astonishing fashion. The one -unmistakably was getting the worst of it, however, when the little -girl, after a hurried dash to the street, brought back with her to the -rescue a tall, smooth-shaven young man whom she had hailed from afar as -"Jack." -</P> - -<P> -Jack put a stop to things at once. With vigorous jerks and pulls he -unsnarled the writhing mass, boy by boy, each one of whom, upon -catching sight of his face, slunk hurriedly away, as if glad to escape -so lightly. There was left finally upon the ground only David alone. -But when David did at last appear, the little girl burst into tears -anew. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, Jack, he's killed—I know he's killed," she wailed. "And he was so -nice and—and pretty. And now—look at him! Ain't he a sight?" -</P> - -<P> -David was not killed, but he was—a sight. His blouse was torn, his tie -was gone, and his face and hands were covered with dirt and blood. -Above one eye was an ugly-looking lump, and below the other was a red -bruise. Somewhat dazedly he responded to the man's helpful hand, pulled -himself upright, and looked about him. He did not see the little girl -behind him. -</P> - -<P> -"Where's the cat?" he asked anxiously. -</P> - -<P> -The unexpected happened then. With a sobbing cry the little girl flung -herself upon him, cat and all. -</P> - -<P> -"Here, right here," she choked. "And it was you who saved her—my -Juliette! And I'll love you, love you, love you always for it!" -</P> - -<P> -"There, there, Jill," interposed the man a little hurriedly. "Suppose -we first show our gratitude by seeing if we can't do something to make -our young warrior here more comfortable." And he began to brush off -with his handkerchief some of the accumulated dirt. -</P> - -<P> -"Why can't we take him home, Jack, and clean him up 'fore other folks -see him?" suggested the girl. -</P> - -<P> -The boy turned quickly. -</P> - -<P> -"Did you call him 'Jack'?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes." -</P> - -<P> -"And he called you, Jill'?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes." -</P> - -<P> -"The real 'Jack and Jill' that 'went up the hill'?" The man and the -girl laughed; but the girl shook her head as she answered,— -</P> - -<P> -"Not really—though we do go up a hill, all right, every day. But those -aren't even our own names. We just call each other that for fun. Don't -YOU ever call things—for fun?" -</P> - -<P> -David's face lighted up in spite of the dirt, the lump, and the bruise. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, do you do that?" he breathed. "Say, I just know I'd like to play -to you! You'd understand!" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, and he plays, too," explained the little girl, turning to the -man rapturously. "On a fiddle, you know, like you." -</P> - -<P> -She had not finished her sentence before David was away, hurrying a -little unsteadily across the lot for his violin. When he came back the -man was looking at him with an anxious frown. -</P> - -<P> -"Suppose you come home with us, boy," he said. "It isn't far—through -the hill pasture, 'cross lots,—and we'll look you over a bit. That -lump over your eye needs attention." -</P> - -<P> -"Thank you," beamed David. "I'd like to go, and—I'm glad you want me!" -He spoke to the man, but he looked at the little red-headed girl, who -still held the gray kitten in her arms. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap12"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER XII -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -ANSWERS THAT DID NOT ANSWER -</H3> - -<P> -"Jack and Jill," it appeared, were a brother and sister who lived in a -tiny house on a hill directly across the creek from Sunnycrest. Beyond -this David learned little until after bumps and bruises and dirt had -been carefully attended to. He had then, too, some questions to answer -concerning himself. -</P> - -<P> -"And now, if you please," began the man smilingly, as he surveyed the -boy with an eye that could see no further service to be rendered, "do -you mind telling me who you are, and how you came to be the center of -attraction for the blows and cuffs of six boys?" -</P> - -<P> -"I'm David, and I wanted the cat," returned the boy simply. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, that's direct and to the point, to say the least," laughed the -man. "Evidently, however, you're in the habit of being that. But, -David, there were six of them,—those boys,—and some of them were -larger than you." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, sir." -</P> - -<P> -"And they were so bad and cruel," chimed in the little girl. -</P> - -<P> -The man hesitated, then questioned slowly. -</P> - -<P> -"And may I ask you where you—er—learned to—fight like that?" -</P> - -<P> -"I used to box with father. He said I must first be well and strong. He -taught me jiujitsu, too, a little; but I couldn't make it work very -well—with so many." -</P> - -<P> -"I should say not," adjudged the man grimly. "But you gave them a -surprise or two, I'll warrant," he added, his eyes on the cause of the -trouble, now curled in a little gray bunch of content on the window -sill. "But I don't know yet who you are. Who is your father? Where does -he live?" -</P> - -<P> -David shook his head. As was always the case when his father was -mentioned, his face grew wistful and his eyes dreamy. -</P> - -<P> -"He doesn't live here anywhere," murmured the boy. "In the far country -he is waiting for me to come to him and tell him of the beautiful world -I have found, you know." -</P> - -<P> -"Eh? What?" stammered the man, not knowing whether to believe his eyes, -or his ears. This boy who fought like a demon and talked like a saint, -and who, though battered and bruised, prattled of the "beautiful world" -he had found, was most disconcerting. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, Jack, don't you know?" whispered the little girl agitatedly. -"He's the boy at Mr. Holly's that they took." Then, still more softly: -"He's the little tramp boy. His father died in the barn." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh," said the man, his face clearing, and his eyes showing a quick -sympathy. "You're the boy at the Holly farmhouse, are you?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, sir." -</P> - -<P> -"And he plays the fiddle everywhere," volunteered the little girl, with -ardent admiration. "If you hadn't been shut up sick just now, you'd -have heard him yourself. He plays everywhere—everywhere he goes." -</P> - -<P> -"Is that so?" murmured Jack politely, shuddering a little at what he -fancied would come from a violin played by a boy like the one before -him. (Jack could play the violin himself a little—enough to know it -some, and love it more.) "Hm-m; well, and what else do you do?" -</P> - -<P> -"Nothing, except to go for walks and read." -</P> - -<P> -"Nothing!—a big boy like you—and on Simeon Holly's farm?" Voice and -manner showed that Jack was not unacquainted with Simeon Holly and his -methods and opinions. -</P> - -<P> -David laughed gleefully. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, of course, REALLY I do lots of things, only I don't count those -any more. 'Horas non numero nisi serenas,' you knew," he quoted -pleasantly, smiling into the man's astonished eyes. -</P> - -<P> -"Jack, what was that—what he said?" whispered the little girl. "It -sounded foreign. IS he foreign?" -</P> - -<P> -"You've got me, Jill," retorted the man, with a laughing grimace. -"Heaven only knows what he is—I don't. What he SAID was Latin; I do -happen to know that. Still"—he turned to the boy ironically—"of -course you know the translation of that," he said. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes. 'I count no hours but unclouded ones'—and I liked that. 'T -was on a sundial, you know; and I'M going to be a sundial, and not -count, the hours I don't like—while I'm pulling up weeds, and hoeing -potatoes, and picking up stones, and all that. Don't you see?" -</P> - -<P> -For a moment the man stared dumbly. Then he threw back his head and -laughed. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, by George!" he muttered. "By George!" And he laughed again. -Then: "And did your father teach you that, too?" he asked. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, no,—well, he taught me Latin, and so of course I could read it -when I found it. But those 'special words I got off the sundial where -my Lady of the Roses lives." -</P> - -<P> -"Your—Lady of the Roses! And who is she?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, don't you know? You live right in sight of her house," cried -David, pointing to the towers of Sunnycrest that showed above the -trees. "It's over there she lives. I know those towers now, and I look -for them wherever I go. I love them. It makes me see all over again the -roses—and her." -</P> - -<P> -"You mean—Miss Holbrook?" -</P> - -<P> -The voice was so different from the genial tones that he had heard -before that David looked up in surprise. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes; she said that was her name," he answered, wondering at the -indefinable change that had come to the man's face. -</P> - -<P> -There was a moment's pause, then the man rose to his feet. -</P> - -<P> -"How's your head? Does it ache?" he asked briskly. -</P> - -<P> -"Not much—some. I—I think I'll be going," replied David, a little -awkwardly, reaching for his violin, and unconsciously showing by his -manner the sudden chill in the atmosphere. -</P> - -<P> -The little girl spoke then. She overwhelmed him again with thanks, and -pointed to the contented kitten on the window sill. True, she did not -tell him this time that she would love, love, love him always; but she -beamed upon him gratefully and she urged him to come soon again, and -often. -</P> - -<P> -David bowed himself off, with many a backward wave of the hand, and -many a promise to come again. Not until he had quite reached the bottom -of the hill did he remember that the man, "Jack," had said almost -nothing at the last. As David recollected him, indeed, he had last been -seen standing beside one of the veranda posts, with gloomy eyes fixed -on the towers of Sunnycrest that showed red-gold above the tree-tops in -the last rays of the setting sun. -</P> - -<P> -It was a bad half-hour that David spent at the Holly farmhouse in -explanation of his torn blouse and bruised face. Farmer Holly did not -approve of fights, and he said so, very sternly indeed. Even Mrs. -Holly, who was usually so kind to him, let David understand that he was -in deep disgrace, though she was very tender to his wounds. -</P> - -<P> -David did venture to ask her, however, before he went upstairs to bed:— -</P> - -<P> -"Mrs. Holly, who are those people—Jack and Jill—that were so good to -me this afternoon?" -</P> - -<P> -"They are John Gurnsey and his sister, Julia; but the whole town knows -them by the names they long ago gave themselves, 'Jack' and 'Jill.'" -</P> - -<P> -"And do they live all alone in the little house?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, except for the Widow Glaspell, who comes in several times a week, -I believe, to cook and wash and sweep. They aren't very happy, I'm -afraid, David, and I'm glad you could rescue the little girl's kitten -for her—but you mustn't fight. No good can come of fighting!" -</P> - -<P> -"I got the cat—by fighting." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, yes, I know; but—" She did not finish her sentence, and David -was only waiting for a pause to ask another question. -</P> - -<P> -"Why aren't they happy, Mrs. Holly?" -</P> - -<P> -"Tut, tut, David, it's a long story, and you wouldn't understand it if -I told it. It's only that they're all alone in the world, and Jack -Gurnsey isn't well. He must be thirty years old now. He had bright -hopes not so long ago studying law, or something of the sort, in the -city. Then his father died, and his mother, and he lost his health. -Something ails his lungs, and the doctors sent him here to be out of -doors. He even sleeps out of doors, they say. Anyway, he's here, and -he's making a home for his sister; but, of course, with his hopes and -ambitions—But there, David, you don't understand, of course!" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, I do," breathed David, his eyes pensively turned toward a -shadowy corner. "He found his work out in the world, and then he had to -stop and couldn't do it. Poor Mr. Jack!" -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap13"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER XIII -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -A SURPRISE FOR MR. JACK -</H3> - -<P> -Life at the Holly farmhouse was not what it had been. The coming of -David had introduced new elements that promised complications. Not -because he was another mouth to feed—Simeon Holly was not worrying -about that part any longer. Crops showed good promise, and all ready in -the bank even now was the necessary money to cover the dreaded note, -due the last of August. The complicating elements in regard to David -were of quite another nature. -</P> - -<P> -To Simeon Holly the boy was a riddle to be sternly solved. To Ellen -Holly he was an everpresent reminder of the little boy of long ago, and -as such was to be loved and trained into a semblance of what that boy -might have become. To Perry Larson, David was the "derndest -checkerboard of sense an' nonsense goin'"—a game over which to chuckle. -</P> - -<P> -At the Holly farmhouse they could not understand a boy who would leave -a supper for a sunset, or who preferred a book to a toy pistol—as -Perry Larson found out was the case on the Fourth of July; who picked -flowers, like a girl, for the table, yet who unhesitatingly struck the -first blow in a fight with six antagonists: who would not go fishing -because the fishes would not like it, nor hunting for any sort of wild -thing that had life; who hung entranced for an hour over the "millions -of lovely striped bugs" in a field of early potatoes, and who promptly -and stubbornly refused to sprinkle those same "lovely bugs" with Paris -green when discovered at his worship. All this was most perplexing, to -say the least. -</P> - -<P> -Yet David worked, and worked well, and in most cases he obeyed orders -willingly. He learned much, too, that was interesting and profitable; -nor was he the only one that made strange discoveries during those July -days. The Hollys themselves learned much. They learned that the rose of -sunset and the gold of sunrise were worth looking at; and that the -massing of the thunderheads in the west meant more than just a shower. -They learned, too, that the green of the hilltop and of the -far-reaching meadow was more than grass, and that the purple haze along -the horizon was more than the mountains that lay between them and the -next State. They were beginning to see the world with David's eyes. -</P> - -<P> -There were, too, the long twilights and evenings when David, on the -wings of his violin, would speed away to his mountain home, leaving -behind him a man and a woman who seemed to themselves to be listening -to the voice of a curly-headed, rosy-cheeked lad who once played at -their knees and nestled in their arms when the day was done. And here, -too, the Hollys were learning; though the thing thus learned was hidden -deep in their hearts. -</P> - -<P> -It was not long after David's first visit that the boy went again to -"The House that Jack Built," as the Gurnseys called their tiny home. -(Though in reality it had been Jack's father who had built the house. -Jack and Jill, however, did not always deal with realities.) It was not -a pleasant afternoon. There was a light mist in the air, and David was -without his violin. -</P> - -<P> -"I came to—to inquire for the cat—Juliette," he began, a little -bashfully. "I thought I'd rather do that than read to-day," he -explained to Jill in the doorway. -</P> - -<P> -"Good! I'm so glad! I hoped you'd come," the little girl welcomed him. -"Come in and—and see Juliette," she added hastily, remembering at the -last moment that her brother had not looked with entire favor on her -avowed admiration for this strange little boy. -</P> - -<P> -Juliette, roused from her nap, was at first inclined to resent her -visitor's presence. In five minutes, however, she was purring in his -lap. -</P> - -<P> -The conquest of the kitten once accomplished, David looked about him a -little restlessly. He began to wonder why he had come. He wished he had -gone to see Joe Glaspell instead. He wished that Jill would not sit and -stare at him like that. He wished that she would say -something—anything. But Jill, apparently struck dumb with -embarrassment, was nervously twisting the corner of her apron into a -little knot. David tried to recollect what he had talked about a few -days before, and he wondered why he had so enjoyed himself then. He -wished that something would happen—anything!—and then from an inner -room came the sound of a violin. -</P> - -<P> -David raised his head. -</P> - -<P> -"It's Jack," stammered the little girl—who also had been wishing -something would happen. "He plays, same as you do, on the violin." -</P> - -<P> -"Does he?" beamed David. "But—" He paused, listening, a quick frown on -his face. -</P> - -<P> -Over and over the violin was playing a single phrase—and the -variations in the phrase showed the indecision of the fingers and of -the mind that controlled them. Again and again with irritating -sameness, yet with a still more irritating difference, came the -succession of notes. And then David sprang to his feet, placing -Juliette somewhat unceremoniously on the floor, much to that petted -young autocrat's disgust. -</P> - -<P> -"Here, where is he? Let me show him," cried the boy, and at the note of -command in his voice, Jill involuntarily rose and opened the door to -Jack's den. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, please, Mr. Jack," burst out David, hurrying into the room. "Don't -you see? You don't go at that thing right. If you'll just let me show -you a minute, we'll have it fixed in no time!" -</P> - -<P> -The man with the violin stared, and lowered his bow. A slow red came to -his face. The phrase was peculiarly a difficult one, and beyond him, as -he knew; but that did not make the present intrusion into his privacy -any the more welcome. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, will we, indeed!" he retorted, a little sharply. "Don't trouble -yourself, I beg of you, boy." -</P> - -<P> -"But it isn't a mite of trouble, truly," urged David, with an ardor -that ignored the sarcasm in the other's words. "I WANT to do it." -</P> - -<P> -Despite his annoyance, the man gave a short laugh. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, David, I believe you. And I'll warrant you'd tackle this Brahms -concerto as nonchalantly as you did those six hoodlums with the cat the -other day—and expect to win out, too!" -</P> - -<P> -"But, truly, this is easy, when you know how," laughed the boy. "See!" -</P> - -<P> -To his surprise, the man found himself relinquishing the violin and bow -into the slim, eager hands that reached for them. The next moment he -fell back in amazement. Clear, distinct, yet connected like a string of -rounded pearls fell the troublesome notes from David's bow. "You see," -smiled the boy again, and played the phrase a second time, more slowly, -and with deliberate emphasis at the difficult part. Then, as if in -answer to some irresistible summons within him, he dashed into the next -phrase and, with marvelous technique, played quite through the rippling -cadenza that completed the movement. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, by George!" breathed the man dazedly, as he took the offered -violin. The next moment he had demanded vehemently: "For Heaven's sake, -who ARE you, boy?" -</P> - -<P> -David's face wrinkled in grieved surprise. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, I'm David. Don't you remember? I was here just the other day!" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, yes; but who taught you to play like that?" -</P> - -<P> -"Father." -</P> - -<P> -"'Father'!" The man echoed the word with a gesture of comic despair. -"First Latin, then jiujitsu, and now the violin! Boy, who was your -father?" -</P> - -<P> -David lifted his head and frowned a little. He had been questioned so -often, and so unsympathetically, about his father that he was beginning -to resent it. -</P> - -<P> -"He was daddy—just daddy; and I loved him dearly." -</P> - -<P> -"But what was his name?" -</P> - -<P> -"I don't know. We didn't seem to have a name like—like yours down -here. Anyway, if we did, I didn't know what it was." -</P> - -<P> -"But, David,"—the man was speaking very gently now. He had motioned -the boy to a low seat by his side. The little girl was standing near, -her eyes alight with wondering interest. "He must have had a name, you -know, just the same. Didn't you ever hear any one call him anything? -Think, now." -</P> - -<P> -"No." David said the single word, and turned his eyes away. It had -occurred to him, since he had come to live in the valley, that perhaps -his father did not want to have his name known. He remembered that once -the milk-and-eggs boy had asked what to call him; and his father had -laughed and answered: "I don't see but you'll have to call me 'The Old -Man of the Mountain,' as they do down in the village." That was the -only time David could recollect hearing his father say anything about -his name. At the time David had not thought much about it. But since -then, down here where they appeared to think a name was so important, -he had wondered if possibly his father had not preferred to keep his to -himself. If such were the case, he was glad now that he did not know -this name, so that he might not have to tell all these inquisitive -people who asked so many questions about it. He was glad, too, that -those men had not been able to read his father's name at the end of his -other note that first morning—if his father really did not wish his -name to be known. -</P> - -<P> -"But, David, think. Where you lived, wasn't there ever anybody who -called him by name?" -</P> - -<P> -David shook his head. -</P> - -<P> -"I told you. We were all alone, father and I, in the little house far -up on the mountain." -</P> - -<P> -"And—your mother?" Again David shook his head. -</P> - -<P> -"She is an angel-mother, and angel-mothers don't live in houses, you -know." -</P> - -<P> -There was a moment's pause; then gently the man asked:— -</P> - -<P> -"And you always lived there?" -</P> - -<P> -"Six years, father said." -</P> - -<P> -"And before that?" -</P> - -<P> -"I don't remember." There was a touch of injured reserve in the boy's -voice which the man was quick to perceive. He took the hint at once. -</P> - -<P> -"He must have been a wonderful man—your father!" he exclaimed. -</P> - -<P> -The boy turned, his eyes luminous with feeling. -</P> - -<P> -"He was—he was perfect! But they—down here—don't seem to know—or -care," he choked. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, but that's because they don't understand," soothed the man. "Now, -tell me—you must have practiced a lot to play like that." -</P> - -<P> -"I did—but I liked it." -</P> - -<P> -"And what else did you do? and how did you happen to come—down here?" -</P> - -<P> -Once again David told his story, more fully, perhaps, this time than -ever before, because of the sympathetic ears that were listening. -</P> - -<P> -"But now" he finished wistfully, "it's all, so different, and I'm down -here alone. Daddy went, you know, to the far country; and he can't come -back from there." -</P> - -<P> -"Who told you—that?" -</P> - -<P> -"Daddy himself. He wrote it to me." -</P> - -<P> -"Wrote it to you!" cried the man, sitting suddenly erect. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. It was in his pocket, you see. They—found it." David's voice was -very low, and not quite steady. -</P> - -<P> -"David, may I see—that letter?" -</P> - -<P> -The boy hesitated; then slowly he drew it from his pocket. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, Mr. Jack. I'll let YOU see it." -</P> - -<P> -Reverently, tenderly, but very eagerly the man took the note and read -it through, hoping somewhere to find a name that would help solve the -mystery. With a sigh he handed it back. His eyes were wet. -</P> - -<P> -"Thank you, David. That is a beautiful letter," he said softly. "And I -believe you'll do it some day, too. You'll go to him with your violin -at your chin and the bow drawn across the strings to tell him of the -beautiful world you have found." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, sir," said David simply. Then, with a suddenly radiant smile: -"And NOW I can't help finding it a beautiful world, you know, 'cause I -don't count the hours I don't like." -</P> - -<P> -"You don't what?—oh, I remember," returned Mr. Jack, a quick change -coming to his face. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, the sundial, you know, where my Lady of the Roses lives." -</P> - -<P> -"Jack, what is a sundial?" broke in Jill eagerly. -</P> - -<P> -Jack turned, as if in relief. -</P> - -<P> -"Hullo, girlie, you there?—and so still all this time? Ask David. -He'll tell you what a sundial is. Suppose, anyhow, that you two go out -on the piazza now. I've got—er-some work to do. And the sun itself is -out; see?—through the trees there. It came out just to say -'good-night,' I'm sure. Run along, quick!" And he playfully drove them -from the room. -</P> - -<P> -Alone, he turned and sat down at his desk. His work was before him, but -he did not do it. His eyes were out of the window on the golden tops of -the towers of Sunnycrest. Motionless, he watched them until they turned -gray-white in the twilight. Then he picked up his pencil and began to -write feverishly. He went to the window, however, as David stepped off -the veranda, and called merrily:— -</P> - -<P> -"Remember, boy, that when there's another note that baffles me, I'm -going to send for you." -</P> - -<P> -"He's coming anyhow. I asked him," announced Jill. -</P> - -<P> - And David laughed back a happy "Of course I am!"<BR> -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap14"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER XIV -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -THE TOWER WINDOW -</H3> - -<P> -It is not to be expected that when one's thoughts lead so persistently -to a certain place, one's feet will not follow, if they can; and -David's could—so he went to seek his Lady of the Roses. -</P> - -<P> -At four o'clock one afternoon, with his violin under his arm, he -traveled the firm white road until he came to the shadowed path that -led to the garden. He had decided that he would go exactly as he went -before. He expected, in consequence, to find his Lady exactly as he had -found her before, sitting reading under the roses. Great was his -surprise and disappointment, therefore, to find the garden with no one -in it. -</P> - -<P> -He had told himself that it was the sundial, the roses, the shimmering -pool, the garden itself that he wanted to see; but he knew now that it -was the lady—his Lady of the Roses. He did not even care to play, -though all around him was the beauty that had at first so charmed his -eye. Very slowly he walked across the sunlit, empty space, and entered -the path that led to the house. In his mind was no definite plan; yet -he walked on and on, until he came to the wide lawns surrounding the -house itself. He stopped then, entranced. -</P> - -<P> -Stone upon stone the majestic pile raised itself until it was etched, -clean-cut, against the deep blue of the sky. The towers—his -towers—brought to David's lips a cry of delight. They were even more -enchanting here than when seen from afar over the tree-tops, and David -gazed up at them in awed wonder. From somewhere came the sound of -music—a curious sort of music that David had never heard before. He -listened intently, trying to place it; then slowly he crossed the lawn, -ascended the imposing stone steps, and softly opened one of the narrow -screen doors before the wide-open French window. -</P> - -<P> -Once within the room David drew a long breath of ecstasy. Beneath his -feet he felt the velvet softness of the green moss of the woods. Above -his head he saw a sky-like canopy of blue carrying fleecy clouds on -which floated little pink-and-white children with wings, just as David -himself had so often wished that he could float. On all sides silken -hangings, like the green of swaying vines, half-hid other hangings of -feathery, snowflake lace. Everywhere mirrored walls caught the light -and reflected the potted ferns and palms so that David looked down -endless vistas of loveliness that seemed for all the world like the -long sunflecked aisles beneath the tall pines of his mountain home. -</P> - -<P> -The music that David had heard at first had long since stopped; but -David had not noticed that. He stood now in the center of the room, -awed, and trembling, but enraptured. Then from somewhere came a -voice—a voice so cold that it sounded as if it had swept across a -field of ice. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, boy, when you have quite finished your inspection, perhaps you -will tell me to what I am indebted for THIS visit," it said. -</P> - -<P> -David turned abruptly. -</P> - -<P> -"O Lady of the Roses, why didn't you tell me it was like this—in -here?" he breathed. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, really," murmured the lady in the doorway, stiffly, "it had not -occurred to me that that was hardly—necessary." -</P> - -<P> -"But it was!—don't you see? This is new, all new. I never saw anything -like it before; and I do so love new things. It gives me something new -to play; don't you understand?" -</P> - -<P> -"New—to play?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes—on my violin," explained David, a little breathlessly, softly -testing his violin. "There's always something new in this, you know," -he hurried on, as he tightened one of the strings, "when there's -anything new outside. Now, listen! You see I don't know myself just how -it's going to sound, and I'm always so anxious to find out." And with a -joyously rapt face he began to play. -</P> - -<P> -"But, see here, boy,—you mustn't! You—" The words died on her lips; -and, to her unbounded amazement, Miss Barbara Holbrook, who had -intended peremptorily to send this persistent little tramp boy about -his business, found herself listening to a melody so compelling in its -sonorous beauty that she was left almost speechless at its close. It -was the boy who spoke. -</P> - -<P> -"There, I told you my violin would know what to say!" -</P> - -<P> -"'What to say'!—well, that's more than I do" laughed Miss Holbrook, a -little hysterically. "Boy, come here and tell me who you are." And she -led the way to a low divan that stood near a harp at the far end of the -room. -</P> - -<P> -It was the same story, told as David had told it to Jack and Jill a few -days before, only this time David's eyes were roving admiringly all -about the room, resting oftenest on the harp so near him. -</P> - -<P> -"Did that make the music that I heard?" he asked eagerly, as soon as -Miss Holbrook's questions gave him opportunity. "It's got strings." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. I was playing when you came in. I saw you enter the window. -Really, David, are you in the habit of walking into people's houses -like this? It is most disconcerting—to their owners." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes—no—well, sometimes." David's eyes were still on the harp. "Lady -of the Roses, won't you please play again—on that?" -</P> - -<P> -"David, you are incorrigible! Why did you come into my house like this?" -</P> - -<P> -"The music said 'come'; and the towers, too. You see, I KNOW the -towers." -</P> - -<P> -"You KNOW them!" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. I can see them from so many places, and I always watch for them. -They show best of anywhere, though, from Jack and Jill's. And now won't -you play?" -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook had almost risen to her feet when she turned abruptly. -</P> - -<P> -"From—where?" she asked. -</P> - -<P> -"From Jack and Jill's—the House that Jack Built, you know." -</P> - -<P> -"You mean—Mr. John Gurnsey's house?" A deeper color had come into Miss -Holbrook's cheeks. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. Over there at the top of the little hill across the brook, you -know. You can't see THEIR house from here, but from over there we can -see the towers finely, and the little window—Oh, Lady of the Roses," -he broke off excitedly, at the new thought that had come to him, "if -we, now, were in that little window, we COULD see their house. Let's go -up. Can't we?" -</P> - -<P> -Explicit as this was, Miss Holbrook evidently did not hear, or at least -did not understand, this request. She settled back on the divan, -indeed, almost determinedly. Her cheeks were very red now. -</P> - -<P> -"And do you know—this Mr. Jack?" she asked lightly. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, and Jill, too. Don't you? I like them, too. DO you know them?" -</P> - -<P> -Again Miss Holbrook ignored the question put to her. "And did you walk -into their house, unannounced and uninvited, like this?" she queried. -</P> - -<P> -"No. He asked me. You see he wanted to get off some of the dirt and -blood before other folks saw me." -</P> - -<P> - "The dirt and—and—why, David, what do you mean? What was<BR> -it—an accident?" -</P> - -<P> -David frowned and reflected a moment. -</P> - -<P> -"No. I did it on purpose. I HAD to, you see," he finally elucidated. -"But there were six of them, and I got the worst of it." -</P> - -<P> -"David!" Miss Holbrook's voice was horrified. "You don't mean—a fight!" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes'm. I wanted the cat—and I got it, but I wouldn't have if Mr. Jack -hadn't come to help me." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh! So Mr. Jack—fought, too?" -</P> - -<P> -"Well, he pulled the others off, and of course that helped me," -explained David truthfully. "And then he took me home—he and Jill." -</P> - -<P> -"Jill! Was she in it?" -</P> - -<P> -"No, only her cat. They had tied a bag over its head and a tin can to -its tail, and of course I couldn't let them do that. They were hurting -her. And now, Lady of the Roses, won't you please play?" -</P> - -<P> -For a moment Miss Holbrook did not speak. She was gazing at David with -an odd look in her eyes. At last she drew a long sigh. -</P> - -<P> -"David, you are the—the LIMIT!" she breathed, as she rose and seated -herself at the harp. -</P> - -<P> -David was manifestly delighted with her playing, and begged for more -when she had finished; but Miss Holbrook shook her head. She seemed to -have grown suddenly restless, and she moved about the room calling -David's attention to something new each moment. Then, very abruptly, -she suggested that they go upstairs. From room to room she hurried the -boy, scarcely listening to his ardent comments, or answering his still -more ardent questions. Not until they reached the highest tower room, -indeed, did she sink wearily into a chair, and seem for a moment at -rest. -</P> - -<P> -David looked about him in surprise. Even his untrained eye could see -that he had entered a different world. There were no sumptuous rugs, no -silken hangings; no mirrors, no snowflake curtains. There were books, -to be sure, but besides those there were only a plain low table, a -work-basket, and three or four wooden-seated though comfortable chairs. -With increasing wonder he looked into Miss Holbrook's eyes. -</P> - -<P> -"Is it here that you stay—all day?" he asked diffidently. -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook's face turned a vivid scarlet. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, David, what a question! Of course not! Why should you think I -did?" -</P> - -<P> -"Nothing; only I've been wondering all the time I've been here how you -could—with all those beautiful things around you downstairs—say what -you did." -</P> - -<P> -"Say what?—when?" -</P> - -<P> -"That other day in the garden—about ALL your hours being cloudy ones. -So I didn't know to-day but what you LIVED up here, same as Mrs. Holly -doesn't use her best rooms; and that was why your hours were all cloudy -ones." -</P> - -<P> -With a sudden movement Miss Holbrook rose to her feet. -</P> - -<P> -"Nonsense, David! You shouldn't always remember everything that people -say to you. Come, you haven't seen one of the views from the windows -yet. We are in the larger tower, you know. You can see Hinsdale village -on this side, and there's a fine view of the mountains over there. Oh -yes, and from the other side there's your friend's house—Mr. Jack's. -By the way, how is Mr. Jack these days?" Miss Holbrook stooped as she -asked the question and picked up a bit of thread from the rug. -</P> - -<P> -David ran at once to the window that looked toward the House that Jack -Built. From the tower the little house appeared to be smaller than -ever. It was in the shadow, too, and looked strangely alone and -forlorn. Unconsciously, as he gazed at it, David compared it with the -magnificence he had just seen. His voice choked as he answered. -</P> - -<P> -"He isn't well, Lady of the Roses, and he's unhappy. He's awfully -unhappy." -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook's slender figure came up with a jerk. -</P> - -<P> -"What do you mean, boy? How do you know he's unhappy? Has he said so?" -</P> - -<P> -"No; but Mrs. Holly told me about him. He's sick; and he'd just found -his work to do out in the world when he had to stop and come home. -But—oh, quick, there he is! See?" -</P> - -<P> -Instead of coming nearer Miss Holbrook fell back to the center of the -room; but her eyes were still turned toward the little house. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, I see," she murmured. The next instant she had snatched a -handkerchief from David's outstretched hand. "No—no—I wouldn't wave," -she remonstrated hurriedly. "Come—come downstairs with me." -</P> - -<P> -"But I thought—I was sure he was looking this way," asserted David, -turning reluctantly from the window. "And if he HAD seen me wave to -him, he'd have been so glad; now, wouldn't he?" -</P> - -<P> -There was no answer. The Lady of the Roses did not apparently hear. She -had gone on down the stairway. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap15"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER XV -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -SECRETS -</H3> - -<P> -David had so much to tell Jack and Jill that he went to see them the -very next day after his second visit to Sunnycrest. He carried his -violin with him. He found, however, only Jill at home. She was sitting -on the veranda steps. -</P> - -<P> -There was not so much embarrassment between them this time, perhaps -because they were in the freedom of the wide out-of-doors, and David -felt more at ease. He was plainly disappointed, however, that Mr. Jack -was not there. -</P> - -<P> -"But I wanted to see him! I wanted to see him 'specially," he lamented. -</P> - -<P> -"You'd better stay, then. He'll be home by and by," comforted Jill. -"He's gone pot-boiling." -</P> - -<P> -"Pot-boiling! What's that?" -</P> - -<P> -Jill chuckled. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, you see, really it's this way: he sells something to boil in -other people's pots so he can have something to boil in ours, he says. -It's stuff from the garden, you know. We raise it to sell. Poor -Jack—and he does hate it so!" -</P> - -<P> -David nodded sympathetically. -</P> - -<P> -"I know—and it must be awful, just hoeing and weeding all the time." -</P> - -<P> -"Still, of course he knows he's got to do it, because it's out of -doors, and he just has to be out of doors all he can," rejoined the -girl. "He's sick, you know, and sometimes he's so unhappy! He doesn't -say much. Jack never says much—only with his face. But I know, and -it—it just makes me want to cry." -</P> - -<P> -At David's dismayed exclamation Jill jumped to her feet. It owned to -her suddenly that she was telling this unknown boy altogether too many -of the family secrets. She proposed at once a race to the foot of the -hill; and then, to drive David's mind still farther away from the -subject under recent consideration, she deliberately lost, and -proclaimed him the victor. -</P> - -<P> -Very soon, however, there arose new complications in the shape of a -little gate that led to a path which, in its turn, led to a footbridge -across the narrow span of the little stream. -</P> - -<P> -Above the trees on the other side peeped the top of Sunnycrest's -highest tower. -</P> - -<P> -"To the Lady of the Roses!" cried David eagerly. "I know it goes there. -Come, let's see!" -</P> - -<P> -The little girl shook her head. -</P> - -<P> -"I can't." -</P> - -<P> -"Why not?" -</P> - -<P> -"Jack won't let me." -</P> - -<P> -"But it goes to a beautiful place; I was there yesterday," argued -David. "And I was up in the tower and almost waved to Mr. Jack on the -piazza back there. I saw him. And maybe she'd let you and me go up -there again to-day." -</P> - -<P> -"But I can't, I say," repeated Jill, a little impatiently. "Jack won't -let me even start." -</P> - -<P> -"Why not? Maybe he doesn't know where it goes to." -</P> - -<P> -Jill hung her head. Then she raised it defiantly. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, he does, 'cause I told him. I used to go when I was littler -and he wasn't here. I went once, after he came,—halfway,—and he saw -me and called to me. I had got halfway across the bridge, but I had to -come back. He was very angry, yet sort of—queer, too. His face was all -stern and white, and his lips snapped tight shut after every word. He -said never, never, never to let him find me the other side of that -gate." -</P> - -<P> -David frowned as they turned to go up the hill. Unhesitatingly he -determined to instruct Mr. Jack in this little matter. He would tell -him what a beautiful place Sunnycrest was, and he would try to convince -him how very desirable it was that he and Jill, and even Mr. Jack -himself, should go across the bridge at the very first opportunity that -offered. -</P> - -<P> -Mr. Jack came home before long, but David quite forgot to speak of the -footbridge just then, chiefly because Mr. Jack got out his violin and -asked David to come in and play a duet with him. The duet, however, -soon became a solo, for so great was Mr. Jack's delight in David's -playing that he placed before the boy one sheet of music after another, -begging and still begging for more. -</P> - -<P> -David, nothing loath, played on and on. Most of the music he knew, -having already learned it in his mountain home. Like old friends the -melodies seemed, and so glad was David to see their notes again that he -finished each production with a little improvised cadenza of ecstatic -welcome—to Mr. Jack's increasing surprise and delight. -</P> - -<P> -"Great Scott! you're a wonder, David," he exclaimed, at last. -</P> - -<P> -"Pooh! as if that was anything wonderful," laughed the boy. "Why, I -knew those ages ago, Mr. Jack. It's only that I'm so glad to see them -again—the notes, you know. You see, I haven't any music now. It was -all in the bag (what we brought), and we left that on the way." -</P> - -<P> -"You left it!" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, 't was so, heavy" murmured David abstractedly, his fingers busy -with the pile of music before him. "Oh, and here's another one," he -cried exultingly. "This is where the wind sighs, 'oou—OOU—OOU' -through the pines. Listen!" And he was away again on the wings of his -violin. When he had returned Mr. Jack drew a long breath. -</P> - -<P> -"David, you are a wonder," he declared again. "And that violin of yours -is a wonder, too, if I'm not mistaken,—though I don't know enough to -tell whether it's really a rare one or not. Was it your father's?" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, no. He had one, too, and they both are good ones. Father said so. -Joe's got father's now." -</P> - -<P> -"Joe?" -</P> - -<P> -"Joe Glaspell." -</P> - -<P> -"You don't mean Widow Glaspell's Joe, the blind boy? I didn't know he -could play." -</P> - -<P> -"He couldn't till I showed him. But he likes to hear me play. And he -understood—right away, I mean." -</P> - -<P> -"UNDERSTOOD!" -</P> - -<P> -"What I was playing, you know. And he was almost the first one that -did—since father went away. And now I play every time I go there. Joe -says he never knew before how trees and grass and sunsets and sunrises -and birds and little brooks did look, till I told him with my violin. -Now he says he thinks he can see them better than I can, because as -long as his OUTSIDE eyes can't see anything, they can't see those ugly -things all around him, and so he can just make his INSIDE eyes see only -the beautiful things that he'd LIKE to see. And that's the kind he does -see when I play. That's why I said he understood." -</P> - -<P> -For a moment there was silence. In Mr. Jack's eyes there was an odd -look as they rested on David's face. Then, abruptly, he spoke. -</P> - -<P> -"David, I wish I had money. I'd put you then where you belonged," he -sighed. -</P> - -<P> -"Do you mean—where I'd find my work to do?" asked the boy softly. -</P> - -<P> -"Well—yes; you might say it that way," smiled the man, after a -moment's hesitation—not yet was Mr. Jack quite used to this boy who -was at times so very un-boylike. -</P> - -<P> -"Father told me 't was waiting for me—somewhere." -</P> - -<P> -Mr. Jack frowned thoughtfully. -</P> - -<P> -"And he was right, David. The only trouble is, we like to pick it out -for ourselves, pretty well,—too well, as we find out sometimes, when -we're called off—for another job." -</P> - -<P> -"I know, Mr. Jack, I know," breathed David. And the man, looking into -the glowing dark eyes, wondered at what he found there. It was almost -as if the boy really understood about his own life's -disappointment—and cared; though that, of course, could not be! -</P> - -<P> -"And it's all the harder to keep ourselves in tune then, too, is n't -it?" went on David, a little wistfully. -</P> - -<P> -"In tune?" -</P> - -<P> -"With the rest of the Orchestra." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh!" And Mr. Jack, who had already heard about the "Orchestra of -Life," smiled a bit sadly. "That's just it, my boy. And if we're handed -another instrument to play on than the one we WANT to play on, we're -apt to—to let fly a discord. Anyhow, I am. But"—he went on more -lightly—"now, in your case, David, little as I know about the violin, -I know enough to understand that you ought to be where you can take up -your study of it again; where you can hear good music, and where you -can be among those who know enough to appreciate what you do." -</P> - -<P> -David's eyes sparkled. -</P> - -<P> -"And where there wouldn't be any pulling weeds or hoeing dirt?" -</P> - -<P> -"Well, I hadn't thought of including either of those pastimes." -</P> - -<P> -"My, but I would like that, Mr. Jack!—but THAT wouldn't be WORK, so -that couldn't be what father meant." David's face fell. -</P> - -<P> -"Hm-m; well, I wouldn't worry about the 'work' part," laughed Mr. Jack, -"particularly as you aren't going to do it just now. There's the money, -you know,—and we haven't got that." -</P> - -<P> -"And it takes money?" -</P> - -<P> -"Well—yes. You can't get those things here in Hinsdale, you know; and -it takes money, to get away, and to live away after you get there." -</P> - -<P> -A sudden light transfigured David's face. -</P> - -<P> -"Mr. Jack, would gold do it?—lots of little round gold-pieces?" -</P> - -<P> -"I think it would, David, if there were enough of them." -</P> - -<P> -"Many as a hundred?" -</P> - -<P> -"Sure—if they were big enough. Anyway, David, they'd start you, and -I'm thinking you wouldn't need but a start before you'd be coining -gold-pieces of your own out of that violin of yours. But why? Anybody -you know got as 'many as a hundred' gold-pieces he wants to get rid of?" -</P> - -<P> -For a moment David, his delighted thoughts flying to the gold-pieces in -the chimney cupboard of his room, was tempted to tell his secret. Then -he remembered the woman with the bread and the pail of milk, and -decided not to. He would wait. When he knew Mr. Jack better—perhaps -then he would tell; but not now. NOW Mr. Jack might think he was a -thief, and that he could not bear. So he took up his violin and began -to play; and in the charm of the music Mr. Jack seemed to forget the -gold-pieces—which was exactly what David had intended should happen. -</P> - -<P> -Not until David had said good-bye some time later, did he remember the -purpose—the special purpose—for which he had come. He turned back -with a radiant face. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, and Mr. Jack, I 'most forgot," he cried. "I was going to tell you. -I saw you yesterday—I did, and I almost waved to you." -</P> - -<P> -"Did you? Where were you?" -</P> - -<P> -"Over there in the window—the tower window" he crowed jubilantly. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, you went again, then, I suppose, to see Miss Holbrook." -</P> - -<P> -The man's voice sounded so oddly cold and distant that David noticed it -at once. He was reminded suddenly of the gate and the footbridge which -Jill was forbidden to cross; but he dared not speak of it then—not -when Mr. Jack looked like that. He did say, however:— -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, but, Mr. Jack, it's such a beautiful place! You don't know what a -beautiful place it is." -</P> - -<P> -"Is it? Then, you like it so much?" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, so much! But—didn't you ever—see it?" -</P> - -<P> - "Why, yes, I believe I did, David, long ago," murmured Mr. Jack<BR> -with what seemed to David amazing indifference. -</P> - -<P> -"And did you see HER—my Lady of the Roses?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, y—yes—I believe so." -</P> - -<P> -"And is THAT all you remember about it?" resented David, highly -offended. -</P> - -<P> -The man gave a laugh—a little short, hard laugh that David did not -like. -</P> - -<P> -"But, let me see; you said you almost waved, didn't you? Why did n't -you, quite?" asked the man. -</P> - -<P> -David drew himself suddenly erect. Instinctively he felt that his Lady -of the Roses needed defense. -</P> - -<P> -"Because SHE didn't want me to; so I didn't, of course," he rejoined -with dignity. "She took away my handkerchief." -</P> - -<P> -"I'll warrant she did," muttered the man, behind his teeth. Aloud he -only laughed again, as he turned away. -</P> - -<P> -David went on down the steps, dissatisfied vaguely with himself, with -Mr. Jack, and even with the Lady of the Roses. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap16"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER XVI -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -DAVID'S CASTLE IN SPAIN -</H3> - -<P> -On his return from the House that Jack Built, David decided to count -his gold-pieces. He got them out at once from behind the books, and -stacked them up in little shining rows. As he had surmised, there were -a hundred of them. There were, indeed, a hundred and six. He was -pleased at that. One hundred and six were surely enough to give him a -"start." -</P> - -<P> -A start! David closed his eyes and pictured it. To go on with his -violin, to hear good music, to be with people who understood what he -said when he played! That was what Mr. Jack had said a "start" was. And -this gold—these round shining bits of gold—could bring him this! -David swept the little piles into a jingling heap, and sprang to his -feet with both fists full of his suddenly beloved wealth. With boyish -glee he capered about the room, jingling the coins in his hands. Then, -very soberly, he sat down again, and began to gather the gold to put -away. -</P> - -<P> -He would be wise—he would be sensible. He would watch his chance, and -when it came he would go away. First, however, he would tell Mr. Jack -and Joe, and the Lady of the Roses; yes, and the Hollys, too. Just now -there seemed to be work, real work that he could do to help Mr. Holly. -But later, possibly when September came and school,—they had said he -must go to school,—he would tell them then, and go away instead. He -would see. By that time they would believe him, perhaps, when he showed -the gold-pieces. They would not think he had—STOLEN them. It was -August now; he would wait. But meanwhile he could think—he could -always be thinking of the wonderful thing that this gold was one day to -bring to him. -</P> - -<P> -Even work, to David, did not seem work now. In the morning he was to -rake hay behind the men with the cart. Yesterday he had not liked it -very well; but now—nothing mattered now. And with a satisfied sigh -David put his precious gold away again behind the books in the cupboard. -</P> - -<P> -David found a new song in his violin the next morning. To be sure, he -could not play it—much of it—until four o'clock in the afternoon -came; for Mr. Holly did not like violins to be played in the morning, -even on days that were not especially the Lord's. There was too much -work to do. So David could only snatch a strain or two very, very -softly, while he was dressing; but that was enough to show him what a -beautiful song it was going to be. He knew what it was, at once, too. -It was the gold-pieces, and what they would bring. All through the day -it tripped through his consciousness, and danced tantalizingly just out -of reach. Yet he was wonderfully happy, and the day seemed short in -spite of the heat and the weariness. -</P> - -<P> -At four o'clock he hurried home and put his violin quickly in tune. It -came then—that dancing sprite of tantalization—and joyously abandoned -itself to the strings of the violin, so that David knew, of a surety, -what a beautiful song it was. -</P> - -<P> -It was this song that sent him the next afternoon to see his Lady of -the Roses. He found her this time out of doors in her garden. -Unceremoniously, as usual, he rushed headlong into her presence. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, Lady—Lady of the Roses," he panted. "I've found out, and I came -quickly to tell you." -</P> - -<P> -"Why, David, what—what do you mean?" Miss Holbrook looked unmistakably -startled. -</P> - -<P> -"About the hours, you know,—the unclouded ones," explained David -eagerly. "You know you said they were ALL cloudy to you." -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook's face grew very white. -</P> - -<P> -"You mean—you've found out WHY my hours are—are all cloudy ones?" she -stammered. -</P> - -<P> -"No, oh, no. I can't imagine why they are," returned David, with an -emphatic shake of his head. "It's just that I've found a way to make -all my hours sunny ones, and you can do it, too. So I came to tell you. -You know you said yours were all cloudy." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh," ejaculated Miss Holbrook, falling back into her old listless -attitude. Then, with some asperity: "Dear me, David! Did n't I tell you -not to be remembering that all the time?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, I know, but I've LEARNED something," urged the boy; "something -that you ought to know. You see, I did think, once, that because you -had all these beautiful things around you, the hours ought to be all -sunny ones. But now I know it isn't what's around you; it's what is IN -you!" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, David, David, you curious boy!" -</P> - -<P> -"No, but really! Let me tell you," pleaded David. "You know I haven't -liked them,—all those hours till four o'clock came,—and I was so -glad, after I saw the sundial, to find out that they didn't count, -anyhow. But to-day they HAVE counted—they've all counted, Lady of the -Roses; and it's just because there was something inside of me that -shone and shone, and made them all sunny—those hours." -</P> - -<P> -"Dear me! And what was this wonderful thing?" -</P> - -<P> -David smiled, but he shook his head. -</P> - -<P> -"I can't tell you that yet—in words; but I'll play it. You see, I -can't always play them twice alike,—those little songs that I -find,—but this one I can. It sang so long in my head, before my violin -had a chance to tell me what it really was, that I sort of learned it. -Now, listen!" And he began to play. -</P> - -<P> -It was, indeed, a beautiful song, and Miss Holbrook said so with -promptness and enthusiasm; yet still David frowned. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, yes," he answered, "but don't you see? That was telling you about -something inside of me that made all my hours sunshiny ones. Now, what -you want is something inside of you to make yours sunshiny, too. Don't -you see?" -</P> - -<P> -An odd look came into Miss Holbrook's eyes. -</P> - -<P> -"That's all very well for you to say, David, but you haven't told me -yet, you know, just what it is that's made all this brightness for you." -</P> - -<P> -The boy changed his position, and puckered his forehead into a deeper -frown. -</P> - -<P> -"I don't seem to explain so you can understand," he sighed. "It isn't -the SPECIAL thing. It's only that it's SOMETHING. And it's thinking -about it that does it. Now, mine wouldn't make yours shine, -but—still,"—he broke off, a happy relief in his eyes,—"yours could -be LIKE mine, in one way. Mine is something that is going to happen to -me—something just beautiful; and you could have that, you -know,—something that was going to happen to you, to think about." -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook smiled, but only with her lips, Her eyes had grown somber. -</P> - -<P> -"But there isn't anything 'just beautiful' going to happen to me, -David," she demurred. -</P> - -<P> -"There could, couldn't there?" -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook bit, her lip; then she gave an odd little laugh that -seemed, in some way, to go with the swift red that had come to her -cheeks. -</P> - -<P> -"I used to think there could—once," she admitted; "but I've given that -up long ago. It—it didn't happen." -</P> - -<P> -"But couldn't you just THINK it was going to?" persisted the boy. "You -see I found out yesterday that it's the THINKING that does it. All day -long I was thinking—only thinking. I wasn't DOING it, at all. I was -really raking behind the cart; but the hours all were sunny." -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook laughed now outright. -</P> - -<P> -"What a persistent little mental-science preacher you are!" she -exclaimed. "And there's truth—more truth than you know—in it all, -too. But I can't do it, David,—not that—not that. 'T would take more -than THINKING—to bring that," she added, under her breath, as if to -herself. -</P> - -<P> -"But thinking does bring things," maintained David earnestly. "There's -Joe—Joe Glaspell. His mother works out all day; and he's blind." -</P> - -<P> -"Blind? Oh-h!" shuddered Miss Holbrook. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes; and he has to stay all alone, except for Betty, and she is n't -there much. He THINKS ALL his things. He has to. He can't SEE anything -with his outside eyes. But he sees everything with his inside -eyes—everything that I play. Why, Lady of the Roses, he's even seen -this—all this here. I told him about it, you know, right away after -I'd found you that first day: the big trees and the long shadows across -the grass, and the roses, and the shining water, and the lovely marble -people peeping through the green leaves; and the sundial, and you so -beautiful sitting here in the middle of it all. Then I played it for -him; and he said he could see it all just as plain! And THAT was with -his inside eyes! And so, if Joe, shut up there in his dark little room, -can make his THINK bring him all that, I should think that YOU, here in -this beautiful, beautiful place, could make your think bring you -anything you wanted it to." -</P> - -<P> -But Miss Holbrook sighed again and shook her head. -</P> - -<P> -"Not that, David, not that," she murmured. "It would take more than -thinking to bring—that." Then, with a quick change of manner, she -cried: "Come, come, suppose we don't worry any more about MY hours. -Let's think of yours. Tell me, what have you been doing since I saw you -last? Perhaps you have been again to—to see Mr. Jack, for instance." -</P> - -<P> -"I have; but I saw Jill mostly, till the last." David hesitated, then -he blurted it out: "Lady of the Roses, do you know about the gate and -the footbridge?" -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook looked up quickly. -</P> - -<P> -"Know—what, David?" -</P> - -<P> -"Know about them—that they're there?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why—yes, of course; at least, I suppose you mean the footbridge that -crosses the little stream at the foot of the hill over there." -</P> - -<P> -"That's the one." Again David hesitated, and again he blurted out the -burden of his thoughts. "Lady of the Roses, did you ever—cross that -bridge?" -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook stirred uneasily. -</P> - -<P> -"Not—recently." -</P> - -<P> -"But you don't MIND folks crossing it?" -</P> - -<P> -"Certainly not—if they wish to." -</P> - -<P> -"There! I knew 't wasn't your blame," triumphed David. -</P> - -<P> -"MY blame!" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes; that Mr. Jack wouldn't let Jill come across, you know. He called -her back when she'd got halfway over once." Miss Holbrook's face -changed color. -</P> - -<P> -"But I do object," she cried sharply, "to their crossing it when they -DON'T want to! Don't forget that, please." -</P> - -<P> -"But Jill did want to." -</P> - -<P> -"How about her brother—did he want her to?" -</P> - -<P> -"N—no." -</P> - -<P> -"Very well, then. I didn't, either." -</P> - -<P> -David frowned. Never had he seen his beloved Lady of the Roses look -like this before. He was reminded of what Jill had said about Jack: -"His face was all stern and white, and his lips snapped tight shut -after every word." So, too, looked Miss Holbrook's face; so, too, had -her lips snapped tight shut after her last words. David could not -understand it. He said nothing more, however; but, as was usually the -case when he was perplexed, he picked up his violin and began to play. -And as he played, there gradually came to Miss Holbrook's eyes a softer -light, and to her lips lines less tightly drawn. Neither the footbridge -nor Mr. Jack, however, was mentioned again that afternoon. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap17"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER XVII -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -"THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER" -</H3> - -<P> -It was in the early twilight that Mr. Jack told the story. He, Jill, -and David were on the veranda, as usual watching the towers of -Sunnycrest turn from gold to silver as the sun dropped behind the -hills. It was Jill who had asked for the story. -</P> - -<P> -"About fairies and princesses, you know," she had ordered. -</P> - -<P> -"But how will David like that?" Mr. Jack had demurred. "Maybe he -doesn't care for fairies and princesses." -</P> - -<P> -"I read one once about a prince—'t was 'The Prince and the Pauper,' -and I liked that," averred David stoutly. -</P> - -<P> -Mr. Jack smiled; then his brows drew together in a frown. His eyes were -moodily fixed on the towers. -</P> - -<P> -"Hm-m; well," he said, "I might, I suppose, tell you a story about a -PRINCESS and—a Pauper. I—know one well enough." -</P> - -<P> -"Good!—then tell it," cried both Jill and David. And Mr. Jack began -his story. -</P> - -<P> -"She was not always a Princess, and he was not always a Pauper,—and -that's where the story came in, I suppose," sighed the man. "She was -just a girl, once, and he was a boy; and they played together -and—liked each other. He lived in a little house on a hill." -</P> - -<P> -"Like this?" demanded Jill. -</P> - -<P> -"Eh? Oh—er—yes, SOMETHING like this," returned Mr. Jack, with an odd -half-smile. "And she lived in another bit of a house in a town far away -from the boy." -</P> - -<P> -"Then how could they play together?" questioned David. -</P> - -<P> -"They couldn't, ALWAYS. It was only summers when she came to visit in -the boy's town. She was very near him then, for the old aunt whom she -visited lived in a big stone house with towers, on another hill, in -plain sight from the boy's home." -</P> - -<P> -"Towers like those—where the Lady of the Roses lives?" asked David. -</P> - -<P> -"Eh? What? Oh—er—yes," murmured Mr. Jack. "We'll say the towers were -something like those over there." He paused, then went on musingly: -"The girl used to signal, sometimes, from one of the tower windows. One -wave of the handkerchief meant, 'I'm coming, over'; two waves, with a -little pause between, meant, 'You are to come over here.' So the boy -used to wait always, after that first wave to see if another followed; -so that he might know whether he were to be host or guest that day. The -waves always came at eight o'clock in the morning, and very eagerly the -boy used to watch for them all through the summer when the girl was -there." -</P> - -<P> -"Did they always come, every morning?" Asked Jill. -</P> - -<P> -"No; sometimes the girl had other things to do. Her aunt would want her -to go somewhere with her, or other cousins were expected whom the girl -must entertain; and she knew the boy did not like other guests to be -there when he was, so she never asked him to come over at such times. -On such occasions she did sometimes run up to the tower at eight -o'clock and wave three times, and that meant, 'Dead Day.' So the boy, -after all, never drew a real breath of relief until he made sure that -no dreaded third wave was to follow the one or the two." -</P> - -<P> -"Seems to me," observed David, "that all this was sort of one-sided. -Didn't the boy say anything?" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes," smiled Mr. Jack. "But the boy did not have any tower to wave -from, you must remember. He had only the little piazza on his tiny bit -of a house. But he rigged up a pole, and he asked his mother to make -him two little flags, a red and a blue one. The red meant 'All right'; -and the blue meant 'Got to work'; and these he used to run up on his -pole in answer to her waving 'I'm coming over,' or 'You are to come -over here.' So, you see, occasionally it was the boy who had to bring -the 'Dead Day,' as there were times when he had to work. And, by the -way, perhaps you would be interested to know that after a while he -thought up a third flag to answer her three waves. He found an old -black silk handkerchief of his father's, and he made that into a flag. -He told the girl it meant 'I'm heartbroken,' and he said it was a sign -of the deepest mourning. The girl laughed and tipped her head saucily -to one side, and said, 'Pooh! as if you really cared!' But the boy -stoutly maintained his position, and it was that, perhaps, which made -her play the little joke one day. -</P> - -<P> -"The boy was fourteen that summer, and the girl thirteen. They had -begun their signals years before, but they had not had the black one so -long. On this day that I tell you of, the girl waved three waves, which -meant, 'Dead Day,' you remember, and watched until the boy had hoisted -his black flag which said, 'I'm heart-broken,' in response. Then, as -fast as her mischievous little feet could carry her, she raced down one -hill and across to the other. Very stealthily she advanced till she -found the boy bent over a puzzle on the back stoop, and—and he was -whistling merrily. -</P> - -<P> -"How she teased him then! How she taunted him with 'Heart-broken, -indeed—and whistling like that!' In vain he blushed and stammered, and -protested that his whistling was only to keep up his spirits. The girl -only laughed and tossed her yellow curls; then she hunted till she -found some little jingling bells, and these she tied to the black badge -of mourning and pulled it high up on the flagpole. The next instant she -was off with a run and a skip, and a saucy wave of her hand; and the -boy was left all alone with an hour's work ahead of him to untie the -knots from his desecrated badge of mourning. -</P> - -<P> -"And yet they were wonderfully good friends—this boy and girl. From -the very first, when they were seven and eight, they had said that they -would marry each other when they grew up, and always they spoke of it -as the expected thing, and laid many happy plans for the time when it -should come. To be sure, as they grew older, it was not mentioned quite -so often, perhaps; but the boy at least thought—if he thought of it -all—that that was only because it was already so well understood." -</P> - -<P> -"What did the girl think?" It was Jill who asked the question. -</P> - -<P> -"Eh? The girl? Oh," answered Mr. Jack, a little bitterly, "I'm afraid I -don't know exactly what the girl did think, but—it was n't that, -anyhow—that is, judging from what followed." -</P> - -<P> -"What did follow?" -</P> - -<P> -"Well, to begin with, the old aunt died. The girl was sixteen then. It -was in the winter that this happened, and the girl was far away at -school. She came to the funeral, however, but the boy did not see her, -save in the distance; and then he hardly knew her, so strange did she -look in her black dress and hat. She was there only two days, and -though he gazed wistfully up at the gray tower, he knew well enough -that of course she could not wave to him at such a time as that. Yet he -had hoped—almost believed that she would wave two waves that last day, -and let him go over to see her. -</P> - -<P> -"But she didn't wave, and he didn't go over. She went away. And then -the town learned a wonderful thing. The old lady, her aunt, who had -been considered just fairly rich, turned out to be the possessor of -almost fabulous wealth, owing to her great holdings of stock in a -Western gold mine which had suddenly struck it rich. And to the girl -she willed it all. It was then, of course, that the girl became the -Princess, but the boy did not realize that—just then. To him she was -still 'the girl.' -</P> - -<P> -"For three years he did not see her. She was at school, or traveling -abroad, he heard. He, too, had been away to school, and was, indeed, -just ready to enter college. Then, that summer, he heard that she was -coming to the old home, and his heart sang within him. Remember, to him -she was still the girl. He knew, of course, that she was not the LITTLE -girl who had promised to marry him. But he was sure she was the merry -comrade, the true-hearted young girl who used to smile frankly into his -eyes, and whom he was now to win for his wife. You see he had -forgotten—quite forgotten about the Princess and the money. Such a -foolish, foolish boy as he was! -</P> - -<P> -"So he got out his flags gleefully, and one day, when his mother wasn't -in the kitchen, he ironed out the wrinkles and smoothed them all ready -to be raised on the pole. He would be ready when the girl waved—for of -course she would wave; he would show her that he had not forgotten. He -could see just how the sparkle would come to her eyes, and just how the -little fine lines of mischief would crinkle around her nose when she -was ready to give that first wave. He could imagine that she would like -to find him napping; that she would like to take him by surprise, and -make him scurry around for his flags to answer her. -</P> - -<P> -"But he would show her! As if she, a girl, were to beat him at their -old game! He wondered which it would be: 'I'm coming over,' or, 'You -are to come over here.' Whichever it was, he would answer, of course, -with the red 'All right.' Still, it WOULD be a joke to run up the blue -'Got to work,' and then slip across to see her, just as she, so long -ago, had played the joke on him! On the whole, however, he thought the -red flag would be better. And it was that one which he laid uppermost -ready to his hand, when he arranged them. -</P> - -<P> -"At last she came. He heard of it at once. It was already past four -o'clock, but he could not forbear, even then, to look toward the tower. -It would be like her, after all, to wave then, that very night, just so -as to catch him napping, he thought. She did not wave, however. The boy -was sure of that, for he watched the tower till dark. -</P> - -<P> -"In the morning, long before eight o'clock, the boy was ready. He -debated for some time whether to stand out of doors on the piazza, or -to hide behind the screened window, where he could still watch the -tower. He decided at last that it would be better not to let her see -him when she looked toward the house; then his triumph would be all the -more complete when he dashed out to run up his answer. -</P> - -<P> -"Eight o'clock came and passed. The boy waited until nine, but there -was no sign of life from the tower. The boy was angry then, at himself. -He called himself, indeed, a fool, to hide as he did. Of course she -wouldn't wave when he was nowhere in sight—when he had apparently -forgotten! And here was a whole precious day wasted! -</P> - -<P> -"The next morning, long before eight, the boy stood in plain sight on -the piazza. As before he waited until nine; and as before there was no -sign of life at the tower window. The next morning he was there again, -and the next, and the next. It took just five days, indeed, to convince -the boy—as he was convinced at last—that the girl did not intend to -wave at all." -</P> - -<P> -"But how unkind of her!" exclaimed David. -</P> - -<P> -"She couldn't have been nice one bit!" decided Jill. -</P> - -<P> -"You forget," said Mr. Jack. "She was the Princess." -</P> - -<P> -"Huh!" grunted Jill and David in unison. -</P> - -<P> -"The boy remembered it then," went on Mr. Jack, after a pause,—"about -the money, and that she was a Princess. And of course he knew—when he -thought of it—that he could not expect that a Princess would wave like -a girl—just a girl. Besides, very likely she did not care particularly -about seeing him. Princesses did forget, he fancied,—they had so much, -so very much to fill their lives. It was this thought that kept him -from going to see her—this, and the recollection that, after all, if -she really HAD wanted to see him, she could have waved. -</P> - -<P> -"There came a day, however, when another youth, who did not dare to go -alone, persuaded him, and together they paid her a call. The boy -understood, then, many things. He found the Princess; there was no sign -of the girl. The Princess was tall and dignified, with a cold little -hand and a smooth, sweet voice. There was no frank smile in her eyes, -neither were there any mischievous crinkles about her nose and lips. -There was no mention of towers or flags; no reference to wavings or to -childhood's days. There was only a stiffly polite little conversation -about colleges and travels, with a word or two about books and plays. -Then the callers went home. On the way the boy smiled scornfully to -himself. He was trying to picture the beauteous vision he had seen, -this unapproachable Princess in her filmy lace gown,—standing in the -tower window and waving—waving to a bit of a house on the opposite -hill. As if that could happen! -</P> - -<P> -"The boy, during those last three years, had known only books. He knew -little of girls—only one girl—and he knew still less of Princesses. -So when, three days after the call, there came a chance to join a -summer camp with a man who loved books even better than did the boy -himself, he went gladly. Once he had refused to go on this very trip; -but then there had been the girl. Now there was only the Princess—and -the Princess didn't count." -</P> - -<P> -"Like the hours that aren't sunshiny," interpreted David. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes," corroborated Mr. Jack. "Like the hours when the sun does n't -shine." -</P> - -<P> -"And then?" prompted Jill. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, then,—there wasn't much worth telling," rejoined Mr. Jack -gloomily. "Two more years passed, and the Princess grew to be -twenty-one. She came into full control of her property then, and after -a while she came back to the old stone house with the towers and turned -it into a fairyland of beauty. She spent money like water. All manner -of artists, from the man who painted her ceilings to the man who -planted her seeds, came and bowed to her will. From the four corners of -the earth she brought her treasures and lavished them through the house -and grounds. Then, every summer, she came herself, and lived among -them, a very Princess indeed." -</P> - -<P> -"And the boy?—what became of the boy?" demanded David. "Didn't he see -her—ever?" -</P> - -<P> -Mr. Jack shook his head. -</P> - -<P> -"Not often, David; and when he did, it did not make him any—happier. -You see, the boy had become the Pauper; you must n't forget that." -</P> - -<P> -"But he wasn't a Pauper when you left him last." -</P> - -<P> -"Wasn't he? Well, then, I'll tell you about that. You see, the boy, -even though he did go away, soon found out that in his heart the -Princess was still the girl, just the same. He loved her, and he wanted -her to be his wife; so for a little—for a very little—he was wild -enough to think that he might work and study and do great things in the -world until he was even a Prince himself, and then he could marry the -Princess." -</P> - -<P> -"Well, couldn't he?" -</P> - -<P> -"No. To begin with, he lost his health. Then, away back in the little -house on the hill something happened—a something that left a very -precious charge for him to keep; and he had to go back and keep it, and -to try to see if he couldn't find that lost health, as well. And that -is all." -</P> - -<P> -"All! You don't mean that that is the end!" exclaimed Jill. -</P> - -<P> -"That's the end." -</P> - -<P> -"But that isn't a mite of a nice end," complained David. "They always -get married and live happy ever after—in stories." -</P> - -<P> -"Do they?" Mr. Jack smiled a little sadly. "Perhaps they do, David,—in -stories." -</P> - -<P> -"Well, can't they in this one?" -</P> - -<P> -"I don't see how." -</P> - -<P> -"Why can't he go to her and ask her to marry him?" -</P> - -<P> -Mr. Jack drew himself up proudly. -</P> - -<P> -"The Pauper and the Princess? Never! Paupers don't go to Princesses, -David, and say, 'I love you.'" -</P> - -<P> -David frowned. -</P> - -<P> -"Why not? I don't see why—if they want to do it. Seems as if somehow -it might be fixed." -</P> - -<P> -"It can't be," returned Mr. Jack, his gaze on the towers that crowned -the opposite hill; "not so long as always before the Pauper's eyes -there are those gray walls behind which he pictures the Princess in the -midst of her golden luxury." -</P> - -<P> -To neither David nor Jill did the change to the present tense seem -strange. The story was much too real to them for that. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, anyhow, I think it ought to be fixed," declared David, as he -rose to his feet. -</P> - -<P> -"So do I—but we can't fix it," laughed Jill. "And I'm hungry. Let's -see what there is to eat!" -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap18"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER XVIII -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -DAVID TO THE RESCUE -</H3> - -<P> -It was a beautiful moonlight night, but for once David was not thinking -of the moon. All the way to the Holly farmhouse he was thinking of Mr. -Jack's story, "The Princess and the Pauper." It held him strangely. He -felt that he never could forget it. For some reason that he could not -have explained, it made him sad, too, and his step was very quiet as he -went up the walk toward the kitchen door. -</P> - -<P> -It was after eight o'clock. David had taken supper with Mr. Jack and -Jill, and not for some hours had he been at the farmhouse. In the -doorway now he stopped short; then instinctively he stepped back into -the shadow. In the kitchen a kerosene light was burning. It showed Mrs. -Holly crying at the table, and Mr. Holly, white-faced and stern-lipped, -staring at nothing. Then Mrs. Holly raised her face, drawn and -tear-stained, and asked a trembling question. -</P> - -<P> -"Simeon, have you thought? We might go—to John—for—help." -</P> - -<P> -David was frightened then, so angry was the look that came into Simeon -Holly's face. -</P> - -<P> -"Ellen, we'll have no more of this," said the man harshly. "Understand, -I'd rather lose the whole thing and—and starve, than go to—John." -</P> - -<P> -David fled then. Up the back stairs he crept to his room and left his -violin. A moment later he stole down again and sought Perry Larson whom -he had seen smoking in the barn doorway. -</P> - -<P> -"Perry, what is it?" he asked in a trembling voice. "What has -happened—in there?" He pointed toward the house. -</P> - -<P> -The man puffed for a moment in silence before he took his pipe from his -mouth. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, sonny, I s'pose I may as well tell ye. You'll have ter know it -sometime, seein' as 't won't be no secret long. They've had a stroke o' -bad luck—Mr. an' Mis' Holly has." -</P> - -<P> -"What is it?" -</P> - -<P> -The man hitched in his seat. -</P> - -<P> -"By sugar, boy, I s'pose if I tell ye, there ain't no sartinty that -you'll sense it at all. I reckon it ain't in your class." -</P> - -<P> -"But what is it?" -</P> - -<P> -"Well, it's money—and one might as well talk moonshine to you as -money, I s'pose; but here goes it. It's a thousand dollars, boy, that -they owed. Here, like this," he explained, rummaging his pockets until -he had found a silver dollar to lay on his open palm. "Now, jest -imagine a thousand of them; that's heaps an' heaps—more 'n I ever see -in my life." -</P> - -<P> -"Like the stars?" guessed David. -</P> - -<P> -The man nodded. -</P> - -<P> -"Ex-ACTLY! Well, they owed this—Mr. an' Mis' Holly did—and they had -agreed ter pay it next Sat'day. And they was all right, too. They had -it plum saved in the bank, an' was goin' ter draw it Thursday, ter make -sure. An' they was feelin' mighty pert over it, too, when ter-day along -comes the news that somethin's broke kersmash in that bank, an' they've -shet it up. An' nary a cent can the Hollys git now—an' maybe never. -Anyhow, not 'fore it's too late for this job." -</P> - -<P> -"But won't he wait?—that man they owe it to? I should think he'd have -to, if they didn't have it to pay." -</P> - -<P> -"Not much he will, when it's old Streeter that's got the mortgage on a -good fat farm like this!" -</P> - -<P> -David drew his brows together perplexedly. -</P> - -<P> -"What is a—a mortgage?" he asked. "Is it anything like a -porte-cochere? I KNOW what that is, 'cause my Lady of the Roses has -one; but we haven't got that—down here." -</P> - -<P> -Perry Larson sighed in exasperation. -</P> - -<P> -"Gosh, if that ain't 'bout what I expected of ye! No, it ain't even -second cousin to a—a-that thing you're a-talkin' of. In plain wordin', -it's jest this: Mr. Holly, he says ter Streeter: 'You give me a -thousand dollars and I'll pay ye back on a sartin day; if I don't pay, -you can sell my farm fur what it'll bring, an' TAKE yer pay. Well, now -here 't is. Mr. Holly can't pay, an' so Streeter will put up the farm -fur sale." -</P> - -<P> -"What, with Mr. and Mrs. Holly LIVING here?" -</P> - -<P> -"Sure! Only they'll have ter git out, ye know." -</P> - -<P> -"Where'll they go?" -</P> - -<P> -"The Lord knows; I don't." -</P> - -<P> -"And is THAT what they're crying for—in there?—because they've got to -go?" -</P> - -<P> -"Sure!" -</P> - -<P> -"But isn't there anything, anywhere, that can be done to—stop it?" -</P> - -<P> -"I don't see how, kid,—not unless some one ponies up with the money -'fore next Sat'day,—an' a thousand o' them things don't grow on ev'ry -bush," he finished, gently patting the coin in his hand. -</P> - -<P> -At the words a swift change came to David's face. His cheeks paled and -his eyes dilated in terror. It was as if ahead of him he saw a yawning -abyss, eager to engulf him. -</P> - -<P> -"And you say—MONEY would—fix it?" he asked thickly. -</P> - -<P> -"Ex-ACT-ly!—a thousand o' them, though, 't would take." -</P> - -<P> -A dawning relief came into David's eyes—it was as if he saw a bridge -across the abyss. -</P> - -<P> -"You mean—that there wouldn't ANYTHING do, only silver pieces—like -those?" he questioned hopefully. -</P> - -<P> -"Sugar, kid, 'course there would! Gosh, but you BE a checkerboard o' -sense an' nonsense, an' no mistake! Any money would do the job—any -money! Don't ye see? Anything that's money." -</P> - -<P> -"Would g-gold do it?" David's voice was very faint now. -</P> - -<P> -"Sure!—gold, or silver, or greenbacks, or—or a check, if it had the -dough behind it." -</P> - -<P> -David did not appear to hear the last. With an oddly strained look he -had hung upon the man's first words; but at the end of the sentence he -only murmured, "Oh, thank you," and turned away. He was walking slowly -now toward the house. His head was bowed. His step lagged. -</P> - -<P> -"Now, ain't that jest like that chap," muttered the man, "ter slink off -like that as if he was a whipped cur. I'll bet two cents an' a -doughnut, too, that in five minutes he'll be what he calls 'playin' it' -on that 'ere fiddle o' his. An' I'll be derned, too, if I ain't curious -ter see what he WILL make of it. It strikes me this ought ter fetch -somethin' first cousin to a dirge!" -</P> - -<P> -On the porch steps David paused a breathless instant. From the kitchen -came the sound of Mrs. Holly's sobs and of a stern voice praying. With -a shudder and a little choking cry the boy turned then and crept softly -upstairs to his room. -</P> - -<P> -He played, too, as Perry Larson had wagered. But it was not the tragedy -of the closed bank, nor the honor of the threatened farm-selling that -fell from his violin. It was, instead, the swan song of a little pile -of gold—gold which lay now in a chimney cupboard, but which was soon -to be placed at the feet of the mourning man and woman downstairs. And -in the song was the sob of a boy who sees his house of dreams burn to -ashes; who sees his wonderful life and work out in the wide world turn -to endless days of weed-pulling and dirt-digging in a narrow valley. -There was in the song, too, something of the struggle, the fierce yea -and nay of the conflict. But, at the end, there was the wild burst of -exaltation of renunciation, so that the man in the barn door below -fairly sprang to his feet with an angry:— -</P> - -<P> -"Gosh! if he hain't turned the thing into a jig—durn him! Don't he -know more'n that at such a time as this?" -</P> - -<P> -Later, a very little later, the shadowy figure of the boy stood before -him. -</P> - -<P> -"I've been thinking," stammered David, "that maybe I—could help, about -that money, you know." -</P> - -<P> -"Now, look a-here, boy," exploded Perry, in open exasperation, "as I -said in the first place, this ain't in your class. 'T ain't no pink -cloud sailin' in the sky, nor a bluebird singin' in a blackb'rry bush. -An' you might 'play it'—as you call it—till doomsday, an' 't wouldn't -do no good—though I'm free ter confess that your playin' of them 'ere -other things sounds real pert an' chirky at times; but 't won't do no -good here." -</P> - -<P> -David stepped forward, bringing his small, anxious face full into the -moonlight. -</P> - -<P> -"But 't was the money, Perry; I meant about, the money," he explained. -"They were good to me and wanted me when there wasn't any one else that -did; and now I'd like to do something for them. There aren't so MANY -pieces, and they aren't silver. There's only one hundred and six of -them; I counted. But maybe they 'd help some. It—it would be -a—start." His voice broke over the once beloved word, then went on -with renewed strength. "There, see! Would these do?" And with both -hands he held up to view his cap sagging under its weight of gold. -</P> - -<P> -Perry Larson's jaw fell open. His eyes bulged. Dazedly he reached out -and touched with trembling fingers the heap of shining disks that -seemed in the mellow light like little earth-born children of the moon -itself. The next instant he recoiled sharply. -</P> - -<P> -"Great snakes, boy, where'd you git that money?" he demanded. -</P> - -<P> -"Of father. He went to the far country, you know." -</P> - -<P> -Perry Larson snorted angrily. -</P> - -<P> -"See here, boy, for once, if ye can, talk horse-sense! Surely, even YOU -don't expect me ter believe that he's sent you that money from—from -where he's gone to!" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, no. He left it." -</P> - -<P> -"Left it! Why, boy, you know better! There wa'n't a cent—hardly—found -on him." -</P> - -<P> -"He gave it to me before—by the roadside." -</P> - -<P> -"Gave it to you! Where in the name of goodness has it been since?" -</P> - -<P> -"In the little cupboard in my room, behind the books." -</P> - -<P> -"Great snakes!" muttered Perry Larson, reaching out his hand and -gingerly picking up one of the gold-pieces. -</P> - -<P> -David eyed him anxiously. -</P> - -<P> -"Won't they—do?" he faltered. "There aren't a thousand; there's only a -hundred and six; but—" -</P> - -<P> -"Do!" cut in the man, excitedly. He had been examining the gold-piece -at close range. "Do! Well, I reckon they'll do. By Jiminy!—and ter -think you've had this up yer sleeve all this time! Well, I'll believe -anythin' of yer now—anythin'! You can't stump me with nuthin'! Come -on." And he hurriedly led the way toward the house. -</P> - -<P> -"But they weren't up my sleeve," corrected David, as he tried to keep -up with the long strides of the man. "I SAID they were in the cupboard -in my room." -</P> - -<P> -There was no answer. Larson had reached the porch steps, and had paused -there hesitatingly. From the kitchen still came the sound of sobs. -Aside from that there was silence. The boy, however, did not hesitate. -He went straight up the steps and through the open kitchen door. At the -table sat the man and the woman, their eyes covered with their hands. -</P> - -<P> -With a swift overturning of his cap, David dumped his burden onto the -table, and stepped back respectfully. -</P> - -<P> -"If you please, sir, would this—help any?" he asked. -</P> - -<P> -At the jingle of the coins Simeon Holly and his wife lifted their heads -abruptly. A half-uttered sob died on the woman's lips. A quick cry came -from the man's. He reached forth an eager hand and had almost clutched -the gold when a sudden change came to his face. With a stern -ejaculation he drew back. -</P> - -<P> -"Boy, where did that money come from?" he challenged. -</P> - -<P> -David sighed in a discouraged way. It seemed that, always, the showing -of this gold mean't questioning—eternal questioning. -</P> - -<P> -"Surely," continued Simeon Holly, "you did not—" With the boy's frank -gaze upturned to his, the man could not finish his sentence. -</P> - -<P> -Before David could answer came the voice of Perry Larson from the -kitchen doorway. -</P> - -<P> -"No, sir, he didn't, Mr. Holly; an' it's all straight, I'm -thinkin'—though I'm free ter confess it does sound nutty. His dad give -it to him." -</P> - -<P> -"His—father! But where—where has it been ever since?" -</P> - -<P> -"In the chimney cupboard in his room, he says, sir." -</P> - -<P> -Simeon Holly turned in frowning amazement. -</P> - -<P> -"David, what does this mean? Why have you kept this gold in a place -like that?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, there wasn't anything else to do with it," answered the boy -perplexedly. "I hadn't any use for it, you know, and father said to -keep it till I needed it." -</P> - -<P> -"'Hadn't any use for it'!" blustered Larson from the doorway. "Jiminy! -Now, ain't that jest like that boy?" -</P> - -<P> -But David hurried on with his explanation. -</P> - -<P> -"We never used to use them—father and I—except to buy things to eat -and wear; and down here YOU give me those, you know." -</P> - -<P> -"Gorry!" interjected Perry Larson. "Do you reckon, boy, that Mr. Holly -himself was give them things he gives ter you?" -</P> - -<P> -The boy turned sharply, a startled question in his eyes. -</P> - -<P> -"What do you mean? Do you mean that—" His face changed suddenly. His -cheeks turned a shamed red. "Why, he did—he did have to buy them, of -course, just as father did. And I never even thought of it before! -Then, it's yours, anyway—it belongs to you," he argued, turning to -Farmer Holly, and shoving the gold nearer to his hands. "There isn't -enough, maybe—but 't will help!" -</P> - -<P> -"They're ten-dollar gold pieces, sir," spoke up Larson importantly; -"an' there's a hundred an' six of them. That's jest one thousand an' -sixty dollars, as I make it." -</P> - -<P> -Simeon Holly, self-controlled man that he was, almost leaped from his -chair. -</P> - -<P> -"One thousand and sixty dollars!" he gasped. Then, to David: "Boy, in -Heaven's name, who are you?" -</P> - -<P> -"I don't know—only David." The boy spoke wearily, with a grieved sob -in his voice. He was very tired, a good deal perplexed, and a little -angry. He wished, if no one wanted this gold, that he could take it -upstairs again to the chimney cupboard; or, if they objected to that, -that they would at least give it to him, and let him go away now to -that beautiful music he was to hear, and to those kind people who were -always to understand what he said when he played. -</P> - -<P> -"Of course," ventured Perry Larson diffidently, "I ain't professin' ter -know any great shakes about the hand of the Lord, Mr. Holly, but it do -strike me that this 'ere gold comes mighty near bein' -proverdential—fur you." -</P> - -<P> -Simeon Holly fell back in his seat. His eyes clung to the gold, but his -lips set into rigid lines. -</P> - -<P> -"That money is the boy's, Larson. It isn't mine," he said. -</P> - -<P> -"He's give it to ye." -</P> - -<P> -Simeon Holly shook his head. -</P> - -<P> -"David is nothing but a child, Perry. He doesn't realize at all what he -is doing, nor how valuable his gift is." -</P> - -<P> -"I know, sir, but you DID take him in, when there wouldn't nobody else -do it," argued Larson. "An', anyhow, couldn't you make a kind of an I O -U of it, even if he is a kid? Then, some day you could pay him back. -Meanwhile you'd be a-keepin' him, an' a-schoolin' him; an' that's -somethin'." -</P> - -<P> -"I know, I know," nodded Simeon Holly thoughtfully, his eyes going from -the gold to David's face. Then, aloud, yet as if to himself, he -breathed: "Boy, boy, who was your father? How came he by all that -gold—and he—a tramp!" -</P> - -<P> -David drew himself suddenly erect. His eyes flashed. -</P> - -<P> -"I don't know, sir. But I do know this: he didn't STEAL it!" -</P> - -<P> -Across the table Mrs. Holly drew a quick breath, but she did not -speak—save with her pleading eyes. Mrs. Holly seldom spoke—save with -her eyes—when her husband was solving a knotty problem. She was -dumfounded now that he should listen so patiently to the man, -Larson,—though she was not more surprised than was Larson himself. For -both of them, however, there came at this moment a still greater -surprise. Simeon Holly leaned forward suddenly, the stern lines quite -gone from his lips, and his face working with emotion as he drew David -toward him. -</P> - -<P> -"You're a good son, boy,—a good loyal son; and—and I wish you were -mine! I believe you. He didn't steal it, and I won't steal it, either. -But I will use it, since you are so good as to offer it. But it shall -be a loan, David, and some day, God helping me, you shall have it back. -Meanwhile, you're my boy, David,—my boy!" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, thank you, sir," rejoiced David. "And, really, you know, being -wanted like that is better than the start would be, isn't it?" -</P> - -<P> -"Better than—what?" -</P> - -<P> -David shifted his position. He had not meant to say just that. -</P> - -<P> -"N—nothing," he stammered, looking about for a means of quick escape. -"I—I was just talking," he finished. And he was immeasurably relieved -to find that Mr. Holly did not press the matter further. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap19"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER XIX -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -THE UNBEAUTIFUL WORLD -</H3> - -<P> -In spite of the exaltation of renunciation, and in spite of the joy of -being newly and especially "wanted," those early September days were -sometimes hard for David. Not until he had relinquished all hope of his -"start" did he fully realize what that hope had meant to him. -</P> - -<P> -There were times, to be sure, when there was nothing but rejoicing -within him that he was able thus to aid the Hollys. There were other -times when there was nothing but the sore heartache because of the -great work out in the beautiful world that could now never be done; and -because of the unlovely work at hand that must be done. To tell the -truth, indeed, David's entire conception of life had become suddenly a -chaos of puzzling contradictions. -</P> - -<P> -To Mr. Jack, one day, David went with his perplexities. Not that he -told him of the gold-pieces and of the unexpected use to which they had -been put—indeed, no. David had made up his mind never, if he could -help himself, to mention those gold-pieces to any one who did not -already know of them. They meant questions, and the questions, -explanations. And he had had enough of both on that particular subject. -But to Mr. Jack he said one day, when they were alone together:— -</P> - -<P> -"Mr. Jack, how many folks have you got inside of your head?" -</P> - -<P> -"Eh—what, David?" -</P> - -<P> -David repeated his question and attached an explanation. -</P> - -<P> -"I mean, the folks that—that make you do things." -</P> - -<P> -Mr. Jack laughed. -</P> - -<P> -"Well," he said, "I believe some people make claims to quite a number, -and perhaps almost every one owns to a Dr. Jekyll and a Mr. Hyde." -</P> - -<P> -"Who are they?" -</P> - -<P> -"Never mind, David. I don't think you know the gentlemen, anyhow. -They're only something like the little girl with a curl. One is very, -very good, indeed, and the other is horrid." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, I know them; they're the ones that come to me," returned -David, with a sigh. "I've had them a lot, lately." -</P> - -<P> -Mr. Jack stared. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, have you?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes; and that's what's the trouble. How can you drive them off—the -one that is bad, I mean?" -</P> - -<P> -"Well, really," confessed Mr. Jack, "I'm not sure I can tell. You -see—the gentlemen visit me sometimes." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, do they?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes." -</P> - -<P> -"I'm so glad—that is, I mean," amended David, in answer to Mr. Jack's -uplifted eyebrows, "I'm glad that you understand what I'm talking -about. You see, I tried Perry Larson last night on it, to get him to -tell me what to do. But he only stared and laughed. He didn't know the -names of 'em, anyhow, as you do, and at last he got really almost angry -and said I made him feel so 'buggy' and 'creepy' that he wouldn't dare -look at himself in the glass if I kept on, for fear some one he'd never -known was there should jump out at him." -</P> - -<P> -Mr. Jack chuckled. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, I suspect, David, that Perry knew one of your gentlemen by the -name of 'conscience,' perhaps; and I also suspect that maybe conscience -does pretty nearly fill the bill, and that you've been having a bout -with that. Eh? Now, what is the trouble? Tell me about it." -</P> - -<P> -David stirred uneasily. Instead of answering, he asked another question. -</P> - -<P> -"Mr. Jack, it is a beautiful world, isn't it?" -</P> - -<P> -For a moment there was no, answer; then a low voice replied:— -</P> - -<P> -"Your father said it was, David." -</P> - -<P> -Again David moved restlessly. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes; but father was on the mountain. And down here—well, down here -there are lots of things that I don't believe he knew about." -</P> - -<P> -"What, for instance?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, lots of things—too many to tell. Of course there are things like -catching fish, and killing birds and squirrels and other things to eat, -and plaguing cats and dogs. Father never would have called those -beautiful. Then there are others like little Jimmy Clark who can't -walk, and the man at the Marstons' who's sick, and Joe Glaspell who is -blind. Then there are still different ones like Mr. Holly's little boy. -Perry says he ran away years and years ago, and made his people very -unhappy. Father wouldn't call that a beautiful world, would he? And how -can people like that always play in tune? And there are the Princess -and the Pauper that you told about." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, the story?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes; and people like them can't be happy and think the world is -beautiful, of course." -</P> - -<P> -"Why not?" -</P> - -<P> -"Because they didn't end right. They didn't get married and live happy -ever after, you know." -</P> - -<P> -"Well, I don't think I'd worry about that, David,—at least, not about -the Princess. I fancy the world was very beautiful to her, all right. -The Pauper—well, perhaps he wasn't very happy. But, after all, David, -you know happiness is something inside of yourself. Perhaps half of -these people are happy, in their way." -</P> - -<P> -"There! and that's another thing," sighed David. "You see, I found that -out—that it was inside of yourself—quite a while ago, and I told the -Lady of the Roses. But now I—can't make it work myself." -</P> - -<P> -"What's the matter?" -</P> - -<P> -"Well, you see then something was going to happen—something that I -liked; and I found that just thinking of it made it so that I didn't -mind raking or hoeing, or anything like that; and I told the Lady of -the Roses. And I told her that even if it wasn't going to happen she -could THINK it was going to, and that that would be just the same, -because 't was the thinking that made my hours sunny ones. It wasn't -the DOING at all. I said I knew because I hadn't DONE it yet. See?" -</P> - -<P> -"I—think so, David." -</P> - -<P> -"Well, I've found out that it isn't the same at all; for now that I -KNOW that this beautiful thing isn't ever going to happen to me, I can -think and think all day, and it doesn't do a mite of good. The sun is -just as hot, and my back aches just as hard, and the field is just as -big and endless as it used to be when I had to call it that those hours -didn't count. Now, what is the matter?" -</P> - -<P> -Mr. Jack laughed, but he shook his head a little sadly. -</P> - -<P> -"You're getting into too deep waters for me, David. I suspect you're -floundering in a sea that has upset the boats of sages since the world -began. But what is it that was so nice, and that isn't going to happen? -Perhaps I MIGHT help on that." -</P> - -<P> -"No, you couldn't," frowned David; "and there couldn't anybody, either, -you see, because I wouldn't go back now and LET it happen, anyhow, as -long as I know what I do. Why, if I did, there wouldn't be ANY hours -that were sunny then—not even the ones after four o'clock; I—I'd feel -so mean! But what I don't see is just how I can fix it up with the Lady -of the Roses." -</P> - -<P> -"What has she to do with it?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, at the very first, when she said she didn't have ANY sunshiny -hours, I told her—" -</P> - -<P> -"When she said what?" interposed Mr. Jack, coming suddenly erect in his -chair. -</P> - -<P> -"That she didn't have any hours to count, you know." -</P> - -<P> -"To—COUNT?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes; it was the sundial. Didn't I tell you? Yes, I know I did—about -the words on it—not counting any hours that weren't sunny, you know. -And she said she wouldn't have ANY hours to count; that the sun never -shone for her." -</P> - -<P> -"Why, David," demurred Mr. Jack in a voice that shook a little, "are -you sure? Did she say just that? You—you must be mistaken—when she -has—has everything to make her happy." -</P> - -<P> -"I wasn't, because I said that same thing to her myself—afterwards. -And then I told her—when I found out myself, you know—about its being -what was inside of you, after all, that counted; and then is when I -asked her if she couldn't think of something nice that was going to -happen to her sometime." -</P> - -<P> -"Well, what did she say?" -</P> - -<P> -"She shook her head, and said 'No.' Then she looked away, and her eyes -got soft and dark like little pools in the brook where the water stops -to rest. And she said she had hoped once that this something would -happen; but that it hadn't, and that it would take something more than -thinking to bring it. And I know now what she meant, because thinking -isn't all that counts, is it?" -</P> - -<P> -Mr. Jack did not answer. He had risen to his feet, and was pacing -restlessly up and down the veranda. Once or twice he turned his eyes -toward the towers of Sunnycrest, and David noticed that there was a new -look on his face. -</P> - -<P> -Very soon, however, the old tiredness came back to his eyes, and he -dropped into his seat again, muttering "Fool! of course it couldn't -be—that!" -</P> - -<P> -"Be what?" asked David. -</P> - -<P> -Mr. Jack started. -</P> - -<P> -"Er—nothing; nothing that you would understand, David. Go on—with -what you were saying." -</P> - -<P> -"There isn't any more. It's all done. It's only that I'm wondering how -I'm going to learn here that it's a beautiful world, so that I -can—tell father." -</P> - -<P> -Mr. Jack roused himself. He had the air of a man who determinedly -throws to one side a heavy burden. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, David," he smiled, "as I said before, you are still out on that -sea where there are so many little upturned boats. There might be a -good many ways of answering that question." -</P> - -<P> -"Mr. Holly says," mused the boy, aloud, a little gloomily, "that it -doesn't make any difference whether we find things beautiful or not; -that we're here to do something serious in the world." -</P> - -<P> -"That is about what I should have expected of Mr. Holly" retorted Mr. -Jack grimly. "He acts it—and looks it. But—I don't believe you are -going to tell your father just that." -</P> - -<P> -"No, sir, I don't believe I am," accorded David soberly. -</P> - -<P> -"I have an idea that you're going to find that answer just where your -father said you would—in your violin. See if you don't. Things that -aren't beautiful you'll make beautiful—because we find what we are -looking for, and you're looking for beautiful things. After all, boy, -if we march straight ahead, chin up, and sing our own little song with -all our might and main, we shan't come so far amiss from the goal, I'm -thinking. There! that's preaching, and I didn't mean to preach; -but—well, to tell the truth, that was meant for myself, for—I'm -hunting for the beautiful world, too." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, sir, I know," returned David fervently. And again Mr. Jack, -looking into the sympathetic, glowing dark eyes, wondered if, after -all, David really could—know. -</P> - -<P> -Even yet Mr. Jack was not used to David; there were "so many of him," -he told himself. There were the boy, the artist, and a third -personality so evanescent that it defied being named. The boy was -jolly, impetuous, confidential, and delightful—plainly reveling in all -manner of fun and frolic. The artist was nothing but a bunch of nervous -alertness, ready to find melody and rhythm in every passing thought or -flying cloud. The third—that baffling third that defied the -naming—was a dreamy, visionary, untouchable creature who floated so -far above one's head that one's hand could never pull him down to get a -good square chance to see what he did look like. All this thought Mr. -Jack as he gazed into David's luminous eyes. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap20"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER XX -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -THE UNFAMILIAR WAY -</H3> - -<P> -In September David entered the village school. School and David did not -assimilate at once. Very confidently the teacher set to work to grade -her new pupil; but she was not so confident when she found that while -in Latin he was perilously near herself (and in French—which she was -not required to teach—disastrously beyond her!), in United States -history he knew only the barest outlines of certain portions, and could -not name a single battle in any of its wars. In most studies he was far -beyond boys of his own age, yet at every turn she encountered these -puzzling spots of discrepancy, which rendered grading in the ordinary -way out of the question. -</P> - -<P> -David's methods of recitation, too, were peculiar, and somewhat -disconcerting. He also did not hesitate to speak aloud when he chose, -nor to rise from his seat and move to any part of the room as the whim -seized him. In time, of course, all this was changed; but it was -several days before the boy learned so to conduct himself that he did -not shatter to atoms the peace and propriety of the schoolroom. -</P> - -<P> -Outside of school David had little work to do now, though there were -still left a few light tasks about the house. Home life at the Holly -farmhouse was the same for David, yet with a difference—the difference -that comes from being really wanted instead of being merely dutifully -kept. There were other differences, too, subtle differences that did -not show, perhaps, but that still were there. -</P> - -<P> -Mr. and Mrs. Holly, more than ever now, were learning to look at the -world through David's eyes. One day—one wonderful day—they even went -to walk in the woods with the boy; and whenever before had Simeon Holly -left his work for so frivolous a thing as a walk in the woods! -</P> - -<P> -It was not accomplished, however, without a struggle, as David could -have told. The day was a Saturday, clear, crisp, and beautiful, with a -promise of October in the air; and David fairly tingled to be free and -away. Mrs. Holly was baking—and the birds sang unheard outside her -pantry window. Mr. Holly was digging potatoes—and the clouds sailed -unnoticed above his head. -</P> - -<P> -All the morning David urged and begged. If for once, just this once, -they would leave everything and come, they would not regret it, he was -sure. But they shook their heads and said, "No, no, impossible!" In the -afternoon the pies were done and the potatoes dug, and David urged and -pleaded again. If once, only this once, they would go to walk with him -in the woods, he would be so happy, so very happy! And to please the -boy—they went. -</P> - -<P> -It was a curious walk. Ellen Holly trod softly, with timid feet. She -threw hurried, frightened glances from side to side. It was plain that -Ellen Holly did not know how to play. Simeon Holly stalked at her -elbow, stern, silent, and preoccupied. It was plain that Simeon Holly -not only did not know how to play, but did not even care to find out. -</P> - -<P> -The boy tripped ahead and talked. He had the air of a monarch -displaying his kingdom. On one side was a bit of moss worthy of the -closest attention; on another, a vine that carried allurement in every -tendril. Here was a flower that was like a story for interest, and -there was a bush that bore a secret worth the telling. Even Simeon -Holly glowed into a semblance of life when David had unerringly picked -out and called by name the spruce, and fir, and pine, and larch, and -then, in answer to Mrs. Holly's murmured: "But, David, where's the -difference? They look so much alike!" he had said:— -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, but they aren't, you know. Just see how much more pointed at the -top that fir is than that spruce back there; and the branches grow -straight out, too, like arms, and they're all smooth and tapering at -the ends like a pussy-cat's tail. But the spruce back there—ITS -branches turned down and out—didn't you notice?—and they're all bushy -at the ends like a squirrel's tail. Oh, they're lots different! That's -a larch 'way ahead—that one with the branches all scraggly and close -down to the ground. I could start to climb that easy; but I couldn't -that pine over there. See, it's 'way up, up, before there's a place for -your foot! But I love pines. Up there on the mountains where I lived, -the pines were so tall that it seemed as if God used them sometimes to -hold up the sky." -</P> - -<P> -And Simeon Holly heard, and said nothing; and that he did say -nothing—especially nothing in answer to David's confident assertions -concerning celestial and terrestrial architecture—only goes to show -how well, indeed, the man was learning to look at the world through -David's eyes. -</P> - -<P> -Nor were these all of David's friends to whom Mr. and Mrs. Holly were -introduced on that memorable walk. There were the birds, and the -squirrels, and, in fact, everything that had life. And each one he -greeted joyously by name, as he would greet a friend whose home and -habits he knew. Here was a wonderful woodpecker, there was a beautiful -bluejay. Ahead, that brilliant bit of color that flashed across their -path was a tanager. Once, far up in the sky, as they crossed an open -space, David spied a long black streak moving southward. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, see!" he exclaimed. "The crows! See them?—'way up there? Wouldn't -it be fun if we could do that, and fly hundreds and hundreds of miles, -maybe a thousand?" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, David," remonstrated Mrs. Holly, unbelievingly. -</P> - -<P> -"But they do! These look as if they'd started on their winter journey -South, too; but if they have, they're early. Most of them don't go till -October. They come back in March, you know. Though I've had them, on -the mountain, that stayed all the year with me." -</P> - -<P> -"My! but I love to watch them go," murmured David, his eyes following -the rapidly disappearing blackline. "Lots of birds you can't see, you -know, when they start for the South. They fly at night—the woodpeckers -and orioles and cuckoos, and lots of others. They're afraid, I guess, -don't you? But I've seen them. I've watched them. They tell each other -when they're going to start." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, David," remonstrated Mrs. Holly, again, her eyes reproving, but -plainly enthralled. -</P> - -<P> -"But they do tell each other," claimed the boy, with sparkling eyes. -"They must! For, all of a sudden, some night, you'll hear the signal, -and then they'll begin to gather from all directions. I've seen them. -Then, suddenly, they're all up and off to the South—not in one big -flock, but broken up into little flocks, following one after another, -with such a beautiful whir of wings. Oof—OOF—OOF!—and they're gone! -And I don't see them again till next year. But you've seen the -swallows, haven't you? They go in the daytime, and they're the easiest -to tell of any of them. They fly so swift and straight. Haven't you -seen the swallows go?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, I—I don't know, David," murmured Mrs. Holly, with a helpless -glance at her husband stalking on ahead. "I—I didn't know there were -such things to—to know." -</P> - -<P> -There was more, much more, that David said before the walk came to an -end. And though, when it did end, neither Simeon Holly nor his wife -said a word of its having been a pleasure or a profit, there was yet on -their faces something of the peace and rest and quietness that belonged -to the woods they had left. -</P> - -<P> -It was a beautiful month—that September, and David made the most of -it. Out of school meant out of doors for him. He saw Mr. Jack and Jill -often. He spent much time, too, with the Lady of the Roses. She was -still the Lady of the ROSES to David, though in the garden now were the -purple and scarlet and yellow of the asters, salvia, and golden glow, -instead of the blush and perfume of the roses. -</P> - -<P> -David was very much at home at Sunnycrest. He was welcome, he knew, to -go where he pleased. Even the servants were kind to him, as well as was -the elderly cousin whom he seldom saw, but who, he knew, lived there as -company for his Lady of the Roses. -</P> - -<P> -Perhaps best, next to the garden, David loved the tower room; possibly -because Miss Holbrook herself so often suggested that they go there. -And it was there that they were when he said, dreamily, one day:— -</P> - -<P> -"I like this place—up here so high, only sometimes it does make me -think of that Princess, because it was in a tower like this that she -was, you know." -</P> - -<P> -"Fairy stories, David?" asked Miss Holbrook lightly. -</P> - -<P> -"No, not exactly, though there was a Princess in it. Mr. Jack told it." -David's eyes were still out of the window. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, Mr. Jack! And does Mr. Jack often tell you stories?" -</P> - -<P> -"No. He never told only this one—and maybe that's why I remember it -so." -</P> - -<P> -"Well, and what did the Princess do?" Miss Holbrook's voice was still -light, still carelessly preoccupied. Her attention, plainly, was given -to the sewing in her hand. -</P> - -<P> -"She didn't do and that's what was the trouble," sighed I David. "She -didn't wave, you know." -</P> - -<P> -The needle in Miss Holbrook's fingers stopped short in mid-air, the -thread half-drawn. -</P> - -<P> -"Didn't—wave!" she stammered. "What do you—mean?" -</P> - -<P> -"Nothing," laughed the boy, turning away from the window. "I forgot -that you didn't know the story." -</P> - -<P> -"But maybe I do—that is—what was the story?" asked Miss Holbrook, -wetting her lips as if they had grown suddenly very dry. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, do you? I wonder now! It wasn't 'The PRINCE and the Pauper,' but -the PRINCESS and the Pauper," cited David; "and they used to wave -signals, and answer with flags. Do you know the story?" -</P> - -<P> -There was no answer. Miss Holbrook was putting away her work, -hurriedly, and with hands that shook. David noticed that she even -pricked herself in her anxiety to get the needle tucked away. Then she -drew him to a low stool at her side. -</P> - -<P> -"David, I want you to tell me that story, please," she said, "just as -Mr. Jack told it to you. Now, be careful and put it all in, because -I—I want to hear it," she finished, with an odd little laugh that -seemed to bring two bright red spots to her cheeks. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, do you want to hear it? Then I will tell it," cried David -joyfully. To David, almost as delightful as to hear a story was to tell -one himself. "You see, first—" And he plunged headlong into the -introduction. -</P> - -<P> -David knew it well—that story: and there was, perhaps, little that he -forgot. It might not have been always told in Mr. Jack's language; but -his meaning was there, and very intently Miss Holbrook listened while -David told of the boy and the girl, the wavings, and the flags that -were blue, black, and red. She laughed once,—that was at the little -joke with the bells that the girl played,—but she did not speak until -sometime later when David was telling of the first home-coming of the -Princess, and of the time when the boy on his tiny piazza watched and -watched in vain for a waving white signal from the tower. -</P> - -<P> -"Do you mean to say," interposed Miss Holbrook then, almost starting to -her feet, "that that boy expected—" She stopped suddenly, and fell -back in her chair. The two red spots on her cheeks had become a rosy -glow now, all over her face. -</P> - -<P> -"Expected what?" asked David. -</P> - -<P> -"N—nothing. Go on. I was so—so interested," explained Miss Holbrook -faintly. "Go on." -</P> - -<P> -And David did go on; nor did the story lose by his telling. It gained, -indeed, something, for now it had woven through it the very strong -sympathy of a boy who loved the Pauper for his sorrow and hated the -Princess for causing that sorrow. -</P> - -<P> -"And so," he concluded mournfully, "you see it isn't a very nice story, -after all, for it didn't end well a bit. They ought to have got married -and lived happy ever after. But they didn't." -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook drew in her breath a little uncertainly, and put her hand -to her throat. Her face now, instead of being red, was very white. -</P> - -<P> -"But, David," she faltered, after a moment, "perhaps -he—the—Pauper—did not—not love the Princess any longer." -</P> - -<P> -"Mr. Jack said that he did." -</P> - -<P> -The white face went suddenly pink again. -</P> - -<P> -"Then, why didn't he go to her and—and—tell her?" -</P> - -<P> -David lifted his chin. With all his dignity he answered, and his words -and accent were Mr. Jack's. -</P> - -<P> -"Paupers don't go to Princesses, and say 'I love you.'" -</P> - -<P> -"But perhaps if they did—that is—if—" Miss Holbrook bit her lips and -did not finish her sentence. She did not, indeed, say anything more for -a long time. But she had not forgotten the story. David knew that, -because later she began to question him carefully about many little -points—points that he was very sure he had already made quite plain. -She talked about it, indeed, until he wondered if perhaps she were -going to tell it to some one else sometime. He asked her if she were; -but she only shook her head. And after that she did not question him -any more. And a little later David went home. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap21"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER XXI -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -HEAVY HEARTS -</H3> - -<P> -For a week David had not been near the House that Jack Built, and that, -too, when Jill had been confined within doors for several days with a -cold. Jill, indeed, was inclined to be grieved at this apparent lack of -interest on the part of her favorite playfellow; but upon her return -from her first day of school, after her recovery, she met her brother -with startled eyes. -</P> - -<P> -"Jack, it hasn't been David's fault at all," she cried remorsefully. -"He's sick." -</P> - -<P> -"Sick!" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes; awfully sick. They've had to send away for doctors and -everything." -</P> - -<P> -"Why, Jill, are you sure? Where did you hear this?" -</P> - -<P> -"At school to-day. Every one was talking about it." -</P> - -<P> -"But what is the matter?" -</P> - -<P> -"Fever—some sort. Some say it's typhoid, and some scarlet, and some -say another kind that I can't remember; but everybody says he's awfully -sick. He got it down to Glaspell's, some say,—and some say he didn't. -But, anyhow, Betty Glaspell has been sick with something, and they -haven't let folks in there this week," finished Jill, her eyes big with -terror. -</P> - -<P> -"The Glaspells? But what was David doing down there?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, you know,—he told us once,—teaching Joe to play. He's been -there lots. Joe is blind, you know, and can't see, but he just loves -music, and was crazy over David's violin; so David took down his other -one—the one that was his father's, you know—and showed him how to -pick out little tunes, just to take up his time so he wouldn't mind so -much that he couldn't see. Now, Jack, wasn't that just like David? -Jack, I can't have anything happen to David!" -</P> - -<P> -"No, dear, no; of course not! I'm afraid we can't any of us, for that -matter," sighed Jack, his forehead drawn into anxious lines. "I'll go -down to the Hollys', Jill, the first thing tomorrow morning, and see -how he is and if there's anything we can do. Meanwhile, don't take it -too much to heart, dear. It may not be half so bad as you think. -School-children always get things like that exaggerated, you must -remember," he finished, speaking with a lightness that he did not feel. -</P> - -<P> -To himself the man owned that he was troubled, seriously troubled. He -had to admit that Jill's story bore the earmarks of truth; and -overwhelmingly he realized now just how big a place this somewhat -puzzling small boy had come to fill in his own heart. He did not need -Jill's anxious "Now, hurry, Jack," the next morning to start him off in -all haste for the Holly farmhouse. A dozen rods from the driveway he -met Perry Larson and stopped him abruptly. -</P> - -<P> -"Good morning, Larson; I hope this isn't true—what I hear—that David -is very ill." -</P> - -<P> -Larson pulled off his hat and with his free hand sought the one -particular spot on his head to which he always appealed when he was -very much troubled. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, yes, sir, I'm afraid 't is, Mr. Jack—er—Mr. Gurnsey, I mean. -He is turrible sick, poor little chap, an' it's too bad—that's what it -is—too bad!" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, I'm sorry! I hoped the report was exaggerated. I came down to see -if—if there wasn't something I could do." -</P> - -<P> -"Well, 'course you can ask—there ain't no law ag'in' that; an' ye -needn't be afraid, neither. The report has got 'round that it's -ketchin'—what he's got, and that he got it down to the Glaspells'; but -'t ain't so. The doctor says he didn't ketch nothin', an' he can't give -nothin'. It's his head an' brain that ain't right, an' he's got a -mighty bad fever. He's been kind of flighty an' nervous, anyhow, lately. -</P> - -<P> -"As I was sayin', 'course you can ask, but I'm thinkin' there won't be -nothin' you can do ter help. Ev'rythin' that can be done is bein' done. -In fact, there ain't much of anythin' else that is bein' done down -there jest now but, tendin' ter him. They've got one o' them 'ere -edyercated nurses from the Junction—what wears caps, ye know, an' -makes yer feel as if they knew it all, an' you didn't know nothin'. An' -then there's Mr. an' Mis' Holly besides. If they had THEIR way, there -wouldn't neither of, em let him out o' their sight fur a minute, -they're that cut up about it." -</P> - -<P> -"I fancy they think a good deal of the boy—as we all do," murmured the -younger man, a little unsteadily. -</P> - -<P> -Larson winkled his forehead in deep thought. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes; an' that's what beats me," he answered slowly; "'bout HIM,—Mr. -Holly, I mean. 'Course we'd 'a' expected it of HER—losin' her own boy -as she did, an' bein' jest naturally so sweet an' lovin'-hearted. But -HIM—that's diff'rent. Now, you know jest as well as I do what Mr. -Holly is—every one does, so I ain't sayin' nothin' sland'rous. He's a -good man—a powerful good man; an' there ain't a squarer man goin' ter -work fur. But the fact is, he was made up wrong side out, an' the seams -has always showed bad—turrible bad, with ravelin's all stickin' out -every which way ter ketch an' pull. But, gosh! I'm blamed if that, ere -boy ain't got him so smoothed down, you wouldn't know, scursely, that -he had a seam on him, sometimes; though how he's done it beats me. Now, -there's Mis' Holly—she's tried ter smooth 'em, I'll warrant, lots of -times. But I'm free ter say she hain't never so much as clipped a -ravelin' in all them forty years they've lived tergether. Fact is, it's -worked the other way with her. All that HER rubbin' up ag'in' them -seams has amounted to is ter git herself so smoothed down that she -don't never dare ter say her soul's her own, most generally,—anyhow, -not if he happens ter intermate it belongs ter anybody else!" -</P> - -<P> -Jack Gurnsey suddenly choked over a cough. -</P> - -<P> -"I wish I could—do something," he murmured uncertainly. -</P> - -<P> -"'T ain't likely ye can—not so long as Mr. an' Mis' Holly is on their -two feet. Why, there ain't nothin' they won't do, an' you'll believe -it, maybe, when I tell you that yesterday Mr. Holly, he tramped all -through Sawyer's woods in the rain, jest ter find a little bit of moss -that the boy was callin' for. Think o' that, will ye? Simeon Holly -huntin' moss! An' he got it, too, an' brung it home, an' they say it -cut him up somethin' turrible when the boy jest turned away, and didn't -take no notice. You understand, 'course, sir, the little chap ain't -right in his head, an' so half the time he don't know what he says." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, I'm sorry, sorry!" exclaimed Gurnsey, as he turned away, and -hurried toward the farmhouse. -</P> - -<P> -Mrs. Holly herself answered his low knock. She looked worn and pale. -</P> - -<P> -"Thank you, sir," she said gratefully, in reply to his offer of -assistance, "but there isn't anything you can do, Mr. Gurnsey. We're -having everything done that can be, and every one is very kind. We have -a very good nurse, and Dr. Kennedy has had consultation with Dr. Benson -from the Junction. They are doing all in their power, of course, but -they say that—that it's going to be the nursing that will count now." -</P> - -<P> -"Then I don't fear for him, surely" declared the man, with fervor. -</P> - -<P> -"I know, but—well, he shall have the very best possible—of that." -</P> - -<P> -"I know he will; but isn't there anything—anything that I can do?" -</P> - -<P> -She shook her head. -</P> - -<P> -"No. Of course, if he gets better—" She hesitated; then lifted her -chin a little higher; "WHEN he gets better," she corrected with -courageous emphasis, "he will want to see you." -</P> - -<P> -"And he shall see me," asserted Gurnsey. "And he will be better, Mrs. -Holly,—I'm sure he will." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, yes, of course, only—oh, Mr. Jack, he's so sick—so very sick! -The doctor says he's a peculiarly sensitive nature, and that he thinks -something's been troubling him lately." Her voice broke. -</P> - -<P> -"Poor little chap!" Mr. Jack's voice, too, was husky. -</P> - -<P> -She looked up with swift gratefulness for his sympathy. -</P> - -<P> -"And you loved him, too, I know" she choked. "He talks of you -often—very often." -</P> - -<P> -"Indeed I love him! Who could help it?" -</P> - -<P> -"There couldn't anybody, Mr. Jack,—and that's just it. Now, since he's -been sick, we've wondered more than ever who he is. You see, I can't -help thinking that somewhere he's got friends who ought to know about -him—now." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, I see," nodded the man. -</P> - -<P> -"He isn't an ordinary boy, Mr. Jack. He's been trained in lots of -ways—about his manners, and at the table, and all that. And lots of -things his father has told him are beautiful, just beautiful! He isn't -a tramp. He never was one. And there's his playing. YOU know how he can -play." -</P> - -<P> -"Indeed I do! You must miss his playing, too." -</P> - -<P> -"I do; he talks of that, also," she hurried on, working her fingers -nervously together; "but oftenest he—he speaks of singing, and I can't -quite understand that, for he didn't ever sing, you know." -</P> - -<P> -"Singing? What does he say?" The man asked the question because he saw -that it was affording the overwrought little woman real relief to free -her mind; but at the first words of her reply he became suddenly alert. -</P> - -<P> -"It's 'his song,' as he calls it, that he talks about, always. It isn't -much—what he says—but I noticed it because he always says the same -thing, like this: I'll just hold up my chin and march straight on and -on, and I'll sing it with all my might and main.' And when I ask him -what he's going to sing, he always says, 'My song—my song,' just like -that. Do you think, Mr. Jack, he did have—a song?" -</P> - -<P> -For a moment the man did not answer. Something in his throat tightened, -and held the words. Then, in a low voice he managed to stammer:— -</P> - -<P> -"I think he did, Mrs. Holly, and—I think he sang it, too." The next -moment, with a quick lifting of his hat and a murmured "I'll call again -soon," he turned and walked swiftly down the driveway. -</P> - -<P> -So very swiftly, indeed, was Mr. Jack walking, and so self-absorbed was -he, that he did not see the carriage until it was almost upon him; then -he stepped aside to let it pass. What he saw as he gravely raised his -hat was a handsome span of black horses, a liveried coachman, and a -pair of startled eyes looking straight into his. What he did not see -was the quick gesture with which Miss Holbrook almost ordered her -carriage stopped the minute it had passed him by. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap22"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER XXII -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -AS PERRY SAW IT -</H3> - -<P> -One by one the days passed, and there came from the anxious watchers at -David's bedside only the words, "There's very little change." Often -Jack Gurnsey went to the farmhouse to inquire for the boy. Often, too, -he saw Perry Larson; and Perry was never loath to talk of David. It was -from Perry, indeed, that Gurnsey began to learn some things of David -that he had never known before. -</P> - -<P> -"It does beat all," Perry Larson said to him one day, "how many folks -asks me how that boy is—folks that you'd never think knew him, anyhow, -ter say nothin' of carin' whether he lived or died. Now, there's old -Mis' Somers, fur instance. YOU know what she is—sour as a lemon an' -puckery as a chokecherry. Well, if she didn't give me yesterday a great -bo-kay o' posies she'd growed herself, an' said they was fur him—that -they berlonged ter him, anyhow. -</P> - -<P> -"'Course, I didn't exactly sense what she meant by that, so I asked her -straight out; an' it seems that somehow, when the boy first come, he -struck her place one day an' spied a great big red rose on one of her -bushes. It seems he had his fiddle, an' he, played it,—that rose -a-growin' (you know his way!), an' she heard an' spoke up pretty sharp -an' asked him what in time he was doin'. Well, most kids would 'a' -run,—knowin' her temper as they does,—but not much David. He stands -up as pert as ye please, an' tells her how happy that red rose must be -ter make all that dreary garden look so pretty; an' then he goes on, -merry as a lark, a-playin' down the hill. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, Mis' Somers owned up ter me that she was pretty mad at the time, -'cause her garden did look like tunket, an' she knew it. She said she -hadn't cared ter do a thing with it since her Bessie died that thought -so much of it. But after what David had said, even mad as she was, the -thing kind o' got on her nerves, an' she couldn't see a thing, day or -night, but that red rose a-growin' there so pert an' courageous-like, -until at last, jest ter quiet herself, she fairly had ter set to an' -slick that garden up! She said she raked an' weeded, an' fixed up all -the plants there was, in good shape, an' then she sent down to the -Junction fur some all growed in pots, 'cause 't was too late ter plant -seeds. An, now it's doin' beautiful, so she jest could n't help sendin' -them posies ter David. When I told Mis' Holly, she said she was glad it -happened, 'cause what Mis' Somers needed was somethin' ter git her out -of herself—an' I'm free ter say she did look better-natured, an' no -mistake,—kind o' like a chokecherry in blossom, ye might say." -</P> - -<P> -"An' then there's the Widder Glaspell," continued Perry, after a pause. -"'Course, any one would expect she'd feel bad, seein' as how good David -was ter her boy—teachin' him ter play, ye know. But Mis' Glaspell says -Joe jest does take on somethin' turrible, an' he won't tech the fiddle, -though he was plum carried away with it when David was well an' -teachin' of him. An' there's the Clark kid. He's lame, ye know, an' he -thought the world an' all of David's playin'. -</P> - -<P> -"'Course, there's you an' Miss Holbrook, always askin' an' sendin' -things—but that ain't so strange, 'cause you was 'specially his -friends. But it's them others what beats me. Why, some days it's 'most -ev'ry soul I meet, jest askin' how he is, an' sayin' they hopes he'll -git well. Sometimes it's kids that he's played to, an' I'll be -triggered if one of 'em one day didn't have no excuse to offer except -that David had fit him—'bout a cat, or somethin'—an' that ever since -then he'd thought a heap of him—though he guessed David didn't know -it. Listen ter that, will ye! -</P> - -<P> -"An' once a woman held me up, an' took on turrible, but all I could git -from her was that he'd sat on her doorstep an' played ter her baby once -or twice;—as if that was anythin'! But one of the derndest funny ones -was the woman who said she could wash her dishes a sight easier after -she'd a-seen him go by playin'. There was Bill Dowd, too. You know he -really HAS got a screw loose in his head somewheres, an' there ain't -any one but what says he's the town fool, all right. Well, what do ye -think HE said?" -</P> - -<P> -Mr. Jack shook his head. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, he said he did hope as how nothin' would happen ter that boy -cause he did so like ter see him smile, an' that he always did smile -every time he met him! There, what do ye think o' that?" -</P> - -<P> -"Well, I think, Perry," returned Mr. Jack soberly, "that Bill Dowd -wasn't playing the fool, when he said that, quite so much as he -sometimes is, perhaps." -</P> - -<P> -"Hm-m, maybe not," murmured Perry Larson perplexedly. "Still, I'm free -ter say I do think 't was kind o' queer." He paused, then slapped his -knee suddenly. "Say, did I tell ye about Streeter—Old Bill Streeter -an' the pear tree?" -</P> - -<P> -Again Mr. Jack shook his head. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, then, I'm goin' to," declared the other, with gleeful emphasis. -"An', say, I don't believe even YOU can explain this—I don't! Well, -you know Streeter—ev'ry one does, so I ain't sayin' nothin' -sland'rous. He was cut on a bias, an' that bias runs ter money every -time. You know as well as I do that he won't lift his finger unless -there's a dollar stickin' to it, an' that he hain't no use fur anythin' -nor anybody unless there's money in it for him. I'm blamed if I don't -think that if he ever gits ter heaven, he'll pluck his own wings an' -sell the feathers fur what they'll bring." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, Perry!" remonstrated Mr. Jack, in a half-stifled voice. -</P> - -<P> -Perry Larson only grinned and went on imperturbably. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, seein' as we both understand what he is, I'll tell ye what he -DONE. He called me up ter his fence one day, big as life, an' says he, -'How's the boy?' An' you could 'a' knocked me down with a feather. -Streeter—a-askin' how a boy was that was sick! An' he seemed ter care, -too. I hain't seen him look so longfaced since—since he was paid up on -a sartin note I knows of, jest as he was smackin' his lips over a nice -fat farm that was comin' to him! -</P> - -<P> -"Well, I was that plum puzzled that I meant ter find out why Streeter -was takin' sech notice, if I hung fur it. So I set to on a little -detective work of my own, knowin', of course, that 't wa'n't no use -askin' of him himself. Well, an' what do you s'pose I found out? If -that little scamp of a boy hadn't even got round him—Streeter, the -skinflint! He had—an' he went there often, the neighbors said; an' -Streeter doted on him. They declared that actually he give him a cent -once—though THAT part I ain't swallerin' yet. -</P> - -<P> -"They said—the neighbors did—that it all started from the pear -tree—that big one ter the left of his house. Maybe you remember it. -Well, anyhow, it seems that it's old, an' through bearin' any fruit, -though it still blossoms fit ter kill, every year, only a little late -'most always, an' the blossoms stay on longer'n common, as if they knew -there wa'n't nothin' doin' later. Well, old Streeter said it had got -ter come down. I reckon he suspected it of swipin' some of the -sunshine, or maybe a little rain that belonged ter the tree t'other -side of the road what did bear fruit an' was worth somethin'! Anyhow, -he got his man an' his axe, an' was plum ready ter start in when he -sees David an' David sees him. -</P> - -<P> -"'T was when the boy first come. He'd gone ter walk an' had struck this -pear tree, all in bloom,—an' 'course, YOU know how the boy would -act—a pear tree, bloomin', is a likely sight, I'll own. He danced and -laughed and clapped his hands,—he didn't have his fiddle with -him,—an' carried on like all possessed. Then he sees the man with the -axe, an' Streeter an' Streeter sees him. -</P> - -<P> -"They said it was rich then—Bill Warner heard it all from t'other side -of the fence. He said that David, when he found out what was goin' ter -happen, went clean crazy, an' rampaged on at such a rate that old -Streeter couldn't do nothin' but stand an' stare, until he finally -managed ter growl out: 'But I tell ye, boy, the tree ain't no use no -more!' -</P> - -<P> -"Bill says the boy flew all to pieces then. 'No use—no use!' he cries; -'such a perfectly beautiful thing as that no use! Why, it don't have -ter be any use when it's so pretty. It's jest ter look at an' love, an' -be happy with!' Fancy sayin' that ter old Streeter! I'd like ter seen -his face. But Bill says that wa'n't half what the boy said. He declared -that 't was God's present, anyhow, that trees was; an' that the things -He give us ter look at was jest as much use as the things He give us -ter eat; an' that the stars an' the sunsets an' the snowflakes an' the -little white cloud-boats, an' I don't know what-all, was jest as -important in the Orchestra of Life as turnips an' squashes. An' then, -Billy says, he ended by jest flingin' himself on ter Streeter an' -beggin' him ter wait till he could go back an' git his fiddle so he -could tell him what a beautiful thing that tree was. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, if you'll believe it, old Streeter was so plum befuzzled he sent -the man an' the axe away—an' that tree's a-livin' ter-day—'t is!" he -finished; then, with a sudden gloom on his face, Larson added, huskily: -"An' I only hope I'll be sayin' the same thing of that boy—come next -month at this time!" -</P> - -<P> -"We'll hope you will," sighed the other fervently. -</P> - -<P> -And so one by one the days passed, while the whole town waited and -while in the great airy "parlor bedroom" of the Holly farmhouse one -small boy fought his battle for life. Then came the blackest day and -night of all when the town could only wait and watch—it had lost its -hope; when the doctors shook their heads and refused to meet Mrs. -Holly's eyes; when the pulse in the slim wrist outside the coverlet -played hide-and-seek with the cool, persistent fingers that sought so -earnestly for it; when Perry Larson sat for uncounted sleepless hours -by the kitchen stove, and fearfully listened for a step crossing the -hallway; when Mr. Jack on his porch, and Miss Holbrook in her tower -widow, went with David down into the dark valley, and came so near the -rushing river that life, with its petty prides and prejudices, could -never seem quite the same to them again. -</P> - -<P> -Then, after that blackest day and night, came the dawn—as the dawns do -come after the blackest of days and nights. In the slender wrist -outside the coverlet the pulse gained and steadied. On the forehead -beneath the nurse's fingers, a moisture came. The doctors nodded their -heads now, and looked every one straight in the eye. "He will live," -they said. "The crisis is passed." Out by the kitchen stove Perry -Larson heard the step cross the hall and sprang upright; but at the -first glimpse of Mrs. Holly's tear-wet, yet radiant face, he collapsed -limply. -</P> - -<P> -"Gosh!" he muttered. "Say, do you know, I didn't s'pose I did care so -much! I reckon I'll go an' tell Mr. Jack. He'll want ter hear." -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap23"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER XXIII -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -PUZZLES -</H3> - -<P> -David's convalescence was picturesque, in a way. As soon as he was -able, like a king he sat upon his throne and received his subjects; and -a very gracious king he was, indeed. His room overflowed with flowers -and fruit, and his bed quite groaned with the toys and books and games -brought for his diversion, each one of which he hailed with delight, -from Miss Holbrook's sumptuously bound "Waverley Novels" to little -crippled Jimmy Clark's bag of marbles. -</P> - -<P> -Only two things puzzled David: one was why everybody was so good to -him; and the other was why he never could have the pleasure of both Mr. -Jack's and Miss Holbrook's company at the same time. -</P> - -<P> -David discovered this last curious circumstance concerning Mr. Jack and -Miss Holbrook very early in his convalescence. It was on the second -afternoon that Mr. Jack had been admitted to the sick-room. David had -been hearing all the latest news of Jill and Joe, when suddenly he -noticed an odd change come to his visitor's face. -</P> - -<P> -The windows of the Holly "parlor bedroom" commanded a fine view of the -road, and it was toward one of these windows that Mr. Jack's eyes were -directed. David, sitting up in bed, saw then that down the road was -approaching very swiftly a handsome span of black horses and an open -carriage which he had come to recognize as belonging to Miss Holbrook. -He watched it eagerly now till he saw the horses turn in at the Holly -driveway. Then he gave a low cry of delight. -</P> - -<P> -"It's my Lady of the Roses! She's coming to see me. Look! Oh, I'm so -glad! Now you'll see her, and just KNOW how lovely she is. Why, Mr. -Jack, you aren't going NOW!" he broke off in manifest disappointment, -as Mr. Jack leaped to his feet. -</P> - -<P> -"I think I'll have to, if you don't mind, David," returned the man, an -oddly nervous haste in his manner. "And YOU won't mind, now that you'll -have Miss Holbrook. I want to speak to Larson. I saw him in the field -out there a minute ago. And I guess I'll slip right through this window -here, too, David. I don't want to lose him; and I can catch him quicker -this way than any other," he finished, throwing up the sash. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, but Mr. Jack, please just wait a minute," begged David. "I wanted -you to see my Lady of the Roses, and—" But Mr. Jack was already on the -ground outside the low window, and the next minute, with a merry nod -and smile, he had pulled the sash down after him and was hurrying away. -</P> - -<P> -Almost at once, then, Miss Holbrook appeared at the bedroom door. -</P> - -<P> -"Mrs. Holly said I was to walk right in, David, so here I am," she -began, in a cheery voice. "Oh, you're looking lots better than when I -saw you Monday, young man!" -</P> - -<P> -"I am better," caroled David; "and to-day I'm 'specially better, -because Mr. Jack has been here." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, has Mr. Jack been to see you to-day?" There was an indefinable -change in Miss Holbrook's voice. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, right now. Why, he was here when you were driving into the yard." -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook gave a perceptible start and looked about her a little -wildly. -</P> - -<P> -"Here when—But I didn't meet him anywhere—in the hall." -</P> - -<P> -"He didn't go through the hall," laughed David gleefully. "He went -right through that window there." -</P> - -<P> -"The window!" An angry flush mounted to Miss Holbrook's forehead. -"Indeed, did he have to resort to that to escape—" She bit her lip and -stopped abruptly. -</P> - -<P> -David's eyes widened a little. -</P> - -<P> -"Escape? Oh, HE wasn't the one that was escaping. It was Perry. Mr. -Jack was afraid he'd lose him. He saw him out the window there, right -after he'd seen you, and he said he wanted to speak to him and he was -afraid he'd get away. So he jumped right through that window there. -See?" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, I—see," murmured Miss Holbrook, in a voice David thought was -a little queer. -</P> - -<P> -"I wanted him to stay," frowned David uncertainly. "I wanted him to see -you." -</P> - -<P> -"Dear me, David, I hope you didn't tell him so." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, I did. But he couldn't stay, even then. You see, he wanted to -catch Perry Larson." -</P> - -<P> -"I've no doubt of it," retorted Miss Holbrook, with so much emphasis -that David again looked at her with a slightly disturbed frown. -</P> - -<P> -"But he'll come again soon, I'm sure, and then maybe you'll be here, -too. I do so want him to see you, Lady of the Roses!" -</P> - -<P> -"Nonsense, David!" laughed Miss Holbrook a little nervously. "Mr.—Mr. -Gurnsey doesn't want to see me. He's seen me dozens of times." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, he told me he'd seen you long ago," nodded David gravely; -"but he didn't act as if he remembered it much." -</P> - -<P> -"Didn't he, indeed!" laughed Miss Holbrook, again flushing a little. -"Well, I'm sure, dear, we wouldn't want to tax the poor gentleman's -memory too much, you know. Come, suppose you see what I've brought -you," she finished gayly. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, what is it?" cried David, as, under Miss Holbrook's swift fingers, -the wrappings fell away and disclosed a box which, upon being opened, -was found to be filled with quantities of oddly shaped bits of pictured -wood—a jumble of confusion. -</P> - -<P> -"It's a jig-saw puzzle, David. All these little pieces fitted together -make a picture, you see. I tried last night and I could n't do it. I -brought it down to see if you could." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, thank you! I'd love to," rejoiced the boy. And in the fascination -of the marvel of finding one fantastic bit that fitted another, David -apparently forgot all about Mr. Jack—which seemed not unpleasing to -his Lady of the Roses. -</P> - -<P> -It was not until nearly a week later that David had his wish of seeing -his Mr. Jack and his Lady of the Roses meet at his bedside. It was the -day Miss Holbrook brought to him the wonderful set of handsomely bound -"Waverley Novels." He was still glorying in his new possession, in -fact, when Mr. Jack appeared suddenly in the doorway. -</P> - -<P> -"Hullo my boy, I just—Oh, I beg your pardon. I supposed you -were—alone," he stammered, looking very red indeed. -</P> - -<P> -"He is—that is, he will be, soon—except for you, Mr. Gurnsey," smiled -Miss Holbrook, very brightly. She was already on her feet. -</P> - -<P> -"No, no, I beg of you," stammered Mr. Jack, growing still more red. -"Don't let me drive—that is, I mean, don't go, please. I didn't know. -I had no warning—I didn't see—Your carriage was not at the door -to-day." -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook's eyebrows rose the fraction of an inch. -</P> - -<P> -"I sent it home. I am planning to walk back. I have several calls to -make on the way; and it's high time I was starting. Good-bye, David." -</P> - -<P> -"But, Lady, of the Roses, please, please, don't go," besought David, -who had been looking from one to the other in worried dismay. "Why, -you've just come!" -</P> - -<P> -But neither coaxing nor argument availed; and before David really knew -just what had happened, he found himself alone with Mr. Jack. -</P> - -<P> -Even then disappointment was piled on disappointment, for Mr. Jack's -visit was not the unalloyed happiness it usually was. Mr. Jack himself -was almost cross at first, and then he was silent and restless, moving -jerkily about the room in a way that disturbed David very much. -</P> - -<P> -Mr. Jack had brought with him a book; but even that only made matters -worse, for when he saw the beautifully bound volumes that Miss Holbrook -had just left, he frowned, and told David that he guessed he did not -need his gift at all, with all those other fine books. And David could -not seem to make him understand that the one book from him was just -exactly as dear as were the whole set of books that his Lady of the -Roses brought. -</P> - -<P> -Certainly it was not a satisfactory visit at all, and for the first -time David was almost glad to have Mr. Jack go and leave him with his -books. The BOOKS, David told himself, he could understand; Mr. Jack he -could not—to-day. -</P> - -<P> -Several times after this David's Lady of the Roses and Mr. Jack -happened to call at the same hour; but never could David persuade these -two friends of his to stay together. Always, if one came and the other -was there, the other went away, in spite of David's protestations that -two people did not tire him at all and his assertions that he often -entertained as many as that at once. Tractable as they were in all -other ways, anxious as they seemed to please him, on this one point -they were obdurate: never would they stay together. -</P> - -<P> -They were not angry with each other—David was sure of that, for they -were always very especially polite, and rose, and stood, and bowed in a -most delightful fashion. Still, he sometimes thought that they did not -quite like each other, for always, after the one went away, the other, -left behind, was silent and almost stern—if it was Mr. Jack; and -flushed-faced and nervous—if it was Miss Holbrook. But why this was so -David could not understand. -</P> - -<P> -The span of handsome black horses came very frequently to the Holly -farmhouse now, and as time passed they often bore away behind them a -white-faced but happy-eyed boy on the seat beside Miss Holbrook. -</P> - -<P> -"My, but I don't see how every one can be so good to me!" exclaimed the -boy, one day, to his Lady of the Roses. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, that's easy, David," she smiled. "The only trouble is to find out -what you want—you ask for so little." -</P> - -<P> -"But I don't need to ask—you do it all beforehand," asserted the boy, -"you and Mr. Jack, and everybody." -</P> - -<P> -"Really? That's good." For a brief moment Miss Holbrook hesitated; -then, as if casually, she asked: "And he tells you stories, too, I -suppose,—this Mr. Jack,—just as he used to, doesn't he?" -</P> - -<P> -"Well, he never did tell me but one, you know, before; but he's told me -more now, since I've been sick." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, I remember, and that one was 'The Princess and the Pauper,' -wasn't it? Well, has he told you any more—like—that?" -</P> - -<P> -The boy shook his head with decision. -</P> - -<P> -"No, he doesn't tell me any more like that, and—and I don't want him -to, either." -</P> - -<P> -Miss Holbrook laughed a little oddly. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, David, what is the matter with that?" she queried. -</P> - -<P> -"The ending; it wasn't nice, you know." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, I—I remember." -</P> - -<P> -"I've asked him to change it," went on David, in a grieved voice. "I -asked him just the other day, but he wouldn't." -</P> - -<P> -"Perhaps he—he didn't want to." Miss Holbrook spoke very quickly, but -so low that David barely heard the words. -</P> - -<P> -"Didn't want to? Oh, yes, he did! He looked awful sober, and as if he -really cared, you know. And he said he'd give all he had in the world -if he really could change it, but he couldn't." -</P> - -<P> -"Did he say—just that?" Miss Holbrook was leaning forward a little -breathlessly now. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes—just that; and that's the part I couldn't understand," commented -David. "For I don't see why a story—just a story made up out of -somebody's head—can't be changed any way you want it. And I told him -so." -</P> - -<P> -"Well, and what did he say to that?" -</P> - -<P> -"He didn't say anything for a minute, and I had to ask him again. Then -he sat up suddenly, just as if he'd been asleep, you know, and said, -'Eh, what, David?' And then I told him again what I'd said. This time -he shook his head, and smiled that kind of a smile that isn't really a -smile, you know, and said something about a real, true-to-life story's -never having but one ending, and that was a logical ending. Lady of the -Roses, what is a logical ending?" -</P> - -<P> -The Lady of the Roses laughed unexpectedly. The two little red spots, -that David always loved to see, flamed into her cheeks, and her eyes -showed a sudden sparkle. When she answered, her words came -disconnectedly, with little laughing breaths between. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, David, I—I'm not sure I can—tell you. But perhaps I—can find -out. This much, however, I am sure of: Mr. Jack's logical ending -wouldn't be—mine!" -</P> - -<P> -What she meant David did not know; nor would she tell him when he -asked; but a few days later she sent for him, and very gladly -David—able now to go where he pleased—obeyed the summons. -</P> - -<P> -It was November, and the garden was bleak and cold; but in the library -a bright fire danced on the hearth, and before this Miss Holbrook drew -up two low chairs. -</P> - -<P> -She looked particularly pretty, David thought. The rich red of her -dress had apparently brought out an answering red in her cheeks. Her -eyes were very bright and her lips smiled; yet she seemed oddly nervous -and restless. She sewed a little, with a bit of yellow silk on -white—but not for long. She knitted with two long ivory needles -flashing in and out of a silky mesh of blue—but this, too, she soon -ceased doing. On a low stand at David's side she had placed books and -pictures, and for a time she talked of those. Then very abruptly she -asked:— -</P> - -<P> -"David, when will you see—Mr. Jack again—do you suppose?" -</P> - -<P> -"Tomorrow. I'm going up to the House that Jack Built to tea, and I'm to -stay all night. It's Halloween—that is, it isn't really Halloween, -because it's too late. I lost that, being sick, you know. So we're -going to pretend, and Mr. Jack is going to show me what it is like. -That is what Mr. Jack and Jill always do; when something ails the real -thing, they just pretend with the make-believe one. He's planned lots -of things for Jill and me to do; with nuts and apples and candles, you -know. It's to-morrow night, so I'll see him then." -</P> - -<P> -"To-morrow? So—so soon?" faltered Miss Holbrook. And to David, gazing -at her with wondering eyes, it seemed for a moment almost as if she -were looking about for a place to which she might run and hide. Then -determinedly, as if she were taking hold of something with both hands, -she leaned forward, looked David squarely in the eyes, and began to -talk hurriedly, yet very distinctly. -</P> - -<P> -"David, listen. I've something I want you to say to Mr. Jack, and I -want you to be sure and get it just right. It's about the—the story, -'The Princess and the Pauper,' you know. You can remember, I think, for -you remembered that so well. Will you say it to him—what I'm going to -tell you—just as I say it?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, of course I will!" David's promise was unhesitating, though his -eyes were still puzzled. -</P> - -<P> -"It's about the—the ending," stammered Miss Holbrook. "That is, it -may—it may have something to do with the ending—perhaps," she -finished lamely. And again David noticed that odd shifting of Miss -Holbrook's gaze as if she were searching for some means of escape. -Then, as before, he saw her chin lift determinedly, as she began to -talk faster than ever. -</P> - -<P> -"Now, listen," she admonished him, earnestly. -</P> - -<P> -And David listened. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap24"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER XXIV -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -A STORY REMODELED -</H3> - -<P> -The pretended Halloween was a great success. So very excited, indeed, -did David become over the swinging apples and popping nuts that he -quite forgot to tell Mr. Jack what the Lady of the Roses had said until -Jill had gone up to bed and he himself was about to take from Mr. -Jack's hand the little lighted lamp. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, Mr. Jack, I forgot," he cried then. "There was something I was -going to tell you." -</P> - -<P> -"Never mind to-night, David; it's so late. Suppose we leave it until -to-morrow," suggested Mr. Jack, still with the lamp extended in his -hand. -</P> - -<P> -"But I promised the Lady of the Roses that I'd say it to-night," -demurred the boy, in a troubled voice. -</P> - -<P> -The man drew his lamp halfway back suddenly. -</P> - -<P> -"The Lady of the Roses! Do you mean—she sent a message—to ME?" he -demanded. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes; about the story, 'The Princess and the Pauper,' you know." -</P> - -<P> -With an abrupt exclamation Mr. Jack set the lamp on the table and -turned to a chair. He had apparently lost his haste to go to bed. -</P> - -<P> -"See here, David, suppose you come and sit down, and tell me just what -you're talking about. And first—just what does the Lady of the Roses -know about that—that 'Princess and the Pauper'?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, she knows it all, of course," returned the boy in surprise. "I -told it to her." -</P> - -<P> -"You—told—it—to her!" Mr. Jack relaxed in his chair. "David!" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes. And she was just as interested as could be." -</P> - -<P> -"I don't doubt it!" Mr. Jack's lips snapped together a little grimly. -</P> - -<P> -"Only she didn't like the ending, either." -</P> - -<P> -Mr. Jack sat up suddenly. -</P> - -<P> -"She didn't like—David, are you sure? Did she SAY that?" -</P> - -<P> -David frowned in thought. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, I don't know as I can tell, exactly, but I'm sure she did n't -like it, because just before she told me WHAT to say to you, she said -that—that what she was going to say would probably have something to -do with the ending, anyway. Still—" David paused in yet deeper -thought. "Come to think of it, there really isn't anything—not in what -she said—that CHANGED that ending, as I can see. They didn't get -married and live happy ever after, anyhow." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, but what did she say?" asked Mr. Jack in a voice that was not -quite steady. "Now, be careful, David, and tell it just as she said it." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, I will," nodded David. "SHE said to do that, too." -</P> - -<P> -"Did she?" Mr. Jack leaned farther forward in his chair. "But tell me, -how did she happen to—to say anything about it? Suppose you begin at -the beginning—away back, David. I want to hear it all—all!" -</P> - -<P> -David gave a contented sigh, and settled himself more comfortably. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, to begin with, you see, I told her the story long ago, before I -was sick, and she was ever so interested then, and asked lots of -questions. Then the other day something came up—I've forgotten -how—about the ending, and I told her how hard I'd tried to have you -change it, but you wouldn't. And she spoke right up quick and said -probably you didn't want to change it, anyhow. But of course I settled -THAT question without any trouble," went on David confidently, "by just -telling her how you said you'd give anything in the world to change it." -</P> - -<P> -"And you told her that—just that, David?" cried the man. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, yes, I had to," answered David, in surprise, "else she wouldn't -have known that you DID want to change it. Don't you see?" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes! I—see—a good deal that I'm thinking you don't," muttered -Mr. Jack, falling back in his chair. -</P> - -<P> -"Well, then is when I told her about the logical ending—what you said, -you know,—oh, yes! and that was when I found out she did n't like the -ending, because she laughed such a funny little laugh and colored up, -and said that she wasn't sure she could tell me what a logical ending -was, but that she would try to find out, and that, anyhow, YOUR ending -wouldn't be hers—she was sure of that." -</P> - -<P> -"David, did she say that—really?" Mr. Jack was on his feet now. -</P> - -<P> -"She did; and then yesterday she asked me to come over, and she said -some more things,—about the story, I mean,—but she didn't say another -thing about the ending. She didn't ever say anything about that except -that little bit I told you of a minute ago." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, yes, but what did she say?" demanded Mr. Jack, stopping short in -his walk up and down the room. -</P> - -<P> -"She said: 'You tell Mr. Jack that I know something about that story of -his that perhaps he doesn't. In the first place, I know the Princess a -lot better than he does, and she isn't a bit the kind of girl he's -pictured her." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes! Go on—go on!" -</P> - -<P> -"'Now, for instance,' she says, 'when the boy made that call, after the -girl first came back, and when the boy didn't like it because they -talked of colleges and travels, and such things, you tell him that I -happen to know that that girl was just hoping and hoping he'd speak of -the old days and games; but that she could n't speak, of course, when -he hadn't been even once to see her during all those weeks, and when -he'd acted in every way just as if he'd forgotten.'" -</P> - -<P> -"But she hadn't waved—that Princess hadn't waved—once!" argued Mr. -Jack; "and he looked and looked for it." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, SHE spoke of that," returned David. "But SHE said she shouldn't -think the Princess would have waved, when she'd got to be such a great -big girl as that—WAVING to a BOY! She said that for her part she -should have been ashamed of her if she had!" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, did she!" murmured Mr. Jack blankly, dropping suddenly into his -chair. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, she did," repeated David, with a little virtuous uplifting of his -chin. -</P> - -<P> -It was plain to be seen that David's sympathies had unaccountably met -with a change of heart. -</P> - -<P> -"But—the Pauper—" -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, and that's another thing," interrupted David. "The Lady of -the Roses said that she didn't like that name one bit; that it wasn't -true, anyway, because he wasn't a pauper. And she said, too, that as -for his picturing the Princess as being perfectly happy in all that -magnificence, he didn't get it right at all. For SHE knew that the -Princess wasn't one bit happy, because she was so lonesome for things -and people she had known when she was just the girl." -</P> - -<P> -Again Mr. Jack sprang to his feet. For a minute he strode up and down -the room in silence; then in a shaking voice he asked:— -</P> - -<P> -"David, you—you aren't making all this up, are you? You're saying just -what—what Miss Holbrook told you to?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, of course, I'm not making it up," protested the boy aggrievedly. -"This is the Lady of the Roses' story—SHE made it up—only she talked -it as if 't was real, of course, just as you did. She said another -thing, too. She said that she happened to know that the Princess had -got all that magnificence around her in the first place just to see if -it wouldn't make her happy, but that it hadn't, and that now she had -one place—a little room—that was left just as it used to be when she -was the girl, and that she went there and sat very often. And she said -it was right in sight of where the boy lived, too, where he could see -it every day; and that if he hadn't been so blind he could have looked -right through those gray walls and seen that, and seen lots of other -things. And what did she mean by that, Mr. Jack?" -</P> - -<P> -"I don't know—I don't know, David," half-groaned Mr. Jack. "Sometimes -I think she means—and then I think that can't be—true." -</P> - -<P> -"But do you think it's helped it any—the story?" persisted the boy. -"She's only talked a little about the Princess. She didn't really -change things any—not the ending." -</P> - -<P> -"But she said it might, David—she said it might! Don't you remember?" -cried the man eagerly. And to David, his eagerness did not seem at all -strange. Mr. Jack had said before—long ago—that he would be very glad -indeed to have a happier ending to this tale. "Think now," continued -the man. "Perhaps she said something else, too. Did she say anything -else, David?" -</P> - -<P> -David shook his head slowly. -</P> - -<P> -"No, only—yes, there was a little something, but it doesn't CHANGE -things any, for it was only a 'supposing.' She said: 'Just supposing, -after long years, that the Princess found out about how the boy felt -long ago, and suppose he should look up at the tower some day, at the -old time, and see a ONE—TWO wave, which meant, "Come over to see me." -Just what do you suppose he would do?' But of course, THAT can't do any -good," finished David gloomily, as he rose to go to bed, "for that was -only a 'supposing.'" -</P> - -<P> -"Of course," agreed Mr. Jack steadily; and David did not know that only -stern self-control had forced the steadiness into that voice, nor that, -for Mr. Jack, the whole world had burst suddenly into song. -</P> - -<P> -Neither did David, the next morning, know that long before eight -o'clock Mr. Jack stood at a certain window, his eyes unswervingly fixed -on the gray towers of Sunnycrest. What David did know, however, was -that just after eight, Mr. Jack strode through the room where he and -Jill were playing checkers, flung himself into his hat and coat, and -then fairly leaped down the steps toward the path that led to the -footbridge at the bottom of the hill. -</P> - -<P> -"Why, whatever in the world ails Jack?" gasped Jill. Then, after a -startled pause, she asked. "David, do folks ever go crazy for joy? -Yesterday, you see, Jack got two splendid pieces of news. One was from -his doctor. He was examined, and he's fine, the doctor says; all well, -so he can go back, now any time, to the city and work. I shall go to -school then, you know,—a young ladies' school," she finished, a little -importantly. -</P> - -<P> -"He's well? How splendid! But what was the other news? You said there -were two; only it couldn't have been nicer than that was; to be -well—all well!" -</P> - -<P> -"The other? Well, that was only that his old place in the city was -waiting for him. He was with a firm of big lawyers, you know, and of -course it is nice to have a place all waiting. But I can't see anything -in those things to make him act like this, now. Can you?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, yes, maybe," declared David. "He's found his work—don't you -see?—out in the world, and he's going to do it. I know how I'd feel if -I had found mine that father told me of! Only what I can't understand -is, if Mr. Jack knew all this yesterday, why did n't he act like this -then, instead of waiting till to-day?" -</P> - -<P> -"I wonder," said Jill. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR> - -<A NAME="chap25"></A> -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -CHAPTER XXV -</H3> - -<H3 ALIGN="center"> -THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD -</H3> - -<P> -David found many new songs in his violin those early winter days, and -they were very beautiful ones. To begin with, there were all the kindly -looks and deeds that were showered upon him from every side. There was -the first snowstorm, too, with the feathery flakes turning all the -world to fairy whiteness. This song David played to Mr. Streeter, one -day, and great was his disappointment that the man could not seem to -understand what the song said. -</P> - -<P> -"But don't you see?" pleaded David. "I'm telling you that it's your -pear-tree blossoms come back to say how glad they are that you didn't -kill them that day." -</P> - -<P> -"Pear-tree blossoms—come back!" ejaculated the old man. "Well, no, I -can't see. Where's yer pear-tree blossoms?" -</P> - -<P> -"Why, there—out of the window—everywhere," urged the boy. -</P> - -<P> -"THERE! By ginger! boy—ye don't mean—ye CAN'T mean the SNOW!" -</P> - -<P> -"Of course I do! Now, can't you see it? Why, the whole tree was just a -great big cloud of snowflakes. Don't you remember? Well, now it's gone -away and got a whole lot more trees, and all the little white petals -have come dancing down to celebrate, and to tell you they sure are -coming back next year." -</P> - -<P> -"Well, by ginger!" exclaimed the man again. Then, suddenly, he threw -back his head with a hearty laugh. David did not quite like the laugh, -neither did he care for the five-cent piece that the man thrust into -his fingers a little later; though—had David but known it—both the -laugh and the five-cent piece gift were—for the uncomprehending man -who gave them—white milestones along an unfamiliar way. -</P> - -<P> -It was soon after this that there came to David the great surprise—his -beloved Lady of the Roses and his no less beloved Mr. Jack were to be -married at the beginning of the New Year. So very surprised, indeed, -was David at this, that even his violin was mute, and had nothing, at -first, to say about it. But to Mr. Jack, as man to man, David said one -day:— -</P> - -<P> -"I thought men, when they married women, went courting. In story-books -they do. And you—you hardly ever said a word to my beautiful Lady of -the Roses; and you spoke once—long ago—as if you scarcely remembered -her at all. Now, what do you mean by that?" -</P> - -<P> -And Mr. Jack laughed, but he grew red, too,—and then he told it -all,—that it was just the story of "The Princess and the Pauper," and -that he, David, had been the one, as it happened, to do part of their -courting for them. -</P> - -<P> -And how David had laughed then, and how he had fairly hugged himself -for joy! And when next he had picked up his violin, what a beautiful, -beautiful song he had found about it in the vibrant strings! -</P> - -<P> -It was this same song, as it chanced, that he was playing in his room -that Saturday afternoon when the letter from Simeon Holly's long-lost -son John came to the Holly farmhouse. -</P> - -<P> -Downstairs in the kitchen, Simeon Holly stood, with the letter in his -hand. -</P> - -<P> -"Ellen, we've got a letter from—John," he said. That Simeon Holly -spoke of it at all showed how very far along HIS unfamiliar way he had -come since the last letter from John had arrived. -</P> - -<P> -"From—John? Oh, Simeon! From John?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes." -</P> - -<P> -Simeon sat down and tried to hide the shaking of his hand as he ran the -point of his knife under the flap of the envelope. "We'll see what—he -says." And to hear him, one might have thought that letters from John -were everyday occurrences. -</P> - -<BR> - -<P CLASS="letter"> -DEAR FATHER: Twice before I have written [ran the letter], and received -no answer. But I'm going to make one more effort for forgiveness. May I -not come to you this Christmas? I have a little boy of my own now, and -my heart aches for you. I know how I should feel, should he, in years -to come, do as I did. -</P> - -<P CLASS="letter"> -I'll not deceive you—I have not given up my art. You told me once to -choose between you and it—and I chose, I suppose; at least, I ran -away. Yet in the face of all that, I ask you again, may I not come to -you at Christmas? I want you, father, and I want mother. And I want you -to see my boy. -</P> - -<BR> - -<P> -"Well?" said Simeon Holly, trying to speak with a steady coldness that -would not show how deeply moved he was. "Well, Ellen?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, Simeon, yes!" choked his wife, a world of mother-love and longing -in her pleading eyes and voice. "Yes—you'll let it be—'Yes'!" -</P> - -<P> -"Uncle Simeon, Aunt Ellen," called David, clattering down the stairs -from his room, "I've found such a beautiful song in my violin, and I'm -going to play it over and over so as to be sure and remember it for -father—for it is a beautiful world, Uncle Simeon, isn't it? Now, -listen!" -</P> - -<P> -And Simeon Holly listened—but it was not the violin that he heard. It -was the voice of a little curly-headed boy out of the past. -</P> - -<P> -When David stopped playing some time later, only the woman sat watching -him—the man was over at his desk, pen in hand. -</P> - -<P> -John, John's wife, and John's boy came the day before Christmas, and -great was the excitement in the Holly farmhouse. John was found to be -big, strong, and bronzed with the outdoor life of many a sketching -trip—a son to be proud of, and to be leaned upon in one's old age. -Mrs. John, according to Perry Larson, was "the slickest little woman -goin'." According to John's mother, she was an almost unbelievable -incarnation of a long-dreamed-of, long-despaired-of daughter—sweet, -lovable, and charmingly beautiful. Little John—little John was -himself; and he could not have been more had he been an angel-cherub -straight from heaven—which, in fact, he was, in his doting -grandparents' eyes. -</P> - -<P> -John Holly had been at his old home less than four hours when he -chanced upon David's violin. He was with his father and mother at the -time. There was no one else in the room. With a sidelong glance at his -parents, he picked up the instrument—John Holly had not forgotten his -own youth. His violin-playing in the old days had not been welcome, he -remembered. -</P> - -<P> -"A fiddle! Who plays?" he asked. -</P> - -<P> -"David." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, the boy. You say you—took him in? By the way, what an odd little -shaver he is! Never did I see a BOY like HIM." Simeon Holly's head came -up almost aggressively. -</P> - -<P> -"David is a good boy—a very good boy, indeed, John. We think a great -deal of him." -</P> - -<P> -John Holly laughed lightly, yet his brow carried a puzzled frown. Two -things John Holly had not been able thus far to understand: an -indefinable change in his father, and the position of the boy David, in -the household—John Holly was still remembering his own repressed youth. -</P> - -<P> -"Hm-m," he murmured, softly picking the strings, then drawing across -them a tentative bow. "I've a fiddle at home that I play sometimes. Do -you mind if I—tune her up?" -</P> - -<P> -A flicker of something that was very near to humor flashed from his -father's eyes. -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, no. We are used to that—now." And again John Holly remembered his -youth. -</P> - -<P> -"Jove! but he's got the dandy instrument here," cried the player, -dropping his bow after the first half-dozen superbly vibrant tones, and -carrying the violin to the window. A moment later he gave an amazed -ejaculation and turned on his father a dumfounded face. -</P> - -<P> -"Great Scott, father! Where did that boy get this instrument? I KNOW -something of violins, if I can't play them much; and this—! Where DID -he get it?" -</P> - -<P> -"Of his father, I suppose. He had it when he came here, anyway." -</P> - -<P> -"'Had it when he came'! But, father, you said he was a tramp, and—oh, -come, tell me, what is the secret behind this? Here I come home and -find calmly reposing on my father's sitting-room table a violin that's -priceless, for all I know. Anyhow, I do know that its value is reckoned -in the thousands, not hundreds: and yet you, with equal calmness, tell -me it's owned by this boy who, it's safe to say, doesn't know how to -play sixteen notes on it correctly, to say nothing of appreciating -those he does play; and who, by your own account, is nothing but—" A -swiftly uplifted hand of warning stayed the words on his lips. He -turned to see David himself in the doorway. -</P> - -<P> -"Come in, David," said Simeon Holly quietly. "My son wants to hear you -play. I don't think he has heard you." And again there flashed from -Simeon Holly's eyes a something very much like humor. -</P> - -<P> -With obvious hesitation John Holly relinquished the violin. From the -expression on his face it was plain to be seen the sort of torture he -deemed was before him. But, as if constrained to ask the question, he -did say:— -</P> - -<P> -"Where did you get this violin, boy?" -</P> - -<P> -"I don't know. We've always had it, ever since I could remember—this -and the other one." -</P> - -<P> -"The OTHER one!" -</P> - -<P> -"Father's." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh!" He hesitated; then, a little severely, he observed: "This is a -fine instrument, boy,—a very fine instrument." -</P> - -<P> -"Yes," nodded David, with a cheerful smile. "Father said it was. I like -it, too. This is an Amati, but the other is a Stradivarius. I don't -know which I do like best, sometimes, only this is mine." -</P> - -<P> -With a half-smothered ejaculation John Holly fell back limply. -</P> - -<P> -"Then you—do—know?" he challenged. -</P> - -<P> -"Know—what?" -</P> - -<P> -"The value of that violin in your hands." -</P> - -<P> -There was no answer. The boy's eyes were questioning. -</P> - -<P> -"The worth, I mean,—what it's worth." -</P> - -<P> -"Why, no—yes—that is, it's worth everything—to me," answered David, -in a puzzled voice. -</P> - -<P> -With an impatient gesture John Holly brushed this aside. -</P> - -<P> -"But the other one—where is that?" -</P> - -<P> -"At Joe Glaspell's. I gave it to him to play on, because he had n't -any, and he liked to play so well." -</P> - -<P> -"You GAVE it to him—a Stradivarius!" -</P> - -<P> -"I loaned it to him," corrected David, in a troubled voice. "Being -father's, I couldn't bear to give it away. But Joe—Joe had to have -something to play on." -</P> - -<P> -"'Something to play on'! Father, he doesn't mean the River Street -Glaspells?" cried John Holly. -</P> - -<P> -"I think he does. Joe is old Peleg Glaspell's grandson." John Holly -threw up both his hands. -</P> - -<P> -"A Stradivarius—to old Peleg's grandson! Oh, ye gods!" he muttered. -"Well, I'll be—" He did not finish his sentence. At another word from -Simeon Holly, David had begun to play. -</P> - -<P> -From his seat by the stove Simeon Holly watched his son's face—and -smiled. He saw amazement, unbelief, and delight struggle for the -mastery; but before the playing had ceased, he was summoned by Perry -Larson to the kitchen on a matter of business. So it was into the -kitchen that John Holly burst a little later, eyes and cheek aflame. -</P> - -<P> -"Father, where in Heaven's name DID you get that boy?" he demanded. -"Who taught him to play like that? I've been trying to find out from -him, but I'd defy Sherlock Holmes himself to make head or tail of the -sort of lingo he talks, about mountain homes and the Orchestra of Life! -Father, what DOES it mean?" -</P> - -<P> -Obediently Simeon Holly told the story then, more fully than he had -told it before. He brought forward the letter, too, with its mysterious -signature. -</P> - -<P> -"Perhaps you can make it out, son," he laughed. "None of the rest of us -can, though I haven't shown it to anybody now for a long time. I got -discouraged long ago of anybody's ever making it out." -</P> - -<P> -"Make it out—make it out!" cried John Holly excitedly; "I should say I -could! It's a name known the world over. It's the name of one of the -greatest violinists that ever lived." -</P> - -<P> -"But how—what—how came he in my barn?" demanded Simeon Holly. -</P> - -<P> -"Easily guessed, from the letter, and from what the world knows," -returned John, his voice still shaking with excitement. "He was always -a queer chap, they say, and full of his notions. Six or eight years ago -his wife died. They say he worshiped her, and for weeks refused even to -touch his violin. Then, very suddenly, he, with his four-year-old son, -disappeared—dropped quite out of sight. Some people guessed the -reason. I knew a man who was well acquainted with him, and at the time -of the disappearance he told me quite a lot about him. He said he was -n't a bit surprised at what had happened. That already half a dozen -relatives were interfering with the way he wanted to bring the boy up, -and that David was in a fair way to be spoiled, even then, with so much -attention and flattery. The father had determined to make a wonderful -artist of his son, and he was known to have said that he believed—as -do so many others—that the first dozen years of a child's life are the -making of the man, and that if he could have the boy to himself that -long he would risk the rest. So it seems he carried out his notion -until he was taken sick, and had to quit—poor chap!" -</P> - -<P> -"But why didn't he tell us plainly in that note who he was, then?" -fumed Simeon Holly, in manifest irritation. -</P> - -<P> -"He did, he thought," laughed the other. "He signed his name, and he -supposed that was so well known that just to mention it would be -enough. That's why he kept it so secret while he was living on the -mountain, you see, and that's why even David himself didn't know it. Of -course, if anybody found out who he was, that ended his scheme, and he -knew it. So he supposed all he had to do at the last was to sign his -name to that note, and everybody would know who he was, and David would -at once be sent to his own people. (There's an aunt and some cousins, I -believe.) You see he didn't reckon on nobody's being able to READ his -name! Besides, being so ill, he probably wasn't quite sane, anyway." -</P> - -<P> -"I see, I see," nodded Simeon Holly, frowning a little. "And of course -if we had made it out, some of us here would have known it, probably. -Now that you call it to mind I think I have heard it myself in days -gone by—though such names mean little to me. But doubtless somebody -would have known. However, that is all past and gone now." -</P> - -<P> -"Oh, yes, and no harm done. He fell into good hands, luckily. You'll -soon see the last of him now, of course." -</P> - -<P> -"Last of him? Oh, no, I shall keep David," said Simeon Holly, with -decision. -</P> - -<P> -"Keep him! Why, father, you forget who he is! There are friends, -relatives, an adoring public, and a mint of money awaiting that boy. -You can't keep him. You could never have kept him this long if this -little town of yours hadn't been buried in this forgotten valley up -among these hills. You'll have the whole world at your doors the minute -they find out he is here—hills or no hills! Besides, there are his -people; they have some claim." -</P> - -<P> -There was no answer. With a suddenly old, drawn look on his face, the -elder man had turned away. -</P> - -<P> -Half an hour later Simeon Holly climbed the stairs to David's room, and -as gently and plainly as he could told the boy of this great, good -thing that had come to him. -</P> - -<P> -David was amazed, but overjoyed. That he was found to be the son of a -famous man affected him not at all, only so far as it seemed to set his -father right in other eyes—in David's own, the man had always been -supreme. But the going away—the marvelous going away—filled him with -excited wonder. -</P> - -<P> -"You mean, I shall go away and study—practice—learn more of my -violin?" -</P> - -<P> -"Yes, David." -</P> - -<P> -"And hear beautiful music like the organ in church, only -more—bigger—better?" -</P> - -<P> -"I suppose so.". -</P> - -<P> -"And know people—dear people—who will understand what I say when I -play?" -</P> - -<P> -Simeon Holly's face paled a little; still, he knew David had not meant -to make it so hard. -</P> - -<P> -"Yes." -</P> - -<P> -"Why, it's my 'start'—just what I was going to have with the -gold-pieces," cried David joyously. Then, uttering a sharp cry of -consternation, he clapped his fingers to his lips. -</P> - -<P> -"Your—what?" asked the man. -</P> - -<P> -"N—nothing, really, Mr. Holly,—Uncle Simeon,—n—nothing." -</P> - -<P> -Something, either the boy's agitation, or the luckless mention of the -gold-pieces sent a sudden dismayed suspicion into Simeon Holly's eyes. -</P> - -<P> -"Your 'start'?—the 'gold-pieces'? David, what do you mean?" -</P> - -<P> -David shook his head. He did not intend to tell. But gently, -persistently, Simeon Holly questioned until the whole piteous little -tale lay bare before him: the hopes, the house of dreams, the sacrifice. -</P> - -<P> -David saw then what it means when a strong man is shaken by an emotion -that has mastered him; and the sight awed and frightened the boy. -</P> - -<P> -"Mr. Holly, is it because I'm—going—that you care—so much? I never -thought—or supposed—you'd—CARE," he faltered. -</P> - -<P> -There was no answer. Simeon Holly's eyes were turned quite away. -</P> - -<P> -"Uncle Simeon—PLEASE! I—I think I don't want to go, anyway. I—I'm -sure I don't want to go—and leave YOU!" -</P> - -<P> -Simeon Holly turned then, and spoke. -</P> - -<P> -"Go? Of course you'll go, David. Do you think I'd tie you here to -me—NOW?" he choked. "What don't I owe to you—home, son, happiness! -Go?—of course you'll go. I wonder if you really think I'd let you -stay! Come, we'll go down to mother and tell her. I suspect she'll want -to start in to-night to get your socks all mended up!" And with head -erect and a determined step, Simeon Holly faced the mighty sacrifice in -his turn, and led the way downstairs. -</P> - -<HR WIDTH="60%" ALIGN="center"> - -<P> -The friends, the relatives, the adoring public, the mint of money—they -are all David's now. But once each year, man grown though he is, he -picks up his violin and journeys to a little village far up among the -hills. There in a quiet kitchen he plays to an old man and an old -woman; and always to himself he says that he is practicing against the -time when, his violin at his chin and the bow drawn across the strings, -he shall go to meet his father in the far-away land, and tell him of -the beautiful world he has left. -</P> - -<BR><BR><BR><BR> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Just David, by Eleanor H. 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Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - https://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - -</pre> - -</BODY> - -</HTML> - - diff --git a/old/old-2025-03-08/440.txt b/old/old-2025-03-08/440.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 24c4bdb..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-03-08/440.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7867 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Just David, by Eleanor H. Porter - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Just David - -Author: Eleanor H. Porter - -Posting Date: August 12, 2008 [EBook #440] -Release Date: February, 1996 -[Last updated: October 6, 2013] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUST DAVID *** - - - - - - - - - - - - - -JUST DAVID - -BY - -ELEANOR H. (HODGMAN) PORTER - - -AUTHOR POLLYANNA, MISS BILLY MARRIED, ETC. - - - - TO - MY FRIEND - Mrs. James Harness - - - - -CONTENTS - - I. THE MOUNTAIN HOME - II. THE TRAIL - III. THE VALLEY - IV. TWO LETTERS - V. DISCORDS - VI. NUISANCES, NECESSARY AND OTHERWISE - VII. "YOU'RE WANTED--YOU'RE WANTED!" - VIII. THE PUZZLING "DOS" AND "DON'TS" - IX. JOE - X. THE LADY OF THE ROSES - XI. JACK AND JILL - XII. ANSWERS THAT DID NOT ANSWER - XIII. A SURPRISE FOR MR. JACK - XIV. THE TOWER WINDOW - XV. SECRETS - XVI. DAVID'S CASTLE IN SPAIN - XVII. "THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER" - XVIII. DAVID TO THE RESCUE - XIX. THE UNBEAUTIFUL WORLD - XX. THE UNFAMILIAR WAY - XXI. HEAVY HEARTS - XXII. AS PERRY SAW IT - XXIII. PUZZLES - XXIV. A STORY REMODELED - XXV. THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE MOUNTAIN HOME - -Far up on the mountain-side the little shack stood alone in the clearing. -It was roughly yet warmly built. Behind it jagged cliffs broke the north -wind, and towered gray-white in the sunshine. Before it a tiny expanse of -green sloped gently away to a point where the mountain dropped in another -sharp descent, wooded with scrubby firs and pines. At the left a -footpath led into the cool depths of the forest. But at the right the -mountain fell away again and disclosed to view the picture David loved -the best of all: the far-reaching valley; the silver pool of the lake -with its ribbon of a river flung far out; and above it the grays and -greens and purples of the mountains that climbed one upon another's -shoulders until the topmost thrust their heads into the wide dome of -the sky itself. - -There was no road, apparently, leading away from the cabin. There was -only the footpath that disappeared into the forest. Neither, anywhere, -was there a house in sight nearer than the white specks far down in the -valley by the river. - -Within the shack a wide fireplace dominated one side of the main room. -It was June now, and the ashes lay cold on the hearth; but from the -tiny lean-to in the rear came the smell and the sputter of bacon -sizzling over a blaze. The furnishings of the room were simple, yet, in -a way, out of the common. There were two bunks, a few rude but -comfortable chairs, a table, two music-racks, two violins with their -cases, and everywhere books, and scattered sheets of music. Nowhere was -there cushion, curtain, or knickknack that told of a woman's taste or -touch. On the other hand, neither was there anywhere gun, pelt, or -antlered head that spoke of a man's strength and skill. For decoration -there were a beautiful copy of the Sistine Madonna, several photographs -signed with names well known out in the great world beyond the -mountains, and a festoon of pine cones such as a child might gather and -hang. - -From the little lean-to kitchen the sound of the sputtering suddenly -ceased, and at the door appeared a pair of dark, wistful eyes. - -"Daddy!" called the owner of the eyes. - -There was no answer. - -"Father, are you there?" called the voice, more insistently. - -From one of the bunks came a slight stir and a murmured word. At the -sound the boy at the door leaped softly into the room and hurried to -the bunk in the corner. He was a slender lad with short, crisp curls at -his ears, and the red of perfect health in his cheeks. His hands, slim, -long, and with tapering fingers like a girl's, reached forward eagerly. - -"Daddy, come! I've done the bacon all myself, and the potatoes and the -coffee, too. Quick, it's all getting cold!" - -Slowly, with the aid of the boy's firm hands, the man pulled himself -half to a sitting posture. His cheeks, like the boy's, were red--but -not with health. His eyes were a little wild, but his voice was low and -very tender, like a caress. - -"David--it's my little son David!" - -"Of course it's David! Who else should it be?" laughed the boy. "Come!" -And he tugged at the man's hands. - -The man rose then, unsteadily, and by sheer will forced himself to -stand upright. The wild look left his eyes, and the flush his cheeks. -His face looked suddenly old and haggard. Yet with fairly sure steps he -crossed the room and entered the little kitchen. - -Half of the bacon was black; the other half was transparent and like -tough jelly. The potatoes were soggy, and had the unmistakable taste -that comes from a dish that has boiled dry. The coffee was lukewarm and -muddy. Even the milk was sour. - -David laughed a little ruefully. - -"Things aren't so nice as yours, father," he apologized. "I'm afraid -I'm nothing but a discord in that orchestra to-day! Somehow, some of -the stove was hotter than the rest, and burnt up the bacon in spots; -and all the water got out of the potatoes, too,--though THAT didn't -matter, for I just put more cold in. I forgot and left the milk in the -sun, and it tastes bad now; but I'm sure next time it'll be better--all -of it." - -The man smiled, but he shook his head sadly. - -"But there ought not to be any 'next time,' David." - -"Why not? What do you mean? Aren't you ever going to let me try again, -father?" There was real distress in the boy's voice. - -The man hesitated. His lips parted with an indrawn breath, as if behind -them lay a rush of words. But they closed abruptly, the words still -unsaid. Then, very lightly, came these others:-- - -"Well, son, this isn't a very nice way to treat your supper, is it? -Now, if you please, I'll take some of that bacon. I think I feel my -appetite coming back." - -If the truant appetite "came back," however, it could not have stayed; -for the man ate but little. He frowned, too, as he saw how little the -boy ate. He sat silent while his son cleared the food and dishes away, -and he was still silent when, with the boy, he passed out of the house -and walked to the little bench facing the west. - -Unless it stormed very hard, David never went to bed without this last -look at his "Silver Lake," as he called the little sheet of water far -down in the valley. - -"Daddy, it's gold to-night--all gold with the sun!" he cried -rapturously, as his eyes fell upon his treasure. "Oh, daddy!" - -It was a long-drawn cry of ecstasy, and hearing it, the man winced, as -with sudden pain. - -"Daddy, I'm going to play it--I've got to play it!" cried the boy, -bounding toward the cabin. In a moment he had returned, violin at his -chin. - -The man watched and listened; and as he watched and listened, his face -became a battle-ground whereon pride and fear, hope and despair, joy -and sorrow, fought for the mastery. - -It was no new thing for David to "play" the sunset. Always, when he was -moved, David turned to his violin. Always in its quivering strings he -found the means to say that which his tongue could not express. - -Across the valley the grays and blues of the mountains had become all -purples now. Above, the sky in one vast flame of crimson and gold, was -a molten sea on which floated rose-pink cloud-boats. Below, the valley -with its lake and river picked out in rose and gold against the shadowy -greens of field and forest, seemed like some enchanted fairyland of -loveliness. - -And all this was in David's violin, and all this, too, was on David's -uplifted, rapturous face. - -As the last rose-glow turned to gray and the last strain quivered into -silence, the man spoke. His voice was almost harsh with self-control. - -"David, the time has come. We'll have to give it up--you and I." - -The boy turned wonderingly, his face still softly luminous. - -"Give what up?" - -"This--all this." - -"This! Why, father, what do you mean? This is home!" - -The man nodded wearily. - -"I know. It has been home; but, David, you didn't think we could always -live here, like this, did you?" - -David laughed softly, and turned his eyes once more to the distant -sky-line. - -"Why not?" he asked dreamily. "What better place could there be? I like -it, daddy." - -The man drew a troubled breath, and stirred restlessly. The teasing -pain in his side was very bad to-night, and no change of position eased -it. He was ill, very ill; and he knew it. Yet he also knew that, to -David, sickness, pain, and death meant nothing--or, at most, words that -had always been lightly, almost unconsciously passed over. For the -first time he wondered if, after all, his training--some of it--had -been wise. - -For six years he had had the boy under his exclusive care and guidance. -For six years the boy had eaten the food, worn the clothing, and -studied the books of his father's choosing. For six years that father -had thought, planned, breathed, moved, lived for his son. There had -been no others in the little cabin. There had been only the occasional -trips through the woods to the little town on the mountain-side for -food and clothing, to break the days of close companionship. - -All this the man had planned carefully. He had meant that only the good -and beautiful should have place in David's youth. It was not that he -intended that evil, unhappiness, and death should lack definition, only -definiteness, in the boy's mind. It should be a case where the good and -the beautiful should so fill the thoughts that there would be no room -for anything else. This had been his plan. And thus far he had -succeeded--succeeded so wonderfully that he began now, in the face of -his own illness, and of what he feared would come of it, to doubt the -wisdom of that planning. - -As he looked at the boy's rapt face, he remembered David's surprised -questioning at the first dead squirrel he had found in the woods. David -was six then. - -"Why, daddy, he's asleep, and he won't wake up!" he had cried. Then, -after a gentle touch: "And he's cold--oh, so cold!" - -The father had hurried his son away at the time, and had evaded his -questions; and David had seemed content. But the next day the boy had -gone back to the subject. His eyes were wide then, and a little -frightened. - -"Father, what is it to be--dead?" - -"What do you mean, David?" - -"The boy who brings the milk--he had the squirrel this morning. He said -it was not asleep. It was--dead." - -"It means that the squirrel, the real squirrel under the fur, has gone -away, David." - -"Where?" - -"To a far country, perhaps." - -"Will he come back?" - -"No." - -"Did he want to go?" - -"We'll hope so." - -"But he left his--his fur coat behind him. Didn't he need--that?" - -"No, or he'd have taken it with him." - -David had fallen silent at this. He had remained strangely silent -indeed for some days; then, out in the woods with his father one -morning, he gave a joyous shout. He was standing by the ice-covered -brook, and looking at a little black hole through which the hurrying -water could be plainly seen. - -"Daddy, oh, daddy, I know now how it is, about being--dead." - -"Why--David!" - -"It's like the water in the brook, you know; THAT'S going to a far -country, and it isn't coming back. And it leaves its little cold -ice-coat behind it just as the squirrel did, too. It does n't need it. -It can go without it. Don't you see? And it's singing--listen!--it's -singing as it goes. It WANTS to go!" - -"Yes, David." And David's father had sighed with relief that his son -had found his own explanation of the mystery, and one that satisfied. - -Later, in his books, David found death again. It was a man, this time. -The boy had looked up with startled eyes. - -"Do people, real people, like you and me, be dead, father? Do they go -to a far country? - -"Yes, son in time--to a far country ruled over by a great and good King -they tell us." - -David's father had trembled as he said it, and had waited fearfully for -the result. But David had only smiled happily as he answered: - -"But they go singing, father, like the little brook. You know I heard -it!" - -And there the matter had ended. David was ten now, and not yet for him -did death spell terror. Because of this David's father was relieved; -and yet--still because of this--he was afraid. - -"David," he said gently. "Listen to me." - -The boy turned with a long sigh. - -"Yes, father." - -"We must go away. Out in the great world there are men and women and -children waiting for you. You've a beautiful work to do; and one can't -do one's work on a mountain-top." - -"Why not? I like it here, and I've always been here." - -"Not always, David; six years. You were four when I brought you here. -You don't remember, perhaps." - -David shook his head. His eyes were again dreamily fixed on the sky. - -"I think I'd like it--to go--if I could sail away on that little -cloud-boat up there," he murmured. - -The man sighed and shook his head. - -"We can't go on cloud-boats. We must walk, David, for a way--and we -must go soon--soon," he added feverishly. "I must get you back--back -among friends, before--" - -He rose unsteadily, and tried to walk erect. His limbs shook, and the -blood throbbed at his temples. He was appalled at his weakness. With a -fierceness born of his terror he turned sharply to the boy at his side. - -"David, we've got to go! We've got to go--TO-MORROW!" - -"Father!" - -"Yes, yes, come!" He stumbled blindly, yet in some way he reached the -cabin door. - -Behind him David still sat, inert, staring. The next minute the boy had -sprung to his feet and was hurrying after his father. - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE TRAIL - -A curious strength seemed to have come to the man. With almost steady -hands he took down the photographs and the Sistine Madonna, packing -them neatly away in a box to be left. From beneath his bunk he dragged -a large, dusty traveling-bag, and in this he stowed a little food, a -few garments, and a great deal of the music scattered about the room. - -David, in the doorway, stared in dazed wonder. Gradually into his eyes -crept a look never seen there before. - -"Father, where are we going?" he asked at last in a shaking voice, as -he came slowly into the room. - -"Back, son; we're going back." - -"To the village, where we get our eggs and bacon?" - -"No, no, lad, not there. The other way. We go down into the valley this -time." - -"The valley--MY valley, with the Silver Lake?" - -"Yes, my son; and beyond--far beyond." The man spoke dreamily. He was -looking at a photograph in his hand. It had slipped in among the loose -sheets of music, and had not been put away with the others. It was the -likeness of a beautiful woman. - -For a moment David eyed him uncertainly; then he spoke. - -"Daddy, who is that? Who are all these people in the pictures? You've -never told me about any of them except the little round one that you -wear in your pocket. Who are they?" - -Instead of answering, the man turned faraway eyes on the boy and smiled -wistfully. - -"Ah, David, lad, how they'll love you! How they will love you! But you -mustn't let them spoil you, son. You must remember--remember all I've -told you." - -Once again David asked his question, but this time the man only turned -back to the photograph, muttering something the boy could not -understand. - -After that David did not question any more. He was too amazed, too -distressed. He had never before seen his father like this. With nervous -haste the man was setting the little room to rights, crowding things -into the bag, and packing other things away in an old trunk. His cheeks -were very red, and his eyes very bright. He talked, too, almost -constantly, though David could understand scarcely a word of what was -said. Later, the man caught up his violin and played; and never before -had David heard his father play like that. The boy's eyes filled, and -his heart ached with a pain that choked and numbed--though why, David -could not have told. Still later, the man dropped his violin and sank -exhausted into a chair; and then David, worn and frightened with it -all, crept to his bunk and fell asleep. - -In the gray dawn of the morning David awoke to a different world. His -father, white-faced and gentle, was calling him to get ready for -breakfast. The little room, dismantled of its decorations, was bare and -cold. The bag, closed and strapped, rested on the floor by the door, -together with the two violins in their cases, ready to carry. - -"We must hurry, son. It's a long tramp before we take the cars." - -"The cars--the real cars? Do we go in those?" David was fully awake now. - -"Yes." - -"And is that all we're to carry?" - -"Yes. Hurry, son." - -"But we come back--sometime?" - -There was no answer. - -"Father, we're coming back--sometime?" David's voice was insistent now. - -The man stooped and tightened a strap that was already quite tight -enough. Then he laughed lightly. - -"Why, of course you're coming back sometime, David. Only think of all -these things we're leaving!" - -When the last dish was put away, the last garment adjusted, and the -last look given to the little room, the travelers picked up the bag and -the violins, and went out into the sweet freshness of the morning. As -he fastened the door the man sighed profoundly; but David did not -notice this. His face was turned toward the east--always David looked -toward the sun. - -"Daddy, let's not go, after all! Let's stay here," he cried ardently, -drinking in the beauty of the morning. - -"We must go, David. Come, son." And the man led the way across the -green slope to the west. - -It was a scarcely perceptible trail, but the man found it, and followed -it with evident confidence. There was only the pause now and then to -steady his none-too-sure step, or to ease the burden of the bag. Very -soon the forest lay all about them, with the birds singing over their -heads, and with numberless tiny feet scurrying through the underbrush -on all sides. Just out of sight a brook babbled noisily of its delight -in being alive; and away up in the treetops the morning sun played -hide-and-seek among the dancing leaves. - -And David leaped, and laughed, and loved it all, nor was any of it -strange to him. The birds, the trees, the sun, the brook, the scurrying -little creatures of the forest, all were friends of his. But the -man--the man did not leap or laugh, though he, too, loved it all. The -man was afraid. - -He knew now that he had undertaken more than he could carry out. Step -by step the bag had grown heavier, and hour by hour the insistent, -teasing pain in his side had increased until now it was a torture. He -had forgotten that the way to the valley was so long; he had not -realized how nearly spent was his strength before he even started down -the trail. Throbbing through his brain was the question, what if, after -all, he could not--but even to himself he would not say the words. - -At noon they paused for luncheon, and at night they camped where the -chattering brook had stopped to rest in a still, black pool. The next -morning the man and the boy picked up the trail again, but without the -bag. Under some leaves in a little hollow, the man had hidden the bag, -and had then said, as if casually:-- - -"I believe, after all, I won't carry this along. There's nothing in it -that we really need, you know, now that I've taken out the luncheon -box, and by night we'll be down in the valley." - -"Of course!" laughed David. "We don't need that." And he laughed again, -for pure joy. Little use had David for bags or baggage! - -They were more than halfway down the mountain now, and soon they -reached a grass-grown road, little traveled, but yet a road. Still -later they came to where four ways crossed, and two of them bore the -marks of many wheels. By sundown the little brook at their side -murmured softly of quiet fields and meadows, and David knew that the -valley was reached. - -David was not laughing now. He was watching his father with startled -eyes. David had not known what anxiety was. He was finding out -now--though he but vaguely realized that something was not right. For -some time his father had said but little, and that little had been in a -voice that was thick and unnatural-sounding. He was walking fast, yet -David noticed that every step seemed an effort, and that every breath -came in short gasps. His eyes were very bright, and were fixedly bent -on the road ahead, as if even the haste he was making was not haste -enough. Twice David spoke to him, but he did not answer; and the boy -could only trudge along on his weary little feet and sigh for the dear -home on the mountain-top which they had left behind them the morning -before. - -They met few fellow travelers, and those they did meet paid scant -attention to the man and the boy carrying the violins. As it chanced, -there was no one in sight when the man, walking in the grass at the -side of the road, stumbled and fell heavily to the ground. - -David sprang quickly forward. - -"Father, what is it? WHAT IS IT?" - -There was no answer. - -"Daddy, why don't you speak to me? See, it's David!" - -With a painful effort the man roused himself and sat up. For a moment -he gazed dully into the boy's face; then a half-forgotten something -seemed to stir him into feverish action. With shaking fingers he handed -David his watch and a small ivory miniature. Then he searched his -pockets until on the ground before him lay a shining pile of -gold-pieces--to David there seemed to be a hundred of them. - -"Take them--hide them--keep them. David, until you--need them," panted -the man. "Then go--go on. I can't." - -"Alone? Without you?" demurred the boy, aghast. "Why, father, I -couldn't! I don't know the way. Besides, I'd rather stay with you," he -added soothingly, as he slipped the watch and the miniature into his -pocket; "then we can both go." And he dropped himself down at his -father's side. - -The man shook his head feebly, and pointed again to the gold-pieces. - -"Take them, David,--hide them," he chattered with pale lips. - -Almost impatiently the boy began picking up the money and tucking it -into his pockets. - -"But, father, I'm not going without you," he declared stoutly, as the -last bit of gold slipped out of sight, and a horse and wagon rattled -around the turn of the road above. - -The driver of the horse glanced disapprovingly at the man and the boy -by the roadside; but he did not stop. After he had passed, the boy -turned again to his father. The man was fumbling once more in his -pockets. This time from his coat he produced a pencil and a small -notebook from which he tore a page, and began to write, laboriously, -painfully. - -David sighed and looked about him. He was tired and hungry, and he did -not understand things at all. Something very wrong, very terrible, must -be the matter with his father. Here it was almost dark, yet they had no -place to go, no supper to eat, while far, far up on the mountain-side -was their own dear home sad and lonely without them. Up there, too, the -sun still shone, doubtless,--at least there were the rose-glow and the -Silver Lake to look at, while down here there was nothing, nothing but -gray shadows, a long dreary road, and a straggling house or two in -sight. From above, the valley might look to be a fairyland of -loveliness, but in reality it was nothing but a dismal waste of gloom, -decided David. - -David's father had torn a second page from his book and was beginning -another note, when the boy suddenly jumped to his feet. One of the -straggling houses was near the road where they sat, and its presence -had given David an idea. With swift steps he hurried to the front door -and knocked upon it. In answer a tall, unsmiling woman appeared, and -said, "Well?" - -David removed his cap as his father had taught him to do when one of -the mountain women spoke to him. - -"Good evening, lady; I'm David," he began frankly. "My father is so -tired he fell down back there, and we should like very much to stay -with you all night, if you don't mind." - -The woman in the doorway stared. For a moment she was dumb with -amazement. Her eyes swept the plain, rather rough garments of the boy, -then sought the half-recumbent figure of the man by the roadside. Her -chin came up angrily. - -"Oh, would you, indeed! Well, upon my word!" she scouted. "Humph! We -don't accommodate tramps, little boy." And she shut the door hard. - -It was David's turn to stare. Just what a tramp might be, he did not -know; but never before had a request of his been so angrily refused. He -knew that. A fierce something rose within him--a fierce new something -that sent the swift red to his neck and brow. He raised a determined -hand to the doorknob--he had something to say to that woman!--when the -door suddenly opened again from the inside. - -"See here, boy," began the woman, looking out at him a little less -unkindly, "if you're hungry I'll give you some milk and bread. Go -around to the back porch and I'll get it for you." And she shut the -door again. - -David's hand dropped to his side. The red still stayed on his face and -neck, however, and that fierce new something within him bade him refuse -to take food from this woman.... But there was his father--his poor -father, who was so tired; and there was his own stomach clamoring to be -fed. No, he could not refuse. And with slow steps and hanging head -David went around the corner of the house to the rear. - -As the half-loaf of bread and the pail of milk were placed in his -hands, David remembered suddenly that in the village store on the -mountain, his father paid money for his food. David was glad, now, that -he had those gold-pieces in his pocket, for he could pay money. -Instantly his head came up. Once more erect with self-respect, he -shifted his burdens to one hand and thrust the other into his pocket. A -moment later he presented on his outstretched palm a shining disk of -gold. - -"Will you take this, to pay, please, for the bread and milk?" he asked -proudly. - -The woman began to shake her head; but, as her eyes fell on the money, -she started, and bent closer to examine it. The next instant she jerked -herself upright with an angry exclamation. - -"It's gold! A ten-dollar gold-piece! So you're a thief, too, are you, -as well as a tramp? Humph! Well, I guess you don't need this then," she -finished sharply, snatching the bread and the pail of milk from the -boy's hand. - -The next moment David stood alone on the doorstep, with the sound of a -quickly thrown bolt in his ears. - -A thief! David knew little of thieves, but he knew what they were. Only -a month before a man had tried to steal the violins from the cabin; and -he was a thief, the milk-boy said. David flushed now again, angrily, as -he faced the closed door. But he did not tarry. He turned and ran to -his father. - -"Father, come away, quick! You must come away," he choked. - -So urgent was the boy's voice that almost unconsciously the sick man -got to his feet. With shaking hands he thrust the notes he had been -writing into his pocket. The little book, from which he had torn the -leaves for this purpose, had already dropped unheeded into the grass at -his feet. - -"Yes, son, yes, we'll go," muttered the man. "I feel better now. I -can--walk." - -And he did walk, though very slowly, ten, a dozen, twenty steps. From -behind came the sound of wheels that stopped close beside them. - -"Hullo, there! Going to the village?" called a voice. - -"Yes, sir." David's answer was unhesitating. Where "the village" was, -he did not know; he knew only that it must be somewhere away from the -woman who had called him a thief. And that was all he cared to know. - -"I'm going 'most there myself. Want a lift?" asked the man, still -kindly. - -"Yes, sir. Thank you!" cried the boy joyfully. And together they aided -his father to climb into the roomy wagon-body. - -There were few words said. The man at the reins drove rapidly, and paid -little attention to anything but his horses. The sick man dozed and -rested. The boy sat, wistful-eyed and silent, watching the trees and -houses flit by. The sun had long ago set, but it was not dark, for the -moon was round and bright, and the sky was cloudless. Where the road -forked sharply the man drew his horses to a stop. - -"Well, I'm sorry, but I guess I'll have to drop you here, friends. I -turn off to the right; but 't ain't more 'n a quarter of a mile for -you, now" he finished cheerily, pointing with his whip to a cluster of -twinkling lights. - -"Thank you, sir, thank you," breathed David gratefully, steadying his -father's steps. "You've helped us lots. Thank you!" - -In David's heart was a wild desire to lay at his good man's feet all of -his shining gold-pieces as payment for this timely aid. But caution -held him back: it seemed that only in stores did money pay; outside it -branded one as a thief! - -Alone with his father, David faced once more his problem. Where should -they go for the night? Plainly his father could not walk far. He had -begun to talk again, too,--low, half-finished sentences that David -could not understand, and that vaguely troubled him. There was a house -near by, and several others down the road toward the village; but David -had had all the experience he wanted that night with strange houses, -and strange women. There was a barn, a big one, which was nearest of -all; and it was toward this barn that David finally turned his father's -steps. - -"We'll go there, daddy, if we can get in," he proposed softly. "And -we'll stay all night and rest." - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE VALLEY - -The long twilight of the June day had changed into a night that was -scarcely darker, so bright was the moonlight. Seen from the house, the -barn and the low buildings beyond loomed shadowy and unreal, yet very -beautiful. On the side porch of the house sat Simeon Holly and his -wife, content to rest mind and body only because a full day's work lay -well done behind them. - -It was just as Simeon rose to his feet to go indoors that a long note -from a violin reached their ears. - -"Simeon!" cried the woman. "What was that?" - -The man did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the barn. - -"Simeon, it's a fiddle!" exclaimed Mrs. Holly, as a second tone -quivered on the air "And it's in our barn!" - -Simeon's jaw set. With a stern ejaculation he crossed the porch and -entered the kitchen. - -In another minute he had returned, a lighted lantern in his hand. - -"Simeon, d--don't go," begged the woman, tremulously. "You--you don't -know what's there." - -"Fiddles are not played without hands, Ellen," retorted the man -severely. "Would you have me go to bed and leave a half-drunken, -ungodly minstrel fellow in possession of our barn? To-night, on my way -home, I passed a pretty pair of them lying by the roadside--a man and a -boy with two violins. They're the culprits, likely,--though how they -got this far, I don't see. Do you think I want to leave my barn to -tramps like them?" - -"N--no, I suppose not," faltered the woman, as she rose tremblingly to -her feet, and followed her husband's shadow across the yard. - -Once inside the barn Simeon Holly and his wife paused involuntarily. -The music was all about them now, filling the air with runs and trills -and rollicking bits of melody. Giving an angry exclamation, the man -turned then to the narrow stairway and climbed to the hayloft above. At -his heels came his wife, and so her eyes, almost as soon as his fell -upon the man lying back on the hay with the moonlight full upon his -face. Instantly the music dropped to a whisper, and a low voice came -out of the gloom beyond the square of moonlight which came from the -window in the roof. - -"If you'll please be as still as you can, sir. You see he's asleep and -he's so tired," said the voice. - -For a moment the man and the woman on the stairway paused in amazement, -then the man lifted his lantern and strode toward the voice. - -"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he demanded sharply. - -A boy's face, round, tanned, and just now a bit anxious, flashed out of -the dark. - -"Oh, please, sir, if you would speak lower," pleaded the boy. "He's so -tired! I'm David, sir, and that's father. We came in here to rest and -sleep." - -Simeon Holly's unrelenting gaze left the boy's face and swept that of -the man lying back on the hay. The next instant he lowered the lantern -and leaned nearer, putting forth a cautious hand. At once he -straightened himself, muttering a brusque word under his breath. Then -he turned with the angry question:-- - -"Boy, what do you mean by playing a jig on your fiddle at such a time -as this?" - -"Why, father asked me to play" returned the boy cheerily. "He said he -could walk through green forests then, with the ripple of brooks in his -ears, and that the birds and the squirrels--" - -"See here, boy, who are you?" cut in Simeon Holly sternly. "Where did -you come from?" - -"From home, sir." - -"Where is that?" - -"Why, home, sir, where I live. In the mountains, 'way up, up, up--oh, -so far up! And there's such a big, big sky, so much nicer than down -here." The boy's voice quivered, and almost broke, and his eyes -constantly sought the white face on the hay. - -It was then that Simeon Holly awoke to the sudden realization that it -was time for action. He turned to his wife. - -"Take the boy to the house," he directed incisively. "We'll have to -keep him to-night, I suppose. I'll go for Higgins. Of course the whole -thing will have to be put in his hands at once. You can't do anything -here," he added, as he caught her questioning glance. "Leave everything -just as it is. The man is dead." - -"Dead?" It was a sharp cry from the boy, yet there was more of wonder -than of terror in it. "Do you mean that he has gone--like the water in -the brook--to the far country?" he faltered. - -Simeon Holly stared. Then he said more distinctly:-- - -"Your father is dead, boy." - -"And he won't come back any more?" David's voice broke now. - -There was no answer. Mrs. Holly caught her breath convulsively and -looked away. Even Simeon Holly refused to meet the boy's pleading eyes. - -With a quick cry David sprang to his father's side. - -"But he's here--right here," he challenged shrilly. "Daddy, daddy, -speak to me! It's David!" Reaching out his hand, he gently touched his -father's face. He drew back then, at once, his eyes distended with -terror. "He isn't! He is--gone," he chattered frenziedly. "This isn't -the father-part that KNOWS. It's the other--that they leave. He's left -it behind him--like the squirrel, and the water in the brook." - -Suddenly the boy's face changed. It grew rapt and luminous as he leaped -to his feet, crying joyously: "But he asked me to play, so he went -singing--singing just as he said that they did. And I made him walk -through green forests with the ripple of the brooks in his ears! -Listen--like this!" And once more the boy raised the violin to his -chin, and once more the music trilled and rippled about the shocked, -amazed ears of Simeon Holly and his wife. - -For a time neither the man nor the woman could speak. There was nothing -in their humdrum, habit-smoothed tilling of the soil and washing of -pots and pans to prepare them for a scene like this--a moonlit barn, a -strange dead man, and that dead man's son babbling of brooks and -squirrels, and playing jigs on a fiddle for a dirge. At last, however, -Simeon found his voice. - -"Boy, boy, stop that!" he thundered. "Are you mad--clean mad? Go into -the house, I say!" And the boy, dazed but obedient, put up his violin, -and followed the woman, who, with tear-blinded eyes, was leading the -way down the stairs. - -Mrs. Holly was frightened, but she was also strangely moved. From the -long ago the sound of another violin had come to her--a violin, too, -played by a boy's hands. But of this, all this, Mrs. Holly did not like -to think. - -In the kitchen now she turned and faced her young guest. - -"Are you hungry, little boy?" - -David hesitated; he had not forgotten the woman, the milk, and the -gold-piece. - -"Are you hungry--dear?" stammered Mrs. Holly again; and this time -David's clamorous stomach forced a "yes" from his unwilling lips; which -sent Mrs. Holly at once into the pantry for bread and milk and a -heaped-up plate of doughnuts such as David had never seen before. - -Like any hungry boy David ate his supper; and Mrs. Holly, in the face -of this very ordinary sight of hunger being appeased at her table, -breathed more freely, and ventured to think that perhaps this strange -little boy was not so very strange, after all. - -"What is your name?" she found courage to ask then. - -"David." - -"David what?" - -"Just David." - -"But your father's name?" Mrs. Holly had almost asked, but stopped in -time. She did not want to speak of him. "Where do you live?" she asked -instead. - -"On the mountain, 'way up, up on the mountain where I can see my Silver -Lake every day, you know." - -"But you didn't live there alone?" - -"Oh, no; with father--before he--went away" faltered the boy. - -The woman flushed red and bit her lip. - -"No, no, I mean--were there no other houses but yours?" she stammered. - -"No, ma'am." - -"But, wasn't your mother--anywhere?" - -"Oh, yes, in father's pocket." - -"Your MOTHER--in your father's POCKET!" - -So plainly aghast was the questioner that David looked not a little -surprised as he explained. - -"You don't understand. She is an angel-mother, and angel-mothers don't -have anything only their pictures down here with us. And that's what we -have, and father always carried it in his pocket." - -"Oh----h," murmured Mrs. Holly, a quick mist in her eyes. Then, gently: -"And did you always live there--on the mountain?" - -"Six years, father said." - -"But what did you do all day? Weren't you ever--lonesome?" - -"Lonesome?" The boy's eyes were puzzled. - -"Yes. Didn't you miss things--people, other houses, boys of your own -age, and--and such things?" - -David's eyes widened. - -"Why, how could I?" he cried. "When I had daddy, and my violin, and my -Silver Lake, and the whole of the great big woods with everything in -them to talk to, and to talk to me?" - -"Woods, and things in them to--to TALK to you!" - -"Why, yes. It was the little brook, you know, after the squirrel, that -told me about being dead, and--" - -"Yes, yes; but never mind, dear, now," stammered the woman, rising -hurriedly to her feet--the boy was a little wild, after all, she -thought. "You--you should go to bed. Haven't you a--a bag, or--or -anything?" - -"No, ma'am; we left it," smiled David apologetically. "You see, we had -so much in it that it got too heavy to carry. So we did n't bring it." - -"So much in it you didn't bring it, indeed!" repeated Mrs. Holly, under -her breath, throwing up her hands with a gesture of despair. "Boy, what -are you, anyway?" - -It was not meant for a question, but, to the woman's surprise, the boy -answered, frankly, simply:-- - -"Father says that I'm one little instrument in the great Orchestra of -Life, and that I must see to it that I'm always in tune, and don't drag -or hit false notes." - -"My land!" breathed the woman, dropping back in her chair, her eyes -fixed on the boy. Then, with an effort, she got to her feet. - -"Come, you must go to bed," she stammered. "I'm sure bed is--is the -best place you. I think I can find what--what you need," she finished -feebly. - -In a snug little room over the kitchen some minutes later, David found -himself at last alone. The room, though it had once belonged to a boy -of his own age, looked very strange to David. On the floor was a -rag-carpet rug, the first he had ever seen. On the walls were a -fishing-rod, a toy shotgun, and a case full of bugs and moths, each -little body impaled on a pin, to David's shuddering horror. The bed had -four tall posts at the corners, and a very puffy top that filled David -with wonder as to how he was to reach it, or stay there if he did gain -it. Across a chair lay a boy's long yellow-white nightshirt that the -kind lady had left, after hurriedly wiping her eyes with the edge of -its hem. In all the circle of the candlelight there was just one -familiar object to David's homesick eyes--the long black violin case -which he had brought in himself, and which held his beloved violin. - -With his back carefully turned toward the impaled bugs and moths on the -wall, David undressed himself and slipped into the yellow-white -nightshirt, which he sniffed at gratefully, so like pine woods was the -perfume that hung about its folds. Then he blew out the candle and -groped his way to the one window the little room contained. - -The moon still shone, but little could be seen through the thick green -branches of the tree outside. From the yard below came the sound of -wheels, and of men's excited voices. There came also the twinkle of -lanterns borne by hurrying hands, and the tramp of shuffling feet. In -the window David shivered. There were no wide sweep of mountain, hill, -and valley, no Silver Lake, no restful hush, no daddy,--no beautiful -Things that Were. There was only the dreary, hollow mockery of the -Things they had Become. - -Long minutes later, David, with the violin in his arms, lay down upon -the rug, and, for the first time since babyhood, sobbed himself to -sleep--but it was a sleep that brought no rest; for in it he dreamed -that he was a big, white-winged moth pinned with a star to an ink-black -sky. - - - -CHAPTER IV - -TWO LETTERS - -In the early gray dawn David awoke. His first sensation was the -physical numbness and stiffness that came from his hard bed on the -floor. - -"Why, daddy," he began, pulling himself half-erect, "I slept all night -on--" He stopped suddenly, brushing his eyes with the backs of his -hands. "Why, daddy, where--" Then full consciousness came to him. - -With a low cry he sprang to his feet and ran to the window. Through the -trees he could see the sunrise glow of the eastern sky. Down in the -yard no one was in sight; but the barn door was open, and, with a quick -indrawing of his breath, David turned back into the room and began to -thrust himself into his clothing. - -The gold in his sagging pockets clinked and jingled musically; and once -half a dozen pieces rolled out upon the floor. For a moment the boy -looked as if he were going to let them remain where they were. But the -next minute, with an impatient gesture, he had picked them up and -thrust them deep into one of his pockets, silencing their jingling with -his handkerchief. - -Once dressed, David picked up his violin and stepped softly into the -hall. At first no sound reached his ears; then from the kitchen below -came the clatter of brisk feet and the rattle of tins and crockery. -Tightening his clasp on the violin, David slipped quietly down the back -stairs and out to the yard. It was only a few seconds then before he -was hurrying through the open doorway of the barn and up the narrow -stairway to the loft above. - -At the top, however, he came to a sharp pause, with a low cry. The next -moment he turned to see a kindly-faced man looking up at him from the -foot of the stairs. - -"Oh, sir, please--please, where is he? What have you done with him?" -appealed the boy, almost plunging headlong down the stairs in his haste -to reach the bottom. - -Into the man's weather-beaten face came a look of sincere but awkward -sympathy. - -"Oh, hullo, sonny! So you're the boy, are ye?" he began diffidently. - -"Yes, yes, I'm David. But where is he--my father, you know? I mean -the--the part he--he left behind him?" choked the boy. "The part -like--the ice-coat?" - -The man stared. Then, involuntarily, he began to back away. - -"Well, ye see, I--I--" - -"But, maybe you don't know," interrupted David feverishly. "You aren't -the man I saw last night. Who are you? Where is he--the other one, -please?" - -"No, I--I wa'n't here--that is, not at the first," spoke up the man -quickly, still unconsciously backing away. "Me--I'm only Larson, Perry -Larson, ye know. 'T was Mr. Holly you see last night--him that I works -for." - -"Then, where is Mr. Holly, please?" faltered the boy, hurrying toward -the barn door. "Maybe he would know--about father. Oh, there he is!" -And David ran out of the barn and across the yard to the kitchen porch. - -It was an unhappy ten minutes that David spent then. Besides Mr. Holly, -there were Mrs. Holly, and the man, Perry Larson. And they all talked. -But little of what they said could David understand. To none of his -questions could he obtain an answer that satisfied. - -Neither, on his part, could he seem to reply to their questions in a -way that pleased them. - -They went in to breakfast then, Mr. and Mrs. Holly, and the man, Perry -Larson. They asked David to go--at least, Mrs. Holly asked him. But -David shook his head and said "No, no, thank you very much; I'd rather -not, if you please--not now." Then he dropped himself down on the steps -to think. As if he could EAT--with that great choking lump in his -throat that refused to be swallowed! - -David was thoroughly dazed, frightened, and dismayed. He knew now that -never again in this world would he see his dear father, or hear him -speak. This much had been made very clear to him during the last ten -minutes. Why this should be so, or what his father would want him to -do, he could not seem to find out. Not until now had he realized at all -what this going away of his father was to mean to him. And he told -himself frantically that he could not have it so. HE COULD NOT HAVE IT -SO! But even as he said the words, he knew that it was so--irrevocably -so. - - David began then to long for his mountain home. There at least -he would have his dear forest all about him, with the birds and the -squirrels and the friendly little brooks. There he would have his -Silver Lake to look at, too, and all of them would speak to him of his -father. He believed, indeed, that up there it would almost seem as if -his father were really with him. And, anyway, if his father ever should -come back, it would be there that he would be sure to seek him--up -there in the little mountain home so dear to them both. Back to the -cabin he would go now, then. Yes; indeed he would! - -With a low word and a passionately intent expression, David got to his -feet, picked up his violin, and hurried, firm-footed, down the driveway -and out upon the main highway, turning in the direction from whence he -had come with his father the night before. - -The Hollys had just finished breakfast when Higgins, the coroner, drove -into the yard accompanied by William Streeter, the town's most -prominent farmer,--and the most miserly one, if report was to be -credited. - -"Well, could you get anything out of the boy?" demanded Higgins, -without ceremony, as Simeon Holly and Larson appeared on the kitchen -porch. - -"Very little. Really nothing of importance," answered Simeon Holly. - -"Where is he now?" - -"Why, he was here on the steps a few minutes ago." Simeon Holly looked -about him a bit impatiently. - -"Well, I want to see him. I've got a letter for him." - -"A letter!" exclaimed Simeon Holly and Larson in amazed unison. - -"Yes. Found it in his father's pocket," nodded the coroner, with all -the tantalizing brevity of a man who knows he has a choice morsel of -information that is eagerly awaited. "It's addressed to 'My boy David,' -so I calculated we'd better give it to him first without reading it, -seeing it's his. After he reads it, though, I want to see it. I want to -see if what it says is any nearer being horse-sense than the other one -is." - -"The other one!" exclaimed the amazed chorus again. - -"Oh, yes, there's another one," spoke up William Streeter tersely. "And -I've read it--all but the scrawl at the end. There couldn't anybody -read that!" Higgins laughed. - -"Well, I'm free to confess 't is a sticker--that name," he admitted. -"And it's the name we want, of course, to tell us who they are--since -it seems the boy don't know, from what you said last night. I was in -hopes, by this morning, you'd have found out more from him." - -Simeon Holly shook his head. - -"'T was impossible." - -"Gosh! I should say 't was," cut in Perry Larson, with emphasis. "An' -queer ain't no name for it. One minute he'd be talkin' good common -sense like anybody: an' the next he'd be chatterin' of coats made o' -ice, an' birds an' squirrels an' babbling brooks. He sure is dippy! -Listen. He actually don't seem ter know the diff'rence between himself -an' his fiddle. We was tryin' ter find out this mornin' what he could -do, an' what he wanted ter do, when if he didn't up an' say that his -father told him it didn't make so much diff'rence WHAT he did so long -as he kept hisself in tune an' didn't strike false notes. Now, what do -yer think o' that?" - -"Yes, I, know" nodded Higgins musingly. "There WAS something queer -about them, and they weren't just ordinary tramps. Did I tell you? I -overtook them last night away up on the Fairbanks road by the Taylor -place, and I gave 'em a lift. I particularly noticed what a decent sort -they were. They were clean and quiet-spoken, and their clothes were -good, even if they were rough. Yet they didn't have any baggage but -them fiddles." - -"But what was that second letter you mentioned?" asked Simeon Holly. - -Higgins smiled oddly, and reached into his pocket. - -"The letter? Oh, you're welcome to read the letter," he said, as he -handed over a bit of folded paper. - -Simeon took it gingerly and examined it. - -It was a leaf torn apparently from a note book. It was folded three -times, and bore on the outside the superscription "To whom it may -concern." The handwriting was peculiar, irregular, and not very -legible. But as near as it could be deciphered, the note ran thus:-- - - -Now that the time has come when I must give David back to the world, I -have set out for that purpose. - -But I am ill--very ill, and should Death have swifter feet than I, I -must leave my task for others to complete. Deal gently with him. He -knows only that which is good and beautiful. He knows nothing of sin -nor evil. - - -Then followed the signature--a thing of scrawls and flourishes that -conveyed no sort of meaning to Simeon Holly's puzzled eyes. - -"Well?" prompted Higgins expectantly. - -Simeon Holly shook his head. - -"I can make little of it. It certainly is a most remarkable note." - -"Could you read the name?" - -"No." - -"Well, I couldn't. Neither could half a dozen others that's seen it. -But where's the boy? Mebbe his note'll talk sense." - -"I'll go find him," volunteered Larson. "He must be somewheres 'round." - -But David was very evidently not "somewheres 'round." At least he was -not in the barn, the shed, the kitchen bedroom, nor anywhere else that -Larson looked; and the man was just coming back with a crestfallen, -perplexed frown, when Mrs. Holly hurried out on to the porch. - -"Mr. Higgins," she cried, in obvious excitement, "your wife has just -telephoned that her sister Mollie has just telephoned HER that that -little tramp boy with the violin is at her house." - -"At Mollie's!" exclaimed Higgins. "Why, that's a mile or more from -here." - -"So that's where he is!" interposed Larson, hurrying forward. "Doggone -the little rascal! He must 'a' slipped away while we was eatin' -breakfast." - -"Yes. But, Simeon,--Mr. Higgins,--we hadn't ought to let him go like -that," appealed Mrs. Holly tremulously. "Your wife said Mollie said she -found him crying at the crossroads, because he didn't know which way to -take. He said he was going back home. He means to that wretched cabin -on the mountain, you know; and we can't let him do that alone--a child -like that!" - -"Where is he now?" demanded Higgins. - -"In Mollie's kitchen eating bread and milk; but she said she had an -awful time getting him to eat. And she wants to know what to do with -him. That's why she telephoned your wife. She thought you ought to know -he was there." - -"Yes, of course. Well, tell her to tell him to come back." - -"Mollie said she tried to have him come back, but that he said, no, -thank you, he'd rather not. He was going home where his father could -find him if he should ever want him. Mr. Higgins, we--we CAN'T let him -go off like that. Why, the child would die up there alone in those -dreadful woods, even if he could get there in the first place--which I -very much doubt." - -"Yes, of course, of course," muttered Higgins, with a thoughtful frown. -"There's his letter, too. Say!" he added, brightening, "what'll you bet -that letter won't fetch him? He seems to think the world and all of his -daddy. Here," he directed, turning to Mrs. Holly, "you tell my wife to -tell--better yet, you telephone Mollie yourself, please, and tell her -to tell the boy we've got a letter here for him from his father, and he -can have it if he'll come back.". - -"I will, I will," called Mrs. Holly, over her shoulder, as she hurried -into the house. In an unbelievably short time she was back, her face -beaming. - -"He's started, so soon," she nodded. "He's crazy with joy, Mollie said. -He even left part of his breakfast, he was in such a hurry. So I guess -we'll see him all right." - -"Oh, yes, we'll see him all right," echoed Simeon Holly grimly. "But -that isn't telling what we'll do with him when we do see him." - -"Oh, well, maybe this letter of his will help us out on that," -suggested Higgins soothingly. "Anyhow, even if it doesn't, I'm not -worrying any. I guess some one will want him--a good healthy boy like -that." - -"Did you find any money on the body?" asked Streeter. - -"A little change--a few cents. Nothing to count. If the boy's letter -doesn't tell us where any of their folks are, it'll be up to the town -to bury him all right." - -"He had a fiddle, didn't he? And the boy had one, too. Wouldn't they -bring anything?" Streeter's round blue eyes gleamed shrewdly. - -Higgins gave a slow shake of his head. - -"Maybe--if there was a market for 'em. But who'd buy 'em? There ain't a -soul in town plays but Jack Gurnsey; and he's got one. Besides, he's -sick, and got all he can do to buy bread and butter for him and his -sister without taking in more fiddles, I guess. HE wouldn't buy 'em." - -"Hm--m; maybe not, maybe not," grunted Streeter. "An', as you say, he's -the only one that's got any use for 'em here; an' like enough they -ain't worth much, anyway. So I guess 't is up to the town all right." - -"Yes; but--if yer'll take it from me,"--interrupted Larson,--"you'll be -wise if ye keep still before the boy. It's no use ASKIN' him anythin'. -We've proved that fast enough. An' if he once turns 'round an' begins -ter ask YOU questions, yer done for!" - -"I guess you're right," nodded Higgins, with a quizzical smile. "And as -long as questioning CAN'T do any good, why, we'll just keep whist -before the boy. Meanwhile I wish the little rascal would hurry up and -get here. I want to see the inside of that letter to HIM. I'm relying -on that being some help to unsnarl this tangle of telling who they are." - -"Well, he's started," reiterated Mrs. Holly, as she turned back into -the house; "so I guess he'll get here if you wait long enough." - -"Oh, yes, he'll get here if we wait long enough," echoed Simeon Holly -again, crustily. - -The two men in the wagon settled themselves more comfortably in their -seats, and Perry Larson, after a half-uneasy, half-apologetic glance at -his employer, dropped himself onto the bottom step. Simeon Holly had -already sat down stiffly in one of the porch chairs. Simeon Holly never -"dropped himself" anywhere. Indeed, according to Perry Larson, if there -were a hard way to do a thing, Simeon Holly found it--and did it. The -fact that, this morning, he had allowed, and was still allowing, the -sacred routine of the day's work to be thus interrupted, for nothing -more important than the expected arrival of a strolling urchin, was -something Larson would not have believed had he not seen it. Even now -he was conscious once or twice of an involuntary desire to rub his eyes -to make sure they were not deceiving him. - -Impatient as the waiting men were for the arrival of David, they were -yet almost surprised, so soon did he appear, running up the driveway. - -"Oh, where is it, please?" he panted. "They said you had a letter for -me from daddy!" - -"You're right, sonny; we have. And here it is," answered Higgins -promptly, holding out the folded paper. - -Plainly eager as he was, David did not open the note till he had first -carefully set down the case holding his violin; then he devoured it -with eager eyes. - -As he read, the four men watched his face. They saw first the quick -tears that had to be blinked away. Then they saw the radiant glow that -grew and deepened until the whole boyish face was aflame with the -splendor of it. They saw the shining wonder of his eyes, too, as he -looked up from the letter. - -"And daddy wrote this to me from the far country?" he breathed. - -Simeon Holly scowled. Larson choked over a stifled chuckle. William -Streeter stared and shrugged his shoulders; but Higgins flushed a dull -red. - -"No, sonny," he stammered. "We found it on the--er--I mean, -it--er--your father left it in his pocket for you," finished the man, a -little explosively. - -A swift shadow crossed the boy's face. - -"Oh, I hoped I'd heard--" he began. Then suddenly he stopped, his face -once more alight. "But it's 'most the same as if he wrote it from -there, isn't it? He left it for me, and he told me what to do." - -"What's that, what's that?" cried Higgins, instantly alert. "DID he -tell you what to do? Then, let's have it, so WE'LL know. You will let -us read it, won't you, boy?" - -"Why, y--yes," stammered David, holding it out politely, but with -evident reluctance. - -"Thank you," nodded Higgins, as he reached for the note. - -David's letter was very different from the other one. It was longer, -but it did not help much, though it was easily read. In his letter, in -spite of the wavering lines, each word was formed with a care that told -of a father's thought for the young eyes that would read it. It was -written on two of the notebook's leaves, and at the end came the single -word "Daddy." - - -David, my boy [read Higgins aloud], in the far country I am waiting for -you. Do not grieve, for that will grieve me. I shall not return, but -some day you will come to me, your violin at your chin, and the bow -drawn across the strings to greet me. See that it tells me of the -beautiful world you have left--for it is a beautiful world, David; -never forget that. And if sometime you are tempted to think it is not a -beautiful world, just remember that you yourself can make it beautiful -if you will. - -You are among new faces, surrounded by things and people that are -strange to you. Some of them you will not understand; some of them you -may not like. But do not fear, David, and do not plead to go back to -the hills. Remember this, my boy,--in your violin lie all the things -you long for. You have only to play, and the broad skies of your -mountain home will be over you, and the dear friends and comrades of -your mountain forests will be about you. - - DADDY. - - -"Gorry! that's worse than the other," groaned Higgins, when he had -finished the note. "There's actually nothing in it! Wouldn't you -think--if a man wrote anything at such a time--that he'd 'a' wrote -something that had some sense to it--something that one could get hold -of, and find out who the boy is?" - -There was no answering this. The assembled men could only grunt and nod -in agreement, which, after all, was no real help. - - - -CHAPTER V - -DISCORDS - -The dead man found in Farmer Holly's barn created a decided stir in the -village of Hinsdale. The case was a peculiar one for many reasons. -First, because of the boy--Hinsdale supposed it knew boys, but it felt -inclined to change its mind after seeing this one. Second, because of -the circumstances. The boy and his father had entered the town like -tramps, yet Higgins, who talked freely of his having given the pair a -"lift" on that very evening, did not hesitate to declare that he did -not believe them to be ordinary tramps at all. - -As there had been little found in the dead man's pockets, save the two -notes, and as nobody could be found who wanted the violins, there -seemed to be nothing to do but to turn the body over to the town for -burial. Nothing was said of this to David; indeed, as little as -possible was said to David about anything after that morning when -Higgins had given him his father's letter. At that time the men had -made one more effort to "get track of SOMETHING," as Higgins had -despairingly put it. But the boy's answers to their questions were -anything but satisfying, anything but helpful, and were often most -disconcerting. The boy was, in fact, regarded by most of the men, after -that morning, as being "a little off"; and was hence let severely alone. - -Who the man was the town authorities certainly did not know, neither -could they apparently find out. His name, as written by himself, was -unreadable. His notes told nothing; his son could tell little more--of -consequence. A report, to be sure, did come from the village, far up -the mountain, that such a man and boy had lived in a hut that was -almost inaccessible; but even this did not help solve the mystery. - -David was left at the Holly farmhouse, though Simeon Holly mentally -declared that he should lose no time in looking about for some one to -take the boy away. - -On that first day Higgins, picking up the reins preparatory to driving -from the yard, had said, with a nod of his head toward David:-- - -"Well, how about it, Holly? Shall we leave him here till we find -somebody that wants him?" - -"Why, y--yes, I suppose so," hesitated Simeon Holly, with uncordial -accent. - -But his wife, hovering in the background, hastened forward at once. - -"Oh, yes; yes, indeed," she urged. "I'm sure he--he won't be a mite of -trouble, Simeon." - -"Perhaps not," conceded Simeon Holly darkly. "Neither, it is safe to -say, will he be anything else--worth anything." - -"That's it exactly," spoke up Streeter, from his seat in the wagon. "If -I thought he'd be worth his salt, now, I'd take him myself; but--well, -look at him this minute," he finished, with a disdainful shrug. - -David, on the lowest step, was very evidently not hearing a word of -what was being said. With his sensitive face illumined, he was again -poring over his father's letter. - -Something in the sudden quiet cut through his absorption as the noisy -hum of voices had not been able to do, and he raised his head. His eyes -were starlike. - -"I'm so glad father told me what to do," he breathed. "It'll be easier -now." - -Receiving no answer from the somewhat awkwardly silent men, he went on, -as if in explanation:-- - -"You know he's waiting for me--in the far country, I mean. He said he -was. And when you've got somebody waiting, you don't mind staying -behind yourself for a little while. Besides, I've GOT to stay to find -out about the beautiful world, you know, so I can tell him, when _I_ -go. That's the way I used to do back home on the mountain, you -see,--tell him about things. Lots of days we'd go to walk; then, when -we got home, he'd have me tell him, with my violin, what I'd seen. And -now he says I'm to stay here." - -"Here!" It was the quick, stern voice of Simeon Holly. - -"Yes," nodded David earnestly; "to learn about the beautiful world. -Don't you remember? And he said I was not to want to go back to my -mountains; that I would not need to, anyway, because the mountains, and -the sky, and the birds and squirrels and brooks are really in my -violin, you know. And--" But with an angry frown Simeon Holly stalked -away, motioning Larson to follow him; and with a merry glance and a low -chuckle Higgins turned his horse about and drove from the yard. A -moment later David found himself alone with Mrs. Holly, who was looking -at him with wistful, though slightly fearful eyes. - -"Did you have all the breakfast you wanted?" she asked timidly, -resorting, as she had resorted the night before, to the everyday things -of her world in the hope that they might make this strange little boy -seem less wild, and more nearly human. - -"Oh, yes, thank you." David's eyes had strayed back to the note in his -hand. Suddenly he looked up, a new something in his eyes. "What is it -to be a--a tramp?" he asked. "Those men said daddy and I were tramps." - -"A tramp? Oh--er--why, just a--a tramp," stammered Mrs. Holly. "But -never mind that, David. I--I wouldn't think any more about it." - -"But what is a tramp?" persisted David, a smouldering fire beginning to -show in his eyes. "Because if they meant THIEVES--" - -"No, no, David," interrupted Mrs. Holly soothingly. "They never meant -thieves at all." - -"Then, what is it to be a tramp?" - -"Why, it's just to--to tramp," explained Mrs. Holly desperately;--"walk -along the road from one town to another, and--and not live in a house -at all." - -"Oh!" David's face cleared. "That's all right, then. I'd love to be a -tramp, and so'd father. And we were tramps, sometimes, too, 'cause lots -of times, in the summer, we didn't stay in the cabin hardly any--just -lived out of doors all day and all night. Why, I never knew really what -the pine trees were saying till I heard them at night, lying under -them. You know what I mean. You've heard them, haven't you?" - -"At night? Pine trees?" stammered Mrs. Holly helplessly. - -"Yes. Oh, haven't you ever heard them at night?" cried the boy, in his -voice a very genuine sympathy as for a grievous loss. "Why, then, if -you've only heard them daytimes, you don't know a bit what pine trees -really are. But I can tell you. Listen! This is what they say," -finished the boy, whipping his violin from its case, and, after a swift -testing of the strings, plunging into a weird, haunting little melody. - -In the doorway, Mrs. Holly, bewildered, yet bewitched, stood -motionless, her eyes half-fearfully, half-longingly fixed on David's -glorified face. She was still in the same position when Simeon Holly -came around the corner of the house. - -"Well, Ellen," he began, with quiet scorn, after a moment's stern -watching of the scene before him, "have you nothing better to do this -morning than to listen to this minstrel fellow?" - -"Oh, Simeon! Why, yes, of course. I--I forgot--what I was doing," -faltered Mrs. Holly, flushing guiltily from neck to brow as she turned -and hurried into the house. - -David, on the porch steps, seemed to have heard nothing. He was still -playing, his rapt gaze on the distant sky-line, when Simeon Holly -turned upon him with disapproving eyes. - -"See here, boy, can't you do anything but fiddle?" he demanded. Then, -as David still continued to play, he added sharply: "Did n't you hear -me, boy?" - -The music stopped abruptly. David looked up with the slightly dazed air -of one who has been summoned as from another world. - -"Did you speak to me, sir?" he asked. - -"I did--twice. I asked if you never did anything but play that fiddle." - -"You mean at home?" David's face expressed mild wonder without a trace -of anger or resentment. "Why, yes, of course. I couldn't play ALL the -time, you know. I had to eat and sleep and study my books; and every -day we went to walk--like tramps, as you call them," he elucidated, his -face brightening with obvious delight at being able, for once, to -explain matters in terms that he felt sure would be understood. - -"Tramps, indeed!" muttered Simeon Holly, under his breath. Then, -sharply: "Did you never perform any useful labor, boy? Were your days -always spent in this ungodly idleness?" - -Again David frowned in mild wonder. - -"Oh, I wasn't idle, sir. Father said I must never be that. He said -every instrument was needed in the great Orchestra of Life; and that I -was one, you know, even if I was only a little boy. And he said if I -kept still and didn't do my part, the harmony wouldn't be complete, -and--" - -"Yes, yes, but never mind that now, boy," interrupted Simeon Holly, -with harsh impatience. "I mean, did he never set you to work--real -work?" - -"Work?" David meditated again. Then suddenly his face cleared. "Oh, -yes, sir, he said I had a beautiful work to do, and that it was waiting -for me out in the world. That's why we came down from the mountain, you -know, to find it. Is that what you mean?" - -"Well, no," retorted the man, "I can't say that it was. I was referring -to work--real work about the house. Did you never do any of that?" - -David gave a relieved laugh. - -"Oh, you mean getting the meals and tidying up the house," he replied. -"Oh, yes, I did that with father, only"--his face grew wistful--"I'm -afraid I didn't do it very well. My bacon was never as nice and crisp -as father's, and the fire was always spoiling my potatoes." - -"Humph! bacon and potatoes, indeed!" scorned Simeon Holly. "Well, boy, -we call that women's work down here. We set men to something else. Do -you see that woodpile by the shed door?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Very good. In the kitchen you'll find an empty woodbox. Do you think -you could fill it with wood from that woodpile? You'll find plenty of -short, small sticks already chopped." - -"Oh, yes, sir, I'd like to," nodded David, hastily but carefully -tucking his violin into its case. A minute later he had attacked the -woodpile with a will; and Simeon Holly, after a sharply watchful -glance, had turned away. - -But the woodbox, after all, was not filled. At least, it was not filled -immediately, for at the very beginning of gathering the second armful -of wood, David picked up a stick that had long lain in one position on -the ground, thereby disclosing sundry and diverse crawling things of -many legs, which filled David's soul with delight, and drove away every -thought of the empty woodbox. - -It was only a matter of some strength and more patience, and still more -time, to overturn other and bigger sticks, to find other and bigger of -the many-legged, many-jointed creatures. One, indeed, was so very -wonderful that David, with a whoop of glee, summoned Mrs. Holly from -the shed doorway to come and see. - -So urgent was his plea that Mrs. Holly came with hurried steps--but she -went away with steps even more hurried; and David, sitting back on his -woodpile seat, was left to wonder why she should scream and shudder and -say "Ugh-h-h!" at such a beautiful, interesting thing as was this -little creature who lived in her woodpile. - -Even then David did not think of that empty woodbox waiting behind the -kitchen stove. This time it was a butterfly, a big black butterfly -banded with gold; and it danced and fluttered all through the back yard -and out into the garden, David delightedly following with soft-treading -steps, and movements that would not startle. From the garden to the -orchard, and from the orchard back to the garden danced the -butterfly--and David; and in the garden, near the house, David came -upon Mrs. Holly's pansy-bed. Even the butterfly was forgotten then, for -down in the path by the pansy-bed David dropped to his knees in -veritable worship. - -"Why, you're just like little people," he cried softly. "You've got -faces; and some of you are happy, and some of you are sad. And you--you -big spotted yellow one--you're laughing at me. Oh, I'm going to play -you--all of you. You'll make such a pretty song, you're so different -from each other!" And David leaped lightly to his feet and ran around -to the side porch for his violin. - -Five minutes later, Simeon Holly, coming into the kitchen, heard the -sound of a violin through the open window. At the same moment his eyes -fell on the woodbox, empty save for a few small sticks at the bottom. -With an angry frown he strode through the outer door and around the -corner of the house to the garden. At once then he came upon David, -sitting Turk-fashion in the middle of the path before the pansy-bed, -his violin at his chin, and his whole face aglow. - -"Well, boy, is this the way you fill the woodbox?" demanded the man -crisply. - -David shook his head. - -"Oh, no, sir, this isn't filling the woodbox," he laughed, softening -his music, but not stopping it. "Did you think that was what I was -playing? It's the flowers here that I'm playing--the little faces, like -people, you know. See, this is that big yellow one over there that's -laughing," he finished, letting the music under his fingers burst into -a gay little melody. - -Simeon Holly raised an imperious hand; and at the gesture David stopped -his melody in the middle of a run, his eyes flying wide open in plain -wonderment. - -"You mean--I'm not playing--right?" he asked. - -"I'm not talking of your playing," retorted Simeon Holly severely. "I'm -talking of that woodbox I asked you to fill." - -David's face cleared. - -"Oh, yes, sir. I'll go and do it," he nodded, getting cheerfully to his -feet. - -"But I told you to do it before." - -David's eyes grew puzzled again. - -"I know, sir, and I started to," he answered, with the obvious patience -of one who finds himself obliged to explain what should be a -self-evident fact; "but I saw so many beautiful things, one after -another, and when I found these funny little flower-people I just had -to play them. Don't you see?" - -"No, I can't say that I do, when I'd already told you to fill the -woodbox," rejoined the man, with uncompromising coldness. - -"You mean--even then that I ought to have filled the woodbox first?" - -"I certainly do." - -David's eyes flew wide open again. - -"But my song--I'd have lost it!" he exclaimed. "And father said always -when a song came to me to play it at once. Songs are like the mists of -the morning and the rainbows, you know, and they don't stay with you -long. You just have to catch them quick, before they go. Now, don't you -see?" - -But Simeon Holly, with a despairingly scornful gesture, had turned -away; and David, after a moment's following him with wistful eyes, -soberly walked toward the kitchen door. Two minutes later he was -industriously working at his task of filling the woodbox. - -That for David the affair was not satisfactorily settled was evidenced -by his thoughtful countenance and preoccupied air, however; nor were -matters helped any by the question David put to Mr. Holly just before -dinner. - -"Do you mean," he asked, "that because I didn't fill the woodbox right -away, I was being a discord?" - -"You were what?" demanded the amazed Simeon Holly. - -"Being a discord--playing out of tune, you know," explained David, with -patient earnestness. "Father said--" But again Simeon Holly had turned -irritably away; and David was left with his perplexed questions still -unanswered. - - - -CHAPTER VI - -NUISANCES, NECESSARY AND OTHERWISE - -For some time after dinner, that first day, David watched Mrs. Holly in -silence while she cleared the table and began to wash the dishes. - -"Do you want me to--help?" he asked at last, a little wistfully. - -Mrs. Holly, with a dubious glance at the boy's brown little hands, -shook her head. - -"No, I don't. No, thank you," she amended her answer. - -For another sixty seconds David was silent; then, still more wistfully, -he asked:-- - -"Are all these things you've been doing all day 'useful labor'?" - -Mrs. Holly lifted dripping hands from the dishpan and held them -suspended for an amazed instant. - -"Are they--Why, of course they are! What a silly question! What put -that idea into your head, child?" - -"Mr. Holly; and you see it's so different from what father used to call -them." - -"Different?" - -"Yes. He said they were a necessary nuisance,--dishes, and getting -meals, and clearing up,--and he didn't do half as many of them as you -do, either." - -"Nuisance, indeed!" Mrs. Holly resumed her dishwashing with some -asperity. "Well, I should think that might have been just about like -him." - -"Yes, it was. He was always that way," nodded David pleasantly. Then, -after a moment, he queried: "But aren't you going to walk at all -to-day?" - -"To walk? Where?" - -"Why, through the woods and fields--anywhere." - -"Walking in the woods, NOW--JUST WALKING? Land's sake, boy, I've got -something else to do!" - -"Oh, that's too bad, isn't it?" David's face expressed sympathetic -regret. "And it's such a nice day! Maybe it'll rain by tomorrow." - -"Maybe it will," retorted Mrs. Holly, with slightly uplifted eyebrows -and an expressive glance. "But whether it does or does n't won't make -any difference in my going to walk, I guess." - -"Oh, won't it?" beamed David, his face changing. "I'm so glad! I don't -mind the rain, either. Father and I used to go in the rain lots of -times, only, of course, we couldn't take our violins then, so we used -to like the pleasant days better. But there are some things you find on -rainy days that you couldn't find any other time, aren't there? The -dance of the drops on the leaves, and the rush of the rain when the -wind gets behind it. Don't you love to feel it, out in the open spaces, -where the wind just gets a good chance to push?" - -Mrs. Holly stared. Then she shivered and threw up her hands with a -gesture of hopeless abandonment. - -"Land's sake, boy!" she ejaculated feebly, as she turned back to her -work. - -From dishes to sweeping, and from sweeping to dusting, hurried Mrs. -Holly, going at last into the somber parlor, always carefully guarded -from sun and air. Watching her, mutely, David trailed behind, his eyes -staring a little as they fell upon the multitude of objects that parlor -contained: the haircloth chairs, the long sofa, the marble-topped -table, the curtains, cushions, spreads, and "throws," the innumerable -mats and tidies, the hair-wreath, the wax flowers under their glass -dome, the dried grasses, the marvelous bouquets of scarlet, green, and -purple everlastings, the stones and shells and many-sized, many-shaped -vases arranged as if in line of battle along the corner shelves. - -"Y--yes, you may come in," called Mrs. Holly, glancing back at the -hesitating boy in the doorway. "But you mustn't touch anything. I'm -going to dust." - -"But I haven't seen this room before," ruminated David. - -"Well, no," deigned Mrs. Holly, with just a touch of superiority. "We -don't use this room common, little boy, nor the bedroom there, either. -This is the company room, for ministers and funerals, and--" She -stopped hastily, with a quick look at David; but the boy did not seem -to have heard. - -"And doesn't anybody live here in this house, but just you and Mr. -Holly, and Mr. Perry Larson?" he asked, still looking wonderingly about -him. - -"No, not--now." Mrs. Holly drew in her breath with a little catch, and -glanced at the framed portrait of a little boy on the wall. - -"But you've got such a lot of rooms and--and things," remarked David. -"Why, daddy and I only had two rooms, and not hardly any THINGS. It was -so--different, you know, in my home." - -"I should say it might have been!" Mrs. Holly began to dust hurriedly, -but carefully. Her voice still carried its hint of superiority. - -"Oh, yes," smiled David. "But you say you don't use this room much, so -that helps." - -"Helps!" In her stupefaction Mrs. Holly stopped her work and stared. - -"Why, yes. I mean, you've got so many other rooms you can live in -those. You don't HAVE to live in here." - -"'Have to live in here'!" ejaculated the woman, still too -uncomprehending to be anything but amazed. - -"Yes. But do you have to KEEP all these things, and clean them and -clean them, like this, every day? Couldn't you give them to somebody, -or throw them away?" - -"Throw--these--things--away!" With a wild sweep of her arms, the -horrified woman seemed to be trying to encompass in a protective -embrace each last endangered treasure of mat and tidy. "Boy, are you -crazy? These things are--are valuable. They cost money, and time -and--and labor. Don't you know beautiful things when you see them?" - -"Oh, yes, I love BEAUTIFUL things," smiled David, with unconsciously -rude emphasis. "And up on the mountain I had them always. There was the -sunrise, and the sunset, and the moon and the stars, and my Silver -Lake, and the cloud-boats that sailed--" - -But Mrs. Holly, with a vexed gesture, stopped him. - -"Never mind, little boy. I might have known--brought up as you have -been. Of course you could not appreciate such things as these. Throw -them away, indeed!" And she fell to work again; but this time her -fingers carried a something in their touch that was almost like the -caress a mother might bestow upon an aggrieved child. - -David, vaguely disturbed and uncomfortable, watched her with troubled -eyes; then, apologetically, he explained:-- - -"It was only that I thought if you didn't have to clean so many of -these things, you could maybe go to walk more--to-day, and other days, -you know. You said--you didn't have time," he reminded her. - -But Mrs. Holly only shook her head and sighed:-- - -"Well, well, never mind, little boy. I dare say you meant all right. -You couldn't understand, of course." - -And David, after another moment's wistful eyeing of the caressing -fingers, turned about and wandered out onto the side porch. A minute -later, having seated himself on the porch steps, he had taken from his -pocket two small pieces of folded paper. And then, through tear-dimmed -eyes, he read once more his father's letter. - -"He said I mustn't grieve, for that would grieve him," murmured the -boy, after a time, his eyes on the far-away hills. "And he said if I'd -play, my mountains would come to me here, and I'd really be at home up -there. He said in my violin were all those things I'm wanting--so bad!" - -With a little choking breath, David tucked the note back into his -pocket and reached for his violin. - -Some time later, Mrs. Holly, dusting the chairs in the parlor, stopped -her work, tiptoed to the door, and listened breathlessly. When she -turned back, still later, to her work, her eyes were wet. - -"I wonder why, when he plays, I always get to thinking of--John," she -sighed to herself, as she picked up her dusting-cloth. - -After supper that night, Simeon Holly and his wife again sat on the -kitchen porch, resting from the labor of the day. Simeon's eyes were -closed. His wife's were on the dim outlines of the shed, the barn, the -road, or a passing horse and wagon. David, sitting on the steps, was -watching the moon climb higher and higher above the tree-tops. After a -time he slipped into the house and came out with his violin. - -At the first long-drawn note of sweetness, Simeon Holly opened his eyes -and sat up, stern-lipped. But his wife laid a timid hand on his arm. - -"Don't say anything, please," she entreated softly. "Let him play, just -for to-night. He's lonesome--poor little fellow." And Simeon Holly, -with a frowning shrug of his shoulders, sat back in his chair. - -Later, it was Mrs. Holly herself who stopped the music by saying: -"Come, David, it's bedtime for little boys. I'll go upstairs with you." -And she led the way into the house and lighted the candle for him. - -Upstairs, in the little room over the kitchen, David found himself once -more alone. As before, the little yellow-white nightshirt lay over the -chair-back; and as before, Mrs. Holly had brushed away a tear as she -had placed it there. As before, too, the big four-posted bed loomed -tall and formidable in the corner. But this time the coverlet and sheet -were turned back invitingly--Mrs. Holly had been much disturbed to find -that David had slept on the floor the night before. - -Once more, with his back carefully turned toward the impaled bugs and -moths on the wall, David undressed himself. Then, before blowing out -the candle, he went to the window kneeled down, and looked up at the -moon through the trees. - -David was sorely puzzled. He was beginning to wonder just what was to -become of himself. - -His father had said that out in the world there was a beautiful work -for him to do; but what was it? How was he to find it? Or how was he to -do it if he did find it? And another thing; where was he to live? Could -he stay where he was? It was not home, to be sure; but there was the -little room over the kitchen where he might sleep, and there was the -kind woman who smiled at him sometimes with the sad, far-away look in -her eyes that somehow hurt. He would not like, now, to leave her--with -daddy gone. - -There were the gold-pieces, too; and concerning these David was equally -puzzled. What should he do with them? He did not need them--the kind -woman was giving him plenty of food, so that he did not have to go to -the store and buy; and there was nothing else, apparently, that he -could use them for. They were heavy, and disagreeable to carry; yet he -did not like to throw them away, nor to let anybody know that he had -them: he had been called a thief just for one little piece, and what -would they say if they knew he had all those others? - -David remembered now, suddenly, that his father had said to hide -them--to hide them until he needed them. David was relieved at once. -Why had he not thought of it before? He knew just the place, too,--the -little cupboard behind the chimney there in this very room! And with a -satisfied sigh, David got to his feet, gathered all the little yellow -disks from his pockets, and tucked them well out of sight behind the -piles of books on the cupboard shelves. There, too, he hid the watch; -but the little miniature of the angel-mother he slipped back into one -of his pockets. - -David's second morning at the farmhouse was not unlike the first, -except that this time, when Simeon Holly asked him to fill the woodbox, -David resolutely ignored every enticing bug and butterfly, and kept -rigorously to the task before him until it was done. - -He was in the kitchen when, just before dinner, Perry Larson came into -the room with a worried frown on his face. - -"Mis' Holly, would ye mind just steppin' to the side door? There's a -woman an' a little boy there, an' somethin' ails 'em. She can't talk -English, an' I'm blest if I can make head nor tail out of the lingo she -DOES talk. But maybe you can." - -"Why, Perry, I don't know--" began Mrs. Holly. But she turned at once -toward the door. - -On the porch steps stood a very pretty, but frightened-looking young -woman with a boy perhaps ten years old at her side. Upon catching sight -of Mrs. Holly she burst into a torrent of unintelligible words, -supplemented by numerous and vehement gestures. - -Mrs. Holly shrank back, and cast appealing eyes toward her husband who -at that moment had come across the yard from the barn. - -"Simeon, can you tell what she wants?" - -At sight of the newcomer on the scene, the strange woman began again, -with even more volubility. - -"No," said Simeon Holly, after a moment's scowling scrutiny of the -gesticulating woman. "She's talking French, I think. And she -wants--something." - -"Gosh! I should say she did," muttered Perry Larson. "An' whatever 't -is, she wants it powerful bad." - -"Are you hungry?" questioned Mrs. Holly timidly. - -"Can't you speak English at all?" demanded Simeon Holly. - -The woman looked from one to the other with the piteous, pleading eyes -of the stranger in the strange land who cannot understand or make -others understand. She had turned away with a despairing shake of her -head, when suddenly she gave a wild cry of joy and wheeled about, her -whole face alight. - -The Hollys and Perry Larson saw then that David had come out onto the -porch and was speaking to the woman--and his words were just as -unintelligible as the woman's had been. - -Mrs. Holly and Perry Larson stared. Simeon Holly interrupted David with -a sharp:-- - -"Do you, then, understand this woman, boy?" - -"Why, yes! Didn't you? She's lost her way, and--" But the woman had -hurried forward and was pouring her story into David's ears. - -At its conclusion David turned to find the look of stupefaction still -on the others' faces. - -"Well, what does she want?" asked Simeon Holly crisply. - -"She wants to find the way to Francois Lavelle's house. He's her -husband's brother. She came in on the train this morning. Her husband -stopped off a minute somewhere, she says, and got left behind. He could -talk English, but she can't. She's only been in this country a week. -She came from France." - -"Gorry! Won't ye listen ter that, now?" cried Perry Larson admiringly. -"Reads her just like a book, don't he? There's a French family over in -West Hinsdale--two of 'em, I think. What'll ye bet 't ain't one o' -them?" - -"Very likely," acceded Simeon Holly, his eyes bent disapprovingly on -David's face. It was plain to be seen that Simeon Holly's attention was -occupied by David, not the woman. - -"An', say, Mr. Holly," resumed Perry Larson, a little excitedly, "you -know I was goin' over ter West Hinsdale in a day or two ter see Harlow -about them steers. Why can't I go this afternoon an' tote her an' the -kid along?" - -"Very well," nodded Simeon Holly curtly, his eyes still on David's face. - -Perry Larson turned to the woman, and by a flourish of his arms and a -jumble of broken English attempted to make her understand that he was -to take her where she undoubtedly wished to go. The woman still looked -uncomprehending, however, and David promptly came to the rescue, saying -a few rapid words that quickly brought a flood of delighted -understanding to the woman's face. - -"Can't you ask her if she's hungry?" ventured Mrs. Holly, then. - -"She says no, thank you," translated David, with a smile, when he had -received his answer. "But the boy says he is, if you please." - -"Then, tell them to come into the kitchen," directed Mrs. Holly, -hurrying into the house. - -"So you're French, are you?" said Simeon Holly to David. - -"French? Oh, no, sir," smiled David, proudly. "I'm an American. Father -said I was. He said I was born in this country." - -"But how comes it you can speak French like that?" - -"Why, I learned it." Then, divining that his words were still -unconvincing, he added: "Same as I learned German and other things with -father, out of books, you know. Didn't you learn French when you were a -little boy?" - -"Humph!" vouchsafed Simeon Holly, stalking away without answering the -question. - -Immediately after dinner Perry Larson drove away with the woman and the -little boy. The woman's face was wreathed with smiles, and her last -adoring glance was for David, waving his hand to her from the porch -steps. - -In the afternoon David took his violin and went off toward the hill -behind the house for a walk. He had asked Mrs. Holly to accompany him, -but she had refused, though she was not sweeping or dusting at the -time. She was doing nothing more important, apparently, than making -holes in a piece of white cloth, and sewing them up again with a needle -and thread. - -David had then asked Mr. Holly to go; but his refusal was even more -strangely impatient than his wife's had been. - -"And why, pray, should I go for a useless walk now--or any time, for -that matter?" he demanded sharply. - -David had shrunk back unconsciously, though he had still smiled. - -"Oh, but it wouldn't be a useless walk, sir. Father said nothing was -useless that helped to keep us in tune, you know." - -"In tune!" - -"I mean, you looked as father used to look sometimes, when he felt out -of tune. And he always said there was nothing like a walk to put him -back again. I--I was feeling a little out of tune myself to-day, and I -thought, by the way you looked, that you were, too. So I asked you to -go to walk." - -"Humph! Well, I--That will do, boy. No impertinence, you understand!" -And he had turned away in very obvious anger. - -David, with a puzzled sorrow in his heart had started alone then, on -his walk. - - - -CHAPTER VII - -"YOU'RE WANTED--YOU'RE WANTED!" - -It was Saturday night, and the end of David's third day at the -farmhouse. Upstairs, in the hot little room over the kitchen, the boy -knelt at the window and tried to find a breath of cool air from the -hills. Downstairs on the porch Simeon Holly and his wife discussed the -events of the past few days, and talked of what should be done with -David. - -"But what shall we do with him?" moaned Mrs. Holly at last, breaking a -long silence that had fallen between them. "What can we do with him? -Doesn't anybody want him?" - -"No, of course, nobody wants him," retorted her husband relentlessly. - -And at the words a small figure in a yellow-white nightshirt stopped -short. David, violin in hand, had fled from the little hot room, and -stood now just inside the kitchen door. - -"Who can want a child that has been brought up in that heathenish -fashion?" continued Simeon Holly. "According to his own story, even his -father did nothing but play the fiddle and tramp through the woods day -in and day out, with an occasional trip to the mountain village to get -food and clothing when they had absolutely nothing to eat and wear. Of -course nobody wants him!" - -David, at the kitchen door, caught his breath chokingly. Then he sped -across the floor to the back hall, and on through the long sheds to the -hayloft in the barn--the place where his father seemed always nearest. - -David was frightened and heartsick. NOBODY WANTED HIM. He had heard it -with his own ears, so there was no mistake. What now about all those -long days and nights ahead before he might go, violin in hand, to meet -his father in that far-away country? How was he to live those days and -nights if nobody wanted him? How was his violin to speak in a voice -that was true and pure and full, and tell of the beautiful world, as -his father had said that it must do? David quite cried aloud at the -thought. Then he thought of something else that his father had said: -"Remember this, my boy,--in your violin lie all the things you long -for. You have only to play, and the broad skies of your mountain home -will be over you, and the dear friends and comrades of your mountain -forests will be all about you." With a quick cry David raised his -violin and drew the bow across the strings. - -Back on the porch at that moment Mrs. Holly was saying:-- - -"Of course there's the orphan asylum, or maybe the poorhouse--if they'd -take him; but--Simeon," she broke off sharply, "where's that child -playing now?" - -Simeon listened with intent ears. - -"In the barn, I should say." - -"But he'd gone to bed!" - -"And he'll go to bed again," asserted Simeon Holly grimly, as he rose -to his feet and stalked across the moonlit yard to the barn. - -As before, Mrs. Holly followed him, and as before, both involuntarily -paused just inside the barn door to listen. No runs and trills and -rollicking bits of melody floated down the stairway to-night. The notes -were long-drawn, and plaintively sweet; and they rose and swelled and -died almost into silence while the man and the woman by the door stood -listening. - -They were back in the long ago--Simeon Holly and his wife--back with a -boy of their own who had made those same rafters ring with shouts of -laughter, and who, also, had played the violin--though not like this; -and the same thought had come to each: "What if, after all, it were -John playing all alone in the moonlight!" - -It had not been the violin, in the end, that had driven John Holly from -home. It had been the possibilities in a piece of crayon. All through -childhood the boy had drawn his beloved "pictures" on every inviting -space that offered,--whether it were the "best-room" wall-paper, or the -fly leaf of the big plush album,--and at eighteen he had announced his -determination to be an artist. For a year after that Simeon Holly -fought with all the strength of a stubborn will, banished chalk and -crayon from the house, and set the boy to homely tasks that left no -time for anything but food and sleep--then John ran away. - -That was fifteen years ago, and they had not seen him since; though two -unanswered letters in Simeon Holly's desk testified that perhaps this, -at least, was not the boy's fault. - -It was not of the grown-up John, the willful boy and runaway son, -however, that Simeon Holly and his wife were thinking, as they stood -just inside the barn door; it was of Baby John, the little curly-headed -fellow that had played at their knees, frolicked in this very barn, and -nestled in their arms when the day was done. - -Mrs. Holly spoke first--and it was not as she had spoken on the porch. - -"Simeon," she began tremulously, "that dear child must go to bed!" And -she hurried across the floor and up the stairs, followed by her -husband. "Come, David," she said, as she reached the top; "it's time -little boys were asleep! Come!" - -Her voice was low, and not quite steady. To David her voice sounded as -her eyes looked when there was in them the far-away something that -hurt. Very slowly he came forward into the moonlight, his gaze -searching the woman's face long and earnestly. - -"And do you--want me?" he faltered. - -The woman drew in her breath with a little sob. Before her stood the -slender figure in the yellow-white gown--John's gown. Into her eyes -looked those other eyes, dark and wistful,--like John's eyes. And her -arms ached with emptiness. - -"Yes, yes, for my very own--and for always!" she cried with sudden -passion, clasping the little form close. "For always!" - -And David sighed his content. - -Simeon Holly's lips parted, but they closed again with no words said. -The man turned then, with a curiously baffled look, and stalked down -the stairs. - -On the porch long minutes later, when once more David had gone to bed, -Simeon Holly said coldly to his wife:-- - -"I suppose you realize, Ellen, just what you've pledged yourself to, by -that absurd outburst of yours in the barn to-night--and all because -that ungodly music and the moonshine had gone to your head!" - -"But I want the boy, Simeon. He--he makes me think of--John." - -Harsh lines came to the man's mouth, but there was a perceptible shake -in his voice as he answered:-- - -"We're not talking of John, Ellen. We're talking of this irresponsible, -hardly sane boy upstairs. He can work, I suppose, if he's taught, and -in that way he won't perhaps be a dead loss. Still, he's another mouth -to feed, and that counts now. There's the note, you know,--it's due in -August." - -"But you say there's money--almost enough for it--in the bank." Mrs. -Holly's voice was anxiously apologetic. - -"Yes, I know" vouchsafed the man. "But almost enough is not quite -enough." - -"But there's time--more than two months. It isn't due till the last of -August, Simeon." - -"I know, I know. Meanwhile, there's the boy. What are you going to do -with him?" - -"Why, can't you use him--on the farm--a little?" - -"Perhaps. I doubt it, though," gloomed the man. "One can't hoe corn nor -pull weeds with a fiddle-bow--and that's all he seems to know how to -handle." - -"But he can learn--and he does play beautifully," murmured the woman; -whenever before had Ellen Holly ventured to use words of argument with -her husband, and in extenuation, too, of an act of her own! - -There was no reply except a muttered "Humph!" under the breath. Then -Simeon Holly rose and stalked into the house. - -The next day was Sunday, and Sunday at the farmhouse was a thing of -stern repression and solemn silence. In Simeon Holly's veins ran the -blood of the Puritans, and he was more than strict as to what he -considered right and wrong. When half-trained for the ministry, -ill-health had forced him to resort to a less confining life, though -never had it taken from him the uncompromising rigor of his views. It -was a distinct shock to him, therefore, on this Sunday morning to be -awakened by a peal of music such as the little house had never known -before. All the while that he was thrusting his indignant self into his -clothing, the runs and turns and crashing chords whirled about him -until it seemed that a whole orchestra must be imprisoned in the little -room over the kitchen, so skillful was the boy's double stopping. -Simeon Holly was white with anger when he finally hurried down the hall -and threw open David's bedroom door. - -"Boy, what do you mean by this?" he demanded. - -David laughed gleefully. - -"And didn't you know?" he asked. "Why, I thought my music would tell -you. I was so happy, so glad! The birds in the trees woke me up -singing, 'You're wanted--you're wanted;' and the sun came over the hill -there and said, 'You're wanted--you're wanted;' and the little -tree-branch tapped on my window pane and said 'You're wanted--you're -wanted!' And I just had to take up my violin and tell you about it!" - -"But it's Sunday--the Lord's Day," remonstrated the man sternly. - -David stood motionless, his eyes questioning. - -"Are you quite a heathen, then?" catechised the man sharply. "Have they -never told you anything about God, boy?" - -"Oh, 'God'?--of course," smiled David, in open relief. "God wraps up -the buds in their little brown blankets, and covers the roots with--" - -"I am not talking about brown blankets nor roots," interrupted the man -severely. "This is God's day, and as such should be kept holy." - -"'Holy'?" - -"Yes. You should not fiddle nor laugh nor sing." - -"But those are good things, and beautiful things," defended David, his -eyes wide and puzzled. - -"In their place, perhaps," conceded the man, stiffly, "but not on God's -day." - -"You mean--He wouldn't like them?" - -"Yes." - -"Oh!"--and David's face cleared. "That's all right, then. Your God -isn't the same one, sir, for mine loves all beautiful things every day -in the year." - -There was a moment's silence. For the first time in his life Simeon -Holly found himself without words. - -"We won't talk of this any more, David," he said at last; "but we'll -put it another way--I don't wish you to play your fiddle on Sunday. -Now, put it up till to-morrow." And he turned and went down the hall. - -Breakfast was a very quiet meal that morning. Meals were never things -of hilarious joy at the Holly farmhouse, as David had already found -out; but he had not seen one before quite so somber as this. It was -followed immediately by a half-hour of Scripture-reading and prayer, -with Mrs. Holly and Perry Larson sitting very stiff and solemn in their -chairs, while Mr. Holly read. David tried to sit very stiff and solemn -in his chair, also; but the roses at the window were nodding their -heads and beckoning; and the birds in the bushes beyond were sending to -him coaxing little chirps of "Come out, come out!" And how could one -expect to sit stiff and solemn in the face of all that, particularly -when one's fingers were tingling to take up the interrupted song of the -morning and tell the whole world how beautiful it was to be wanted! - -Yet David sat very still,--or as still as he could sit,--and only the -tapping of his foot, and the roving of his wistful eyes told that his -mind was not with Farmer Holly and the Children of Israel in their -wanderings in the wilderness. - -After the devotions came an hour of subdued haste and confusion while -the family prepared for church. David had never been to church. He -asked Perry Larson what it was like; but Perry only shrugged his -shoulders and said, to nobody, apparently:-- - -"Sugar! Won't ye hear that, now?"--which to David was certainly no -answer at all. - -That one must be spick and span to go to church, David soon found -out--never before had he been so scrubbed and brushed and combed. There -was, too, brought out for him to wear a little clean white blouse and a -red tie, over which Mrs. Holly cried a little as she had over the -nightshirt that first evening. - -The church was in the village only a quarter of a mile away; and in due -time David, open-eyed and interested, was following Mr. and Mrs. Holly -down its long center aisle. The Hollys were early as usual, and service -had not begun. Even the organist had not taken his seat beneath the -great pipes of blue and gold that towered to the ceiling. - -It was the pride of the town--that organ. It had been given by a great -man (out in the world) whose birthplace the town was. More than that, a -yearly donation from this same great man paid for the skilled organist -who came every Sunday from the city to play it. To-day, as the organist -took his seat, he noticed a new face in the Holly pew, and he almost -gave a friendly smile as he met the wondering gaze of the small boy -there; then he lost himself, as usual, in the music before him. - -Down in the Holly pew the small boy held his breath. A score of violins -were singing in his ears; and a score of other instruments that he -could not name, crashed over his head, and brought him to his feet in -ecstasy. Before a detaining hand could stop him, he was out in the -aisle, his eyes on the blue-and-gold pipes from which seemed to come -those wondrous sounds. Then his gaze fell on the man and on the banks -of keys; and with soft steps he crept along the aisle and up the stairs -to the organ-loft. - -For long minutes he stood motionless, listening; then the music died -into silence and the minister rose for the invocation. It was a boy's -voice, and not a man's, however, that broke the pause. - -"Oh, sir, please," it said, "would you--could you teach ME to do that?" - -The organist choked over a cough, and the soprano reached out and drew -David to her side, whispering something in his ear. The minister, after -a dazed silence, bowed his head; while down in the Holly pew an angry -man and a sorely mortified woman vowed that, before David came to -church again, he should have learned some things. - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE PUZZLING "DOS" AND "DON'TS" - -With the coming of Monday arrived a new life for David--a curious life -full of "don'ts" and "dos." David wondered sometimes why all the -pleasant things were "don'ts" and all the unpleasant ones "dos." Corn -to be hoed, weeds to be pulled, woodboxes to be filled; with all these -it was "do this, do this, do this." But when it came to lying under the -apple trees, exploring the brook that ran by the field, or even -watching the bugs and worms that one found in the earth--all these were -"don'ts." - -As to Farmer Holly--Farmer Holly himself awoke to some new experiences -that Monday morning. One of them was the difficulty in successfully -combating the cheerfully expressed opinion that weeds were so pretty -growing that it was a pity to pull them up and let them all wither and -die. Another was the equally great difficulty of keeping a small boy at -useful labor of any sort in the face of the attractions displayed by a -passing cloud, a blossoming shrub, or a bird singing on a tree-branch. - -In spite of all this, however, David so evidently did his best to carry -out the "dos" and avoid the "don'ts," that at four o'clock that first -Monday he won from the stern but would-be-just Farmer Holly his freedom -for the rest of the day; and very gayly he set off for a walk. He went -without his violin, as there was the smell of rain in the air; but his -face and his step and the very swing of his arms were singing (to -David) the joyous song of the morning before. Even yet, in spite of the -vicissitudes of the day's work, the whole world, to David's homesick, -lonely little heart, was still caroling that blessed "You're wanted, -you're wanted, you're wanted!" - -And then he saw the crow. - -David knew crows. In his home on the mountain he had had several of -them for friends. He had learned to know and answer their calls. He had -learned to admire their wisdom and to respect their moods and tempers. -He loved to watch them. Especially he loved to see the great birds cut -through the air with a wide sweep of wings, so alive, so gloriously -free! - -But this crow-- - -This crow was not cutting through the air with a wide sweep of wing. It -was in the middle of a cornfield, and it was rising and falling and -flopping about in a most extraordinary fashion. Very soon David, -running toward it, saw why. By a long leather strip it was fastened -securely to a stake in the ground. - -"Oh, oh, oh!" exclaimed David, in sympathetic consternation. "Here, you -just wait a minute. I'll fix it." - -With confident celerity David whipped out his jackknife to cut the -thong; but he found then that to "fix it" and to say he would "fix it" -were two different matters. - -The crow did not seem to recognize in David a friend. He saw in him, -apparently, but another of the stone-throwing, gun-shooting, torturing -humans who were responsible for his present hateful captivity. With -beak and claw and wing, therefore, he fought this new evil that had -come presumedly to torment; and not until David had hit upon the -expedient of taking off his blouse, and throwing it over the angry -bird, could the boy get near enough to accomplish his purpose. Even -then David had to leave upon the slender leg a twist of leather. - -A moment later, with a whir of wings and a frightened squawk that -quickly turned into a surprised caw of triumphant rejoicing, the crow -soared into the air and made straight for a distant tree-top. David, -after a minute's glad surveying of his work, donned his blouse again -and resumed his walk. - -It was almost six o'clock when David got back to the Holly farmhouse. -In the barn doorway sat Perry Larson. - -"Well, sonny," the man greeted him cheerily, "did ye get yer weedin' -done?" - -"Y--yes," hesitated David. "I got it done; but I didn't like it." - -"'T is kinder hot work." - -"Oh, I didn't mind that part," returned David. "What I didn't like was -pulling up all those pretty little plants and letting them die." - -"Weeds--'pretty little plants'!" ejaculated the man. "Well, I'll be -jiggered!" - -"But they WERE pretty," defended David, reading aright the scorn in -Perry Larson's voice. "The very prettiest and biggest there were, -always. Mr. Holly showed me, you know,--and I had to pull them up." - -"Well, I'll be jiggered!" muttered Perry Larson again. - -"But I've been to walk since. I feel better now." - -"Oh, ye do!" - -"Oh, yes. I had a splendid walk. I went 'way up in the woods on the -hill there. I was singing all the time--inside, you know. I was so glad -Mrs. Holly--wanted me. You know what it is, when you sing inside." - -Perry Larson scratched his head. - -"Well, no, sonny, I can't really say I do," he retorted. "I ain't much -on singin'." - -"Oh, but I don't mean aloud. I mean inside. When you're happy, you -know." - -"When I'm--oh!" The man stopped and stared, his mouth falling open. -Suddenly his face changed, and he grinned appreciatively. "Well, if you -ain't the beat 'em, boy! 'T is kinder like singin'--the way ye feel -inside, when yer 'specially happy, ain't it? But I never thought of it -before." - -"Oh, yes. Why, that's where I get my songs--inside of me, you -know--that I play on my violin. And I made a crow sing, too. Only HE -sang outside." - -"SING--A CROW!" scoffed the man. "Shucks! It'll take more 'n you ter -make me think a crow can sing, my lad." - -"But they do, when they're happy," maintained the boy. "Anyhow, it -doesn't sound the same as it does when they're cross, or plagued over -something. You ought to have heard this one to-day. He sang. He was so -glad to get away. I let him loose, you see." - -"You mean, you CAUGHT a crow up there in them woods?" The man's voice -was skeptical. - -"Oh, no, I didn't catch it. But somebody had, and tied him up. And he -was so unhappy!" - -"A crow tied up in the woods!" - -"Oh, I didn't find THAT in the woods. It was before I went up the hill -at all." - -"A crow tied up--Look a-here, boy, what are you talkin' about? Where -was that crow?" Perry Larson's whole self had become suddenly alert. - -"In the field 'Way over there. And somebody--" - -"The cornfield! Jingo! Boy, you don't mean you touched THAT crow?" - -"Well, he wouldn't let me TOUCH him," half-apologized David. "He was so -afraid, you see. Why, I had to put my blouse over his head before he'd -let me cut him loose at all." - -"Cut him loose!" Perry Larson sprang to his feet. "You did n't--you -DIDn't let that crow go!" - -David shrank back. - -"Why, yes; he WANTED to go. He--" But the man before him had fallen -back despairingly to his old position. - -"Well, sir, you've done it now. What the boss'll say, I don't know; but -I know what I'd like ter say to ye. I was a whole week, off an' on, -gettin' hold of that crow, an' I wouldn't have got him at all if I -hadn't hid half the night an' all the mornin' in that clump o' bushes, -watchin' a chance ter wing him, jest enough an' not too much. An' even -then the job wa'n't done. Let me tell yer, 't wa'n't no small thing ter -get him hitched. I'm wearin' the marks of the rascal's beak yet. An' -now you've gone an' let him go--just like that," he finished, snapping -his fingers angrily. - -In David's face there was no contrition. There was only incredulous -horror. - -"You mean, YOU tied him there, on purpose?" - -"Sure I did!" - -"But he didn't like it. Couldn't you see he didn't like it?" cried -David. - -"Like it! What if he didn't? I didn't like ter have my corn pulled up, -either. See here, sonny, you no need ter look at me in that tone o' -voice. I didn't hurt the varmint none ter speak of--ye see he could -fly, didn't ye?--an' he wa'n't starvin'. I saw to it that he had enough -ter eat an' a dish o' water handy. An' if he didn't flop an' pull an' -try ter get away he needn't 'a' hurt hisself never. I ain't ter blame -for what pullin' he done." - -"But wouldn't you pull if you had two big wings that could carry you to -the top of that big tree there, and away up, up in the sky, where you -could talk to the stars?--wouldn't you pull if somebody a hundred times -bigger'n you came along and tied your leg to that post there?" - -The man, Perry, flushed an angry red. - -"See here, sonny, I wa'n't askin' you ter do no preachin'. What I did -ain't no more'n any man 'round here does--if he's smart enough ter -catch one. Rigged-up broomsticks ain't in it with a live bird when it -comes ter drivin' away them pesky, thievin' crows. There ain't a farmer -'round here that hain't been green with envy, ever since I caught the -critter. An' now ter have you come along an' with one flip o'yer knife -spile it all, I--Well, it jest makes me mad, clean through! That's all." - -"You mean, you tied him there to frighten away the other crows?" - -"Sure! There ain't nothin' like it." - -"Oh, I'm so sorry!" - -"Well, you'd better be. But that won't bring back my crow!" - -David's face brightened. - -"No, that's so, isn't it? I'm glad of that. I was thinking of the -crows, you see. I'm so sorry for them! Only think how we'd hate to be -tied like that--" But Perry Larson, with a stare and an indignant -snort, had got to his feet, and was rapidly walking toward the house. - -Very plainly, that evening, David was in disgrace, and it took all of -Mrs. Holly's tact and patience, and some private pleading, to keep a -general explosion from wrecking all chances of his staying longer at -the farmhouse. Even as it was, David was sorrowfully aware that he was -proving to be a great disappointment so soon, and his violin playing -that evening carried a moaning plaintiveness that would have been very -significant to one who knew David well. - -Very faithfully, the next day, the boy tried to carry out all the -"dos," and though he did not always succeed, yet his efforts were so -obvious, that even the indignant owner of the liberated crow was -somewhat mollified; and again Simeon Holly released David from work at -four o'clock. - -Alas, for David's peace of mind, however; for on his walk to-day, -though he found no captive crow to demand his sympathy, he found -something else quite as heartrending, and as incomprehensible. - -It was on the edge of the woods that he came upon two boys, each -carrying a rifle, a dead squirrel, and a dead rabbit. The threatened -rain of the day before had not materialized, and David had his violin. -He had been playing softly when he came upon the boys where the path -entered the woods. - -"Oh!" At sight of the boys and their burden David gave an involuntary -cry, and stopped playing. - -The boys, scarcely less surprised at sight of David and his violin, -paused and stared frankly. - -"It's the tramp kid with his fiddle," whispered one to the other -huskily. - -David, his grieved eyes on the motionless little bodies in the boys' -hands, shuddered. - -"Are they--dead, too?" - -The bigger boy nodded self-importantly. - -"Sure. We just shot 'em--the squirrels. Ben here trapped the rabbits." -He paused, manifestly waiting for the proper awed admiration to come -into David's face. - -But in David's startled eyes there was no awed admiration, there was -only disbelieving horror. - -"You mean, you SENT them to the far country?" - -"We--what?" - -"Sent them. Made them go yourselves--to the far country?" - -The younger boy still stared. The older one grinned disagreeably. - -"Sure," he answered with laconic indifference. "We sent 'em to the far -country, all right." - -"But--how did you know they WANTED to go?" - -"Wanted--Eh?" exploded the big boy. Then he grinned again, still more -disagreeably. "Well, you see, my dear, we didn't ask 'em," he gibed. - -Real distress came into David's face. - -"Then you don't know at all. And maybe they DIDn't want to go. And if -they didn't, how COULD they go singing, as father said? Father wasn't -sent. He WENT. And he went singing. He said he did. But these--How -would YOU like to have somebody come along and send YOU to the far -country, without even knowing if you wanted to go?" - -There was no answer. The boys, with a growing fear in their eyes, as at -sight of something inexplicable and uncanny, were sidling away; and in -a moment they were hurrying down the hill, not, however, without a -backward glance or two, of something very like terror. - -David, left alone, went on his way with troubled eyes and a thoughtful -frown. - -David often wore, during those first few days at the Holly farmhouse, a -thoughtful face and a troubled frown. There were so many, many things -that were different from his mountain home. Over and over, as those -first long days passed, he read his letter until he knew it by -heart--and he had need to. Was he not already surrounded by things and -people that were strange to him? - -And they were so very strange--these people! There were the boys and -men who rose at dawn--yet never paused to watch the sun flood the world -with light; who stayed in the fields all day--yet never raised their -eyes to the big fleecy clouds overhead; who knew birds only as thieves -after fruit and grain, and squirrels and rabbits only as creatures to -be trapped or shot. The women--they were even more incomprehensible. -They spent the long hours behind screened doors and windows, washing -the same dishes and sweeping the same floors day after day. They, too, -never raised their eyes to the blue sky outside, nor even to the -crimson roses that peeped in at the window. They seemed rather to be -looking always for dirt, yet not pleased when they found it--especially -if it had been tracked in on the heel of a small boy's shoe! - -More extraordinary than all this to David, however, was the fact that -these people regarded HIM, not themselves, as being strange. As if it -were not the most natural thing in the world to live with one's father -in one's home on the mountain-top, and spend one's days trailing -through the forest paths, or lying with a book beside some babbling -little stream! As if it were not equally natural to take one's violin -with one at times, and learn to catch upon the quivering strings the -whisper of the winds through the trees! Even in winter, when the clouds -themselves came down from the sky and covered the earth with their soft -whiteness,--even then the forest was beautiful; and the song of the -brook under its icy coat carried a charm and mystery that were quite -wanting in the chattering freedom of summer. Surely there was nothing -strange in all this, and yet these people seemed to think there was! - - - -CHAPTER IX - -JOE - -Day by day, however, as time passed, David diligently tried to perform -the "dos" and avoid the "don'ts"; and day by day he came to realize how -important weeds and woodboxes were, if he were to conform to what was -evidently Farmer Holly's idea of "playing in, tune" in this strange new -Orchestra of Life in which he found himself. - -But, try as he would, there was yet an unreality about it all, a -persistent feeling of uselessness and waste, that would not be set -aside. So that, after all, the only part of this strange new life of -his that seemed real to him was the time that came after four o'clock -each day, when he was released from work. - -And how full he filled those hours! There was so much to see, so much -to do. For sunny days there were field and stream and pasture land and -the whole wide town to explore. For rainy days, if he did not care to -go to walk, there was his room with the books in the chimney cupboard. -Some of them David had read before, but many of them he had not. One or -two were old friends; but not so "Dare Devil Dick," and "The Pirates of -Pigeon Cove" (which he found hidden in an obscure corner behind a loose -board). Side by side stood "The Lady of the Lake," "Treasure Island," -and "David Copperfield"; and coverless and dogeared lay "Robinson -Crusoe," "The Arabian Nights," and "Grimm's Fairy Tales." There were -more, many more, and David devoured them all with eager eyes. The good -in them he absorbed as he absorbed the sunshine; the evil he cast aside -unconsciously--it rolled off, indeed, like the proverbial water from -the duck's back. - -David hardly knew sometimes which he liked the better, his imaginative -adventures between the covers of his books or his real adventures in -his daily strolls. True, it was not his mountain home--this place in -which he found himself; neither was there anywhere his Silver Lake with -its far, far-reaching sky above. More deplorable yet, nowhere was there -the dear father he loved so well. But the sun still set in rose and -gold, and the sky, though small, still carried the snowy sails of its -cloud-boats; while as to his father--his father had told him not to -grieve, and David was trying very hard to obey. - -With his violin for company David started out each day, unless he -elected to stay indoors with his books. Sometimes it was toward the -village that he turned his steps; sometimes it was toward the hills -back of the town. Whichever way it was, there was always sure to be -something waiting at the end for him and his violin to discover, if it -was nothing more than a big white rose in bloom, or a squirrel sitting -by the roadside. - -Very soon, however, David discovered that there was something to be -found in his wanderings besides squirrels and roses; and that -was--people. In spite of the strangeness of these people, they were -wonderfully interesting, David thought. And after that he turned his -steps more and more frequently toward the village when four o'clock -released him from the day's work. - -At first David did not talk much to these people. He shrank sensitively -from their bold stares and unpleasantly audible comments. He watched -them with round eyes of wonder and interest, however,--when he did not -think they were watching him. And in time he came to know not a little -about them and about the strange ways in which they passed their time. - -There was the greenhouse man. It would be pleasant to spend one's day -growing plants and flowers--but not under that hot, stifling glass -roof, decided David. Besides, he would not want always to pick and send -away the very prettiest ones to the city every morning, as the -greenhouse man did. - -There was the doctor who rode all day long behind the gray mare, making -sick folks well. David liked him, and mentally vowed that he himself -would be a doctor sometime. Still, there was the stage-driver--David -was not sure but he would prefer to follow this man's profession for a -life-work; for in his, one could still have the freedom of long days in -the open, and yet not be saddened by the sight of the sick before they -had been made well--which was where the stage-driver had the better of -the doctor, in David's opinion. There were the blacksmith and the -storekeepers, too, but to these David gave little thought or attention. - -Though he might not know what he did want to do, he knew very well what -he did not. All of which merely goes to prove that David was still on -the lookout for that great work which his father had said was waiting -for him out in the world. - -Meanwhile David played his violin. If he found a crimson rambler in -bloom in a door-yard, he put it into a little melody of pure -delight--that a woman in the house behind the rambler heard the music -and was cheered at her task, David did not know. If he found a kitten -at play in the sunshine, he put it into a riotous abandonment of -tumbling turns and trills--that a fretful baby heard and stopped its -wailing, David also did not know. And once, just because the sky was -blue and the air was sweet, and it was so good to be alive, David -lifted his bow and put it all into a rapturous paean of ringing -exultation--that a sick man in a darkened chamber above the street -lifted his head, drew in his breath, and took suddenly a new lease of -life, David still again did not know. All of which merely goes to prove -that David had perhaps found his work and was doing it--although yet -still again David did not know. - -It was in the cemetery one afternoon that David came upon the Lady in -Black. She was on her knees putting flowers on a little mound before -her. She looked up as David approached. For a moment she gazed -wistfully at him; then as if impelled by a hidden force, she spoke. - -"Little boy, who are you?" - -"I'm David." - -"David! David who? Do you live here? I've seen you here before." - -"Oh, yes, I've been here quite a lot of times." Purposely the boy -evaded the questions. David was getting tired of questions--especially -these questions. - -"And have you--lost one dear to you, little boy?" - -"Lost some one?" - -"I mean--is your father or mother--here?" - - "Here? Oh, no, they aren't here. My mother is an angel-mother, -and my father has gone to the far country. He is waiting for me there, -you know." - -"But, that's the same--that is--" She stopped helplessly, bewildered -eyes on David's serene face. Then suddenly a great light came to her -own. "Oh, little boy, I wish I could understand that--just that," she -breathed. "It would make it so much easier--if I could just remember -that they aren't here--that they're WAITING--over there!" - -But David apparently did not hear. He had turned and was playing softly -as he walked away. Silently the Lady in Black knelt, listening, looking -after him. When she rose some time later and left the cemetery, the -light on her face was still there, deeper, more glorified. - -Toward boys and girls--especially boys--of his own age, David -frequently turned wistful eyes. David wanted a friend, a friend who -would know and understand; a friend who would see things as he saw -them, who would understand what he was saying when he played. It seemed -to David that in some boy of his own age he ought to find such a -friend. He had seen many boys--but he had not yet found the friend. -David had begun to think, indeed, that of all these strange beings in -this new life of his, boys were the strangest. - -They stared and nudged each other unpleasantly when they came upon him -playing. They jeered when he tried to tell them what he had been -playing. They had never heard of the great Orchestra of Life, and they -fell into most disconcerting fits of laughter, or else backed away as -if afraid, when he told them that they themselves were instruments in -it, and that if they did not keep themselves in tune, there was sure to -be a discord somewhere. - -Then there were their games and frolics. Such as were played with -balls, bats, and bags of beans, David thought he would like very much. -But the boys only scoffed when he asked them to teach him how to play. -They laughed when a dog chased a cat, and they thought it very, very -funny when Tony, the old black man, tripped on the string they drew -across his path. They liked to throw stones and shoot guns, and the -more creeping, crawling, or flying creatures that they could send to -the far country, the happier they were, apparently. Nor did they like -it at all when he asked them if they were sure all these creeping, -crawling, flying creatures wanted to leave this beautiful world and to -be made dead. They sneered and called him a sissy. David did not know -what a sissy was; but from the way they said it, he judged it must be -even worse to be a sissy than to be a thief. - -And then he discovered Joe. - -David had found himself in a very strange, very unlovely neighborhood -that afternoon. The street was full of papers and tin cans, the houses -were unspeakably forlorn with sagging blinds and lack of paint. Untidy -women and blear-eyed men leaned over the dilapidated fences, or lolled -on mud-tracked doorsteps. David, his shrinking eyes turning from one -side to the other, passed slowly through the street, his violin under -his arm. Nowhere could David find here the tiniest spot of beauty to -"play." He had reached quite the most forlorn little shanty on the -street when the promise in his father's letter occurred to him. With a -suddenly illumined face, he raised his violin to position and plunged -into a veritable whirl of trills and runs and tripping melodies. - -"If I didn't just entirely forget that I didn't NEED to SEE anything -beautiful to play," laughed David softly to himself. "Why, it's already -right here in my violin!" - -David had passed the tumble-down shanty, and was hesitating where two -streets crossed, when he felt a light touch on his arm. He turned to -confront a small girl in a patched and faded calico dress, obviously -outgrown. Her eyes were wide and frightened. In the middle of her -outstretched dirty little palm was a copper cent. - -"If you please, Joe sent this--to you," she faltered. - -"To me? What for?" David stopped playing and lowered his violin. - -The little girl backed away perceptibly, though she still held out the -coin. - -"He wanted you to stay and play some more. He said to tell you he'd 'a' -sent more money if he could. But he didn't have it. He just had this -cent." - -David's eyes flew wide open. - -"You mean he WANTS me to play? He likes it?" he asked joyfully. - -"Yes. He said he knew 't wa'n't much--the cent. But he thought maybe -you'd play a LITTLE for it." - -"Play? Of course I'll play" cried David. "Oh, no, I don't want the -money," he added, waving the again-proffered coin aside. "I don't need -money where I'm living now. Where is he--the one that wanted me to -play?" he finished eagerly. - -"In there by the window. It's Joe. He's my brother." The little girl, -in spite of her evident satisfaction at the accomplishment of her -purpose, yet kept quite aloof from the boy. Nor did the fact that he -refused the money appear to bring her anything but uneasy surprise. - -In the window David saw a boy apparently about his own age, a boy with -sandy hair, pale cheeks, and wide-open, curiously intent blue eyes. - -"Is he coming? Did you get him? Will he play?" called the boy at the -window eagerly. - -"Yes, I'm right here. I'm the one. Can't you see the violin? Shall I -play here or come in?" answered David, not one whit less eagerly. - -The small girl opened her lips as if to explain something; but the boy -in the window did not wait. - -"Oh, come in. WILL you come in?" he cried unbelievingly. "And will you -just let me touch it--the fiddle? Come! You WILL come? See, there isn't -anybody home, only just Betty and me." - -"Of course I will!" David fairly stumbled up the broken steps in his -impatience to reach the wide-open door. "Did you like it--what I -played? And did you know what I was playing? Did you understand? Could -you see the cloud-boats up in the sky, and my Silver Lake down in the -valley? And could you hear the birds, and the winds in the trees, and -the little brooks? Could you? Oh, did you understand? I've so wanted to -find some one that could! But I wouldn't think that YOU--HERE--" With a -gesture, and an expression on his face that were unmistakable, David -came to a helpless pause. - -"There, Joe, what'd I tell you," cried the little girl, in a husky -whisper, darting to her brother's side. "Oh, why did you make me get -him here? Everybody says he's crazy as a loon, and--" - -But the boy reached out a quickly silencing hand. His face was -curiously alight, as if from an inward glow. His eyes, still widely -intent, were staring straight ahead. - -"Stop, Betty, wait," he hushed her. "Maybe--I think I DO understand. -Boy, you mean--INSIDE of you, you see those things, and then you try to -make your fiddle tell what you are seeing. Is that it?" - -"Yes, yes," cried David. "Oh, you DO understand. And I never thought -you could. I never thought that anybody could that did n't have -anything to look at but him--but these things." - -"'Anything but these to look at'!" echoed the boy, with a sudden -anguish in his voice. "Anything but these! I guess if I could see -ANYTHING, I wouldn't mind WHAT I see! An' you wouldn't, neither, if you -was--blind, like me." - -"Blind!" David fell back. Face and voice were full of horror. "You mean -you can't see--anything, with your eyes?" - -"Nothin'." - -"Oh! I never saw any one blind before. There was one in a book--but -father took it away. Since then, in books down here, I've found -others--but--" - -"Yes, yes. Well, never mind that," cut in the blind boy, growing -restive under the pity in the other's voice. "Play. Won't you?" - -"But how are you EVER going to know what a beautiful world it is?" -shuddered David. "How can you know? And how can you ever play in tune? -You're one of the instruments. Father said everybody was. And he said -everybody was playing SOMETHING all the time; and if you didn't play in -tune--" - -"Joe, Joe, please," begged the little girl "Won't you let him go? I'm -afraid. I told you--" - -"Shucks, Betty! He won't hurt ye," laughed Joe, a little irritably. -Then to David he turned again with some sharpness. - -"Play, won't ye? You SAID you'd play!" - -"Yes, oh, yes, I'll play," faltered David, bringing his violin hastily -to position, and testing the strings with fingers that shook a little. - -"There!" breathed Joe, settling back in his chair with a contented -sigh. "Now, play it again--what you did before." - -But David did not play what he did before--at first. There were no airy -cloud-boats, no far-reaching sky, no birds, or murmuring forest brooks -in his music this time. There were only the poverty-stricken room, the -dirty street, the boy alone at the window, with his sightless eyes--the -boy who never, never would know what a beautiful world he lived in. - -Then suddenly to David came a new thought. This boy, Joe, had said -before that he understood. He had seemed to know that he was being told -of the sunny skies and the forest winds, the singing birds and the -babbling brooks. Perhaps again now he would understand. - -What if, for those sightless eyes, one could create a world? - -Possibly never before had David played as he played then. It was as if -upon those four quivering strings, he was laying the purple and gold of -a thousand sunsets, the rose and amber of a thousand sunrises, the -green of a boundless earth, the blue of a sky that reached to heaven -itself--to make Joe understand. - -"Gee!" breathed Joe, when the music came to an end with a crashing -chord. "Say, wa'n't that just great? Won't you let me, please, just -touch that fiddle?" And David, looking into the blind boy's exalted -face, knew that Joe had indeed--understood. - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE LADY OF THE ROSES - -It was a new world, indeed, that David created for Joe after that--a -world that had to do with entrancing music where once was silence; -delightful companionship where once was loneliness; and toothsome -cookies and doughnuts where once was hunger. - -The Widow Glaspell, Joe's mother, worked out by the day, scrubbing and -washing; and Joe, perforce, was left to the somewhat erratic and -decidedly unskillful ministrations of Betty. Betty was no worse, and no -better, than any other untaught, irresponsible twelve-year-old girl, -and it was not to be expected, perhaps, that she would care to spend -all the bright sunny hours shut up with her sorely afflicted and -somewhat fretful brother. True, at noon she never failed to appear and -prepare something that passed for a dinner for herself and Joe. But the -Glaspell larder was frequently almost as empty as were the hungry -stomachs that looked to it for refreshment; and it would have taken a -far more skillful cook than was the fly-away Betty to evolve anything -from it that was either palatable or satisfying. - -With the coming of David into Joe's life all this was changed. First, -there were the music and the companionship. Joe's father had "played in -the band" in his youth, and (according to the Widow Glaspell) had been -a "powerful hand for music." It was from him, presumably, that Joe had -inherited his passion for melody and harmony; and it was no wonder that -David recognized so soon in the blind boy the spirit that made them -kin. At the first stroke of David's bow, indeed, the dingy walls about -them would crumble into nothingness, and together the two boys were off -in a fairy world of loveliness and joy. - -Nor was listening always Joe's part. From "just touching" the -violin--his first longing plea--he came to drawing a timid bow across -the strings. In an incredibly short time, then, he was picking out bits -of melody; and by the end of a fortnight David had brought his father's -violin for Joe to practice on. - -"I can't GIVE it to you--not for keeps," David had explained, a bit -tremulously, "because it was daddy's, you know; and when I see it, it -seems almost as if I was seeing him. But you may take it. Then you can -have it here to play on whenever you like." - -After that, in Joe's own hands lay the power to transport himself into -another world, for with the violin for company he knew no loneliness. - -Nor was the violin all that David brought to the house. There were the -doughnuts and the cookies. Very early in his visits David had -discovered, much to his surprise, that Joe and Betty were often hungry. - -"But why don't you go down to the store and buy something?" he had -queried at once. - -Upon being told that there was no money to buy with, David's first -impulse had been to bring several of the gold-pieces the next time he -came; but upon second thoughts David decided that he did not dare. He -was not wishing to be called a thief a second time. It would be better, -he concluded, to bring some food from the house instead. - -In his mountain home everything the house afforded in the way of food -had always been freely given to the few strangers that found their way -to the cabin door. So now David had no hesitation in going to Mrs. -Holly's pantry for supplies, upon the occasion of his next visit to Joe -Glaspell's. - -Mrs. Holly, coming into the kitchen, found him merging from the pantry -with both hands full of cookies and doughnuts. - -"Why, David, what in the world does this mean?" she demanded. - -"They're for Joe and Betty," smiled David happily. - -"For Joe and--But those doughnuts and cookies don't belong to you. -They're mine!" - -"Yes, I know they are. I told them you had plenty," nodded David. - -"Plenty! What if I have?" remonstrated Mrs. Holly, in growing -indignation. "That doesn't mean that you can take--" Something in -David's face stopped the words half-spoken. - -"You don't mean that I CAN'T take them to Joe and Betty, do you? Why, -Mrs. Holly, they're hungry! Joe and Betty are. They don't have half -enough to eat. Betty said so. And we've got more than we want. There's -food left on the table every day. Why, if YOU were hungry, wouldn't you -want somebody to bring--" - -But Mrs. Holly stopped him with a despairing gesture. - -"There, there, never mind. Run along. Of course you can take them. -I'm--I'm GLAD to have you," she finished, in a desperate attempt to -drive from David's face that look of shocked incredulity with which he -was still regarding her. - -Never again did Mrs. Holly attempt to thwart David's generosity to the -Glaspells; but she did try to regulate it. She saw to it that -thereafter, upon his visits to the house, he took only certain things -and a certain amount, and invariably things of her own choosing. - -But not always toward the Glaspell shanty did David turn his steps. -Very frequently it was in quite another direction. He had been at the -Holly farmhouse three weeks when he found his Lady of the Roses. - -He had passed quite through the village that day, and had come to a -road that was new to him. It was a beautiful road, smooth, white, and -firm. Two huge granite posts topped with flaming nasturtiums marked the -point where it turned off from the main highway. Beyond these, as David -soon found, it ran between wide-spreading lawns and flowering shrubs, -leading up the gentle slope of a hill. Where it led to, David did not -know, but he proceeded unhesitatingly to try to find out. For some time -he climbed the slope in silence, his violin, mute, under his arm; but -the white road still lay in tantalizing mystery before him when a -by-path offered the greater temptation, and lured him to explore its -cool shadowy depths instead. - -Had David but known it, he was at Sunny-crest, Hinsdale's one "show -place," the country home of its one really rich resident, Miss Barbara -Holbrook. Had he also but known it, Miss Holbrook was not celebrated -for her graciousness to any visitors, certainly not to those who -ventured to approach her otherwise than by a conventional ring at her -front doorbell. But David did not know all this; and he therefore very -happily followed the shady path until he came to the Wonder at the end -of it. - -The Wonder, in Hinsdale parlance, was only Miss Holbrook's garden, but -in David's eyes it was fairyland come true. For one whole minute he -could only stand like a very ordinary little boy and stare. At the end -of the minute he became himself once more; and being himself, he -expressed his delight at once in the only way he knew how to do--by -raising his violin and beginning to play. - -He had meant to tell of the limpid pool and of the arch of the bridge -it reflected; of the terraced lawns and marble steps, and of the -gleaming white of the sculptured nymphs and fauns; of the splashes of -glorious crimson, yellow, blush-pink, and snowy white against the -green, where the roses rioted in luxurious bloom. He had meant, also, -to tell of the Queen Rose of them all--the beauteous lady with hair -like the gold of sunrise, and a gown like the shimmer of the moon on -water--of all this he had meant to tell; but he had scarcely begun to -tell it at all when the Beauteous Lady of the Roses sprang to her feet -and became so very much like an angry young woman who is seriously -displeased that David could only lower his violin in dismay. - -"Why, boy, what does this mean?" she demanded. - -David sighed a little impatiently as he came forward into the sunlight. - -"But I was just telling you," he remonstrated, "and you would not let -me finish." - -"Telling me!" - -"Yes, with my violin. COULDn't you understand?" appealed the boy -wistfully. "You looked as if you could!" - -"Looked as if I could!" - -"Yes. Joe understood, you see, and I was surprised when HE did. But I -was just sure you could--with all this to look at." - -The lady frowned. Half-unconsciously she glanced about her as if -contemplating flight. Then she turned back to the boy. - -"But how came you here? Who are you?" she cried. - -"I'm David. I walked here through the little path back there. I didn't -know where it went to, but I'm so glad now I found out!" - -"Oh, are you!" murmured the lady, with slightly uplifted brows. - -She was about to tell him very coldly that now that he had found his -way there he might occupy himself in finding it home again, when the -boy interposed rapturously, his eyes sweeping the scene before him:-- - -"Yes. I didn't suppose, anywhere, down here, there was a place one half -so beautiful!" - -An odd feeling of uncanniness sent a swift exclamation to the lady's -lips. - -"'Down here'! What do you mean by that? You speak as if you came -from--above," she almost laughed. - -"I did," returned David simply. "But even up there I never found -anything quite like this,"--with a sweep of his hands,--"nor like you, -O Lady of the Roses," he finished with an admiration that was as open -as it was ardent. - -This time the lady laughed outright. She even blushed a little. - -"Very prettily put, Sir Flatterer" she retorted; "but when you are -older, young man, you won't make your compliments quite so broad. I am -no Lady of the Roses. I am Miss Holbrook; and--and I am not in the -habit of receiving gentlemen callers who are uninvited -and--unannounced," she concluded, a little sharply. - -Pointless the shaft fell at David's feet. He had turned again to the -beauties about him, and at that moment he spied the sundial--something -he had never seen before. - -"What is it?" he cried eagerly, hurrying forward. "It isn't exactly -pretty, and yet it looks as if 't were meant for--something." - -"It is. It is a sundial. It marks the time by the sun." - -Even as she spoke, Miss Holbrook wondered why she answered the question -at all; why she did not send this small piece of nonchalant -impertinence about his business, as he so richly deserved. The next -instant she found herself staring at the boy in amazement. With -unmistakable ease, and with the trained accent of the scholar, he was -reading aloud the Latin inscription on the dial: "'Horas non numero -nisi serenas,' 'I count--no--hours but--unclouded ones,'" he translated -then, slowly, though with confidence. "That's pretty; but what does it -mean--about 'counting'?" - -Miss Holbrook rose to her feet. - -"For Heaven's sake, boy, who, and what are you?" she demanded. "Can YOU -read Latin?" - -"Why, of course! Can't you?" With a disdainful gesture Miss Holbrook -swept this aside. - -"Boy, who are you?" she demanded again imperatively. - -"I'm David. I told you." - -"But David who? Where do you live?" - -The boy's face clouded. - -"I'm David--just David. I live at Farmer Holly's now; but I did live on -the mountain with--father, you know." - -A great light of understanding broke over Miss Holbrook's face. She -dropped back into her seat. - -"Oh, I remember," she murmured. "You're the little--er--boy whom he -took. I have heard the story. So THAT is who you are," she added, the -old look of aversion coming back to her eyes. She had almost said "the -little tramp boy"--but she had stopped in time. - -"Yes. And now what do they mean, please,--those words,--'I count no -hours but unclouded ones'?" - -Miss Holbrook stirred in her seat and frowned. - -"Why, it means what it says, of course, boy. A sundial counts its hours -by the shadow the sun throws, and when there is no sun there is no -shadow; hence it's only the sunny hours that are counted by the dial," -she explained a little fretfully. - -David's face radiated delight. - -"Oh, but I like that!" he exclaimed. - -"You like it!" - -"Yes. I should like to be one myself, you know." - -"Well, really! And how, pray?" In spite of herself a faint gleam of -interest came into Miss Holbrook's eyes. - -David laughed and dropped himself easily to the ground at her feet. He -was holding his violin on his knees now. - -"Why, it would be such fun," he chuckled, "to just forget all about the -hours when the sun didn't shine, and remember only the nice, pleasant -ones. Now for me, there wouldn't be any hours, really, until after four -o'clock, except little specks of minutes that I'd get in between when I -DID see something interesting." - -Miss Holbrook stared frankly. - -"What an extraordinary boy you are, to be sure," she murmured. "And -what, may I ask, is it that you do every day until four o'clock, that -you wish to forget?" - -David sighed. - -"Well, there are lots of things. I hoed potatoes and corn, first, but -they're too big now, mostly; and I pulled up weeds, too, till they were -gone. I've been picking up stones, lately, and clearing up the yard. -Then, of course, there's always the woodbox to fill, and the eggs to -hunt, besides the chickens to feed,--though I don't mind THEM so much; -but I do the other things, 'specially the weeds. They were so much -prettier than the things I had to let grow, 'most always." - -Miss Holbrook laughed. - -"Well, they were; and really" persisted the boy, in answer to the -merriment in her eyes; "now wouldn't it be nice to be like the sundial, -and forget everything the sun didn't shine on? Would n't you like it? -Isn't there anything YOU want to forget?" - -Miss Holbrook sobered instantly. The change in her face was so very -marked, indeed, that involuntarily David looked about for something -that might have cast upon it so great a shadow. For a long minute she -did not speak; then very slowly, very bitterly, she said aloud--yet as -if to herself:-- - -"Yes. If I had my way I'd forget them every one--these hours; every -single one!" - -"Oh, Lady of the Roses!" expostulated David in a voice quivering with -shocked dismay. "You don't mean--you can't mean that you don't have -ANY--sun!" - -"I mean just that," bowed Miss Holbrook wearily, her eyes on the somber -shadows of the pool; "just that!" - -David sat stunned, confounded. Across the marble steps and the terraces -the shadows lengthened, and David watched them as the sun dipped behind -the tree-tops. They seemed to make more vivid the chill and the gloom -of the lady's words--more real the day that had no sun. After a time -the boy picked up his violin and began to play, softly, and at first -with evident hesitation. Even when his touch became more confident, -there was still in the music a questioning appeal that seemed to find -no answer--an appeal that even the player himself could not have -explained. - -For long minutes the young woman and the boy sat thus in the twilight. -Then suddenly the woman got to her feet. - -"Come, come, boy, what can I be thinking of?" she cried sharply. "I -must go in and you must go home. Good-night." And she swept across the -grass to the path that led toward the house. - - - -CHAPTER XI - -JACK AND JILL - -David was tempted to go for a second visit to his Lady of the Roses, -but something he could not define held him back. The lady was in his -mind almost constantly, however; and very vivid to him was the picture -of the garden, though always it was as he had seen it last with the -hush and shadow of twilight, and with the lady's face gloomily turned -toward the sunless pool. David could not forget that for her there were -no hours to count; she had said it herself. He could not understand how -this could be so; and the thought filled him with vague unrest and pain. - -Perhaps it was this restlessness that drove David to explore even more -persistently the village itself, sending him into new streets in search -of something strange and interesting. One day the sound of shouts and -laughter drew him to an open lot back of the church where some boys -were at play. - -David still knew very little of boys. In his mountain home he had never -had them for playmates, and he had not seen much of them when he went -with his father to the mountain village for supplies. There had been, -it is true, the boy who frequently brought milk and eggs to the cabin; -but he had been very quiet and shy, appearing always afraid and anxious -to get away, as if he had been told not to stay. More recently, since -David had been at the Holly farmhouse, his experience with boys had -been even less satisfying. The boys--with the exception of blind -Joe--had very clearly let it be understood that they had little use for -a youth who could find nothing better to do than to tramp through the -woods and the streets with a fiddle under his arm. - -To-day, however, there came a change. Perhaps they were more used to -him; or perhaps they had decided suddenly that it might be good fun to -satisfy their curiosity, anyway, regardless of consequences. Whatever -it was, the lads hailed his appearance with wild shouts of glee. - -"Golly, boys, look! Here's the fiddlin' kid," yelled one; and the -others joined in the "Hurrah!" he gave. - -David smiled delightedly; once more he had found some one who wanted -him--and it was so nice to be wanted! Truth to tell, David had felt not -a little hurt at the persistent avoidance of all those boys and girls -of his own age. - -"How--how do you do?" he said diffidently, but still with that beaming -smile. - -Again the boys shouted gleefully as they hurried forward. Several had -short sticks in their hands. One had an old tomato can with a string -tied to it. The tallest boy had something that he was trying to hold -beneath his coat. - -"'H--how do you do?'" they mimicked. "How do you do, fiddlin' kid?" - -"I'm David; my name is David." The reminder was graciously given, with -a smile. - -"David! David! His name is David," chanted the boys, as if they were a -comic-opera chorus. - -David laughed outright. - -"Oh, sing it again, sing it again!" he crowed. "That sounded fine!" - -The boys stared, then sniffed disdainfully, and cast derisive glances -into each other's eyes--it appeared that this little sissy tramp boy -did not even know enough to discover when he was being laughed at! - -"David! David! His name is David," they jeered into his face again. -"Come on, tune her up! We want ter dance." - -"Play? Of course I'll play," cried David joyously, raising his violin -and testing a string for its tone. - -"Here, hold on," yelled the tallest boy. "The Queen o' the Ballet ain't -ready". And he cautiously pulled from beneath his coat a struggling -kitten with a perforated bag tied over its head. - -"Sure! We want her in the middle," grinned the boy with the tin can. -"Hold on till I get her train tied to her," he finished, trying to -capture the swishing, fluffy tail of the frightened little cat. - -David had begun to play, but he stopped his music with a discordant -stroke of the bow. - -"What are you doing? What is the matter with that cat?" he demanded. - -"'Matter'!" called a derisive voice. "Sure, nothin' 's the matter with -her. She's the Queen o' the Ballet--she is!" - -"What do you mean?" cried David. At that moment the string bit hard -into the captured tail, and the kitten cried out with the pain. "Look -out! You're hurting her," cautioned David sharply. - -Only a laugh and a jeering word answered. Then the kitten, with the bag -on its head and the tin can tied to its tail, was let warily to the -ground, the tall boy still holding its back with both hands. - -"Ready, now! Come on, play," he ordered; "then we'll set her dancing." - -David's eyes flashed. - -"I will not play--for that." - -The boys stopped laughing suddenly. - -"Eh? What?" They could scarcely have been more surprised if the kitten -itself had said the words. - -"I say I won't play--I can't play--unless you let that cat go." - -"Hoity-toity! Won't ye hear that now?" laughed a mocking voice. "And -what if we say we won't let her go, eh?" - -"Then I'll make you," vowed David, aflame with a newborn something that -seemed to have sprung full-grown into being. - -"Yow!" hooted the tallest boy, removing both hands from the captive -kitten. - -The kitten, released, began to back frantically. The can, dangling at -its heels, rattled and banged and thumped, until the frightened little -creature, crazed with terror, became nothing but a whirling mass of -misery. The boys, formed now into a crowing circle of delight, kept the -kitten within bounds, and flouted David mercilessly. - -"Ah, ha!--stop us, will ye? Why don't ye stop us?" they gibed. - -For a moment David stood without movement, his eyes staring. The next -instant he turned and ran. The jeers became a chorus of triumphant -shouts then--but not for long. David had only hurried to the woodpile -to lay down his violin. He came back then, on the run--and before the -tallest boy could catch his breath he was felled by a stinging blow on -the jaw. - -Over by the church a small girl, red-haired and red-eyed, clambered -hastily over the fence behind which for long minutes she had been -crying and wringing her hands. - -"He'll be killed, he'll be killed," she moaned. "And it's my fault, -'cause it's my kitty--it's my kitty," she sobbed, straining her eyes to -catch a glimpse of the kitten's protector in the squirming mass of legs -and arms. - -The kitten, unheeded now by the boys, was pursuing its backward whirl -to destruction some distance away, and very soon the little girl -discovered her. With a bound and a choking cry she reached the kitten, -removed the bag and unbound the cruel string. Then, sitting on the -ground, a safe distance away, she soothed the palpitating little bunch -of gray fur, and watched with fearful eyes the fight. - -And what a fight it was! There was no question, of course, as to its -final outcome, with six against one; but meanwhile the one was giving -the six the surprise of their lives in the shape of well-dealt blows -and skillful twists and turns that caused their own strength and weight -to react upon themselves in a most astonishing fashion. The one -unmistakably was getting the worst of it, however, when the little -girl, after a hurried dash to the street, brought back with her to the -rescue a tall, smooth-shaven young man whom she had hailed from afar as -"Jack." - -Jack put a stop to things at once. With vigorous jerks and pulls he -unsnarled the writhing mass, boy by boy, each one of whom, upon -catching sight of his face, slunk hurriedly away, as if glad to escape -so lightly. There was left finally upon the ground only David alone. -But when David did at last appear, the little girl burst into tears -anew. - -"Oh, Jack, he's killed--I know he's killed," she wailed. "And he was so -nice and--and pretty. And now--look at him! Ain't he a sight?" - -David was not killed, but he was--a sight. His blouse was torn, his tie -was gone, and his face and hands were covered with dirt and blood. -Above one eye was an ugly-looking lump, and below the other was a red -bruise. Somewhat dazedly he responded to the man's helpful hand, pulled -himself upright, and looked about him. He did not see the little girl -behind him. - -"Where's the cat?" he asked anxiously. - -The unexpected happened then. With a sobbing cry the little girl flung -herself upon him, cat and all. - -"Here, right here," she choked. "And it was you who saved her--my -Juliette! And I'll love you, love you, love you always for it!" - -"There, there, Jill," interposed the man a little hurriedly. "Suppose -we first show our gratitude by seeing if we can't do something to make -our young warrior here more comfortable." And he began to brush off -with his handkerchief some of the accumulated dirt. - -"Why can't we take him home, Jack, and clean him up 'fore other folks -see him?" suggested the girl. - -The boy turned quickly. - -"Did you call him 'Jack'?" - -"Yes." - -"And he called you, Jill'?" - -"Yes." - -"The real 'Jack and Jill' that 'went up the hill'?" The man and the -girl laughed; but the girl shook her head as she answered,-- - -"Not really--though we do go up a hill, all right, every day. But those -aren't even our own names. We just call each other that for fun. Don't -YOU ever call things--for fun?" - -David's face lighted up in spite of the dirt, the lump, and the bruise. - -"Oh, do you do that?" he breathed. "Say, I just know I'd like to play -to you! You'd understand!" - -"Oh, yes, and he plays, too," explained the little girl, turning to the -man rapturously. "On a fiddle, you know, like you." - -She had not finished her sentence before David was away, hurrying a -little unsteadily across the lot for his violin. When he came back the -man was looking at him with an anxious frown. - -"Suppose you come home with us, boy," he said. "It isn't far--through -the hill pasture, 'cross lots,--and we'll look you over a bit. That -lump over your eye needs attention." - -"Thank you," beamed David. "I'd like to go, and--I'm glad you want me!" -He spoke to the man, but he looked at the little red-headed girl, who -still held the gray kitten in her arms. - - - -CHAPTER XII - -ANSWERS THAT DID NOT ANSWER - -"Jack and Jill," it appeared, were a brother and sister who lived in a -tiny house on a hill directly across the creek from Sunnycrest. Beyond -this David learned little until after bumps and bruises and dirt had -been carefully attended to. He had then, too, some questions to answer -concerning himself. - -"And now, if you please," began the man smilingly, as he surveyed the -boy with an eye that could see no further service to be rendered, "do -you mind telling me who you are, and how you came to be the center of -attraction for the blows and cuffs of six boys?" - -"I'm David, and I wanted the cat," returned the boy simply. - -"Well, that's direct and to the point, to say the least," laughed the -man. "Evidently, however, you're in the habit of being that. But, -David, there were six of them,--those boys,--and some of them were -larger than you." - -"Yes, sir." - -"And they were so bad and cruel," chimed in the little girl. - -The man hesitated, then questioned slowly. - -"And may I ask you where you--er--learned to--fight like that?" - -"I used to box with father. He said I must first be well and strong. He -taught me jiujitsu, too, a little; but I couldn't make it work very -well--with so many." - -"I should say not," adjudged the man grimly. "But you gave them a -surprise or two, I'll warrant," he added, his eyes on the cause of the -trouble, now curled in a little gray bunch of content on the window -sill. "But I don't know yet who you are. Who is your father? Where does -he live?" - -David shook his head. As was always the case when his father was -mentioned, his face grew wistful and his eyes dreamy. - -"He doesn't live here anywhere," murmured the boy. "In the far country -he is waiting for me to come to him and tell him of the beautiful world -I have found, you know." - -"Eh? What?" stammered the man, not knowing whether to believe his eyes, -or his ears. This boy who fought like a demon and talked like a saint, -and who, though battered and bruised, prattled of the "beautiful world" -he had found, was most disconcerting. - -"Why, Jack, don't you know?" whispered the little girl agitatedly. -"He's the boy at Mr. Holly's that they took." Then, still more softly: -"He's the little tramp boy. His father died in the barn." - -"Oh," said the man, his face clearing, and his eyes showing a quick -sympathy. "You're the boy at the Holly farmhouse, are you?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"And he plays the fiddle everywhere," volunteered the little girl, with -ardent admiration. "If you hadn't been shut up sick just now, you'd -have heard him yourself. He plays everywhere--everywhere he goes." - -"Is that so?" murmured Jack politely, shuddering a little at what he -fancied would come from a violin played by a boy like the one before -him. (Jack could play the violin himself a little--enough to know it -some, and love it more.) "Hm-m; well, and what else do you do?" - -"Nothing, except to go for walks and read." - -"Nothing!--a big boy like you--and on Simeon Holly's farm?" Voice and -manner showed that Jack was not unacquainted with Simeon Holly and his -methods and opinions. - -David laughed gleefully. - -"Oh, of course, REALLY I do lots of things, only I don't count those -any more. 'Horas non numero nisi serenas,' you knew," he quoted -pleasantly, smiling into the man's astonished eyes. - -"Jack, what was that--what he said?" whispered the little girl. "It -sounded foreign. IS he foreign?" - -"You've got me, Jill," retorted the man, with a laughing grimace. -"Heaven only knows what he is--I don't. What he SAID was Latin; I do -happen to know that. Still"--he turned to the boy ironically--"of -course you know the translation of that," he said. - -"Oh, yes. 'I count no hours but unclouded ones'--and I liked that. 'T -was on a sundial, you know; and I'M going to be a sundial, and not -count, the hours I don't like--while I'm pulling up weeds, and hoeing -potatoes, and picking up stones, and all that. Don't you see?" - -For a moment the man stared dumbly. Then he threw back his head and -laughed. - -"Well, by George!" he muttered. "By George!" And he laughed again. -Then: "And did your father teach you that, too?" he asked. - -"Oh, no,--well, he taught me Latin, and so of course I could read it -when I found it. But those 'special words I got off the sundial where -my Lady of the Roses lives." - -"Your--Lady of the Roses! And who is she?" - -"Why, don't you know? You live right in sight of her house," cried -David, pointing to the towers of Sunnycrest that showed above the -trees. "It's over there she lives. I know those towers now, and I look -for them wherever I go. I love them. It makes me see all over again the -roses--and her." - -"You mean--Miss Holbrook?" - -The voice was so different from the genial tones that he had heard -before that David looked up in surprise. - -"Yes; she said that was her name," he answered, wondering at the -indefinable change that had come to the man's face. - -There was a moment's pause, then the man rose to his feet. - -"How's your head? Does it ache?" he asked briskly. - -"Not much--some. I--I think I'll be going," replied David, a little -awkwardly, reaching for his violin, and unconsciously showing by his -manner the sudden chill in the atmosphere. - -The little girl spoke then. She overwhelmed him again with thanks, and -pointed to the contented kitten on the window sill. True, she did not -tell him this time that she would love, love, love him always; but she -beamed upon him gratefully and she urged him to come soon again, and -often. - -David bowed himself off, with many a backward wave of the hand, and -many a promise to come again. Not until he had quite reached the bottom -of the hill did he remember that the man, "Jack," had said almost -nothing at the last. As David recollected him, indeed, he had last been -seen standing beside one of the veranda posts, with gloomy eyes fixed -on the towers of Sunnycrest that showed red-gold above the tree-tops in -the last rays of the setting sun. - -It was a bad half-hour that David spent at the Holly farmhouse in -explanation of his torn blouse and bruised face. Farmer Holly did not -approve of fights, and he said so, very sternly indeed. Even Mrs. -Holly, who was usually so kind to him, let David understand that he was -in deep disgrace, though she was very tender to his wounds. - -David did venture to ask her, however, before he went upstairs to bed:-- - -"Mrs. Holly, who are those people--Jack and Jill--that were so good to -me this afternoon?" - -"They are John Gurnsey and his sister, Julia; but the whole town knows -them by the names they long ago gave themselves, 'Jack' and 'Jill.'" - -"And do they live all alone in the little house?" - -"Yes, except for the Widow Glaspell, who comes in several times a week, -I believe, to cook and wash and sweep. They aren't very happy, I'm -afraid, David, and I'm glad you could rescue the little girl's kitten -for her--but you mustn't fight. No good can come of fighting!" - -"I got the cat--by fighting." - -"Yes, yes, I know; but--" She did not finish her sentence, and David -was only waiting for a pause to ask another question. - -"Why aren't they happy, Mrs. Holly?" - -"Tut, tut, David, it's a long story, and you wouldn't understand it if -I told it. It's only that they're all alone in the world, and Jack -Gurnsey isn't well. He must be thirty years old now. He had bright -hopes not so long ago studying law, or something of the sort, in the -city. Then his father died, and his mother, and he lost his health. -Something ails his lungs, and the doctors sent him here to be out of -doors. He even sleeps out of doors, they say. Anyway, he's here, and -he's making a home for his sister; but, of course, with his hopes and -ambitions--But there, David, you don't understand, of course!" - -"Oh, yes, I do," breathed David, his eyes pensively turned toward a -shadowy corner. "He found his work out in the world, and then he had to -stop and couldn't do it. Poor Mr. Jack!" - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -A SURPRISE FOR MR. JACK - -Life at the Holly farmhouse was not what it had been. The coming of -David had introduced new elements that promised complications. Not -because he was another mouth to feed--Simeon Holly was not worrying -about that part any longer. Crops showed good promise, and all ready in -the bank even now was the necessary money to cover the dreaded note, -due the last of August. The complicating elements in regard to David -were of quite another nature. - -To Simeon Holly the boy was a riddle to be sternly solved. To Ellen -Holly he was an everpresent reminder of the little boy of long ago, and -as such was to be loved and trained into a semblance of what that boy -might have become. To Perry Larson, David was the "derndest -checkerboard of sense an' nonsense goin'"--a game over which to chuckle. - -At the Holly farmhouse they could not understand a boy who would leave -a supper for a sunset, or who preferred a book to a toy pistol--as -Perry Larson found out was the case on the Fourth of July; who picked -flowers, like a girl, for the table, yet who unhesitatingly struck the -first blow in a fight with six antagonists: who would not go fishing -because the fishes would not like it, nor hunting for any sort of wild -thing that had life; who hung entranced for an hour over the "millions -of lovely striped bugs" in a field of early potatoes, and who promptly -and stubbornly refused to sprinkle those same "lovely bugs" with Paris -green when discovered at his worship. All this was most perplexing, to -say the least. - -Yet David worked, and worked well, and in most cases he obeyed orders -willingly. He learned much, too, that was interesting and profitable; -nor was he the only one that made strange discoveries during those July -days. The Hollys themselves learned much. They learned that the rose of -sunset and the gold of sunrise were worth looking at; and that the -massing of the thunderheads in the west meant more than just a shower. -They learned, too, that the green of the hilltop and of the -far-reaching meadow was more than grass, and that the purple haze along -the horizon was more than the mountains that lay between them and the -next State. They were beginning to see the world with David's eyes. - -There were, too, the long twilights and evenings when David, on the -wings of his violin, would speed away to his mountain home, leaving -behind him a man and a woman who seemed to themselves to be listening -to the voice of a curly-headed, rosy-cheeked lad who once played at -their knees and nestled in their arms when the day was done. And here, -too, the Hollys were learning; though the thing thus learned was hidden -deep in their hearts. - -It was not long after David's first visit that the boy went again to -"The House that Jack Built," as the Gurnseys called their tiny home. -(Though in reality it had been Jack's father who had built the house. -Jack and Jill, however, did not always deal with realities.) It was not -a pleasant afternoon. There was a light mist in the air, and David was -without his violin. - -"I came to--to inquire for the cat--Juliette," he began, a little -bashfully. "I thought I'd rather do that than read to-day," he -explained to Jill in the doorway. - -"Good! I'm so glad! I hoped you'd come," the little girl welcomed him. -"Come in and--and see Juliette," she added hastily, remembering at the -last moment that her brother had not looked with entire favor on her -avowed admiration for this strange little boy. - -Juliette, roused from her nap, was at first inclined to resent her -visitor's presence. In five minutes, however, she was purring in his -lap. - -The conquest of the kitten once accomplished, David looked about him a -little restlessly. He began to wonder why he had come. He wished he had -gone to see Joe Glaspell instead. He wished that Jill would not sit and -stare at him like that. He wished that she would say -something--anything. But Jill, apparently struck dumb with -embarrassment, was nervously twisting the corner of her apron into a -little knot. David tried to recollect what he had talked about a few -days before, and he wondered why he had so enjoyed himself then. He -wished that something would happen--anything!--and then from an inner -room came the sound of a violin. - -David raised his head. - -"It's Jack," stammered the little girl--who also had been wishing -something would happen. "He plays, same as you do, on the violin." - -"Does he?" beamed David. "But--" He paused, listening, a quick frown on -his face. - -Over and over the violin was playing a single phrase--and the -variations in the phrase showed the indecision of the fingers and of -the mind that controlled them. Again and again with irritating -sameness, yet with a still more irritating difference, came the -succession of notes. And then David sprang to his feet, placing -Juliette somewhat unceremoniously on the floor, much to that petted -young autocrat's disgust. - -"Here, where is he? Let me show him," cried the boy, and at the note of -command in his voice, Jill involuntarily rose and opened the door to -Jack's den. - -"Oh, please, Mr. Jack," burst out David, hurrying into the room. "Don't -you see? You don't go at that thing right. If you'll just let me show -you a minute, we'll have it fixed in no time!" - -The man with the violin stared, and lowered his bow. A slow red came to -his face. The phrase was peculiarly a difficult one, and beyond him, as -he knew; but that did not make the present intrusion into his privacy -any the more welcome. - -"Oh, will we, indeed!" he retorted, a little sharply. "Don't trouble -yourself, I beg of you, boy." - -"But it isn't a mite of trouble, truly," urged David, with an ardor -that ignored the sarcasm in the other's words. "I WANT to do it." - -Despite his annoyance, the man gave a short laugh. - -"Well, David, I believe you. And I'll warrant you'd tackle this Brahms -concerto as nonchalantly as you did those six hoodlums with the cat the -other day--and expect to win out, too!" - -"But, truly, this is easy, when you know how," laughed the boy. "See!" - -To his surprise, the man found himself relinquishing the violin and bow -into the slim, eager hands that reached for them. The next moment he -fell back in amazement. Clear, distinct, yet connected like a string of -rounded pearls fell the troublesome notes from David's bow. "You see," -smiled the boy again, and played the phrase a second time, more slowly, -and with deliberate emphasis at the difficult part. Then, as if in -answer to some irresistible summons within him, he dashed into the next -phrase and, with marvelous technique, played quite through the rippling -cadenza that completed the movement. - -"Well, by George!" breathed the man dazedly, as he took the offered -violin. The next moment he had demanded vehemently: "For Heaven's sake, -who ARE you, boy?" - -David's face wrinkled in grieved surprise. - -"Why, I'm David. Don't you remember? I was here just the other day!" - -"Yes, yes; but who taught you to play like that?" - -"Father." - -"'Father'!" The man echoed the word with a gesture of comic despair. -"First Latin, then jiujitsu, and now the violin! Boy, who was your -father?" - -David lifted his head and frowned a little. He had been questioned so -often, and so unsympathetically, about his father that he was beginning -to resent it. - -"He was daddy--just daddy; and I loved him dearly." - -"But what was his name?" - -"I don't know. We didn't seem to have a name like--like yours down -here. Anyway, if we did, I didn't know what it was." - -"But, David,"--the man was speaking very gently now. He had motioned -the boy to a low seat by his side. The little girl was standing near, -her eyes alight with wondering interest. "He must have had a name, you -know, just the same. Didn't you ever hear any one call him anything? -Think, now." - -"No." David said the single word, and turned his eyes away. It had -occurred to him, since he had come to live in the valley, that perhaps -his father did not want to have his name known. He remembered that once -the milk-and-eggs boy had asked what to call him; and his father had -laughed and answered: "I don't see but you'll have to call me 'The Old -Man of the Mountain,' as they do down in the village." That was the -only time David could recollect hearing his father say anything about -his name. At the time David had not thought much about it. But since -then, down here where they appeared to think a name was so important, -he had wondered if possibly his father had not preferred to keep his to -himself. If such were the case, he was glad now that he did not know -this name, so that he might not have to tell all these inquisitive -people who asked so many questions about it. He was glad, too, that -those men had not been able to read his father's name at the end of his -other note that first morning--if his father really did not wish his -name to be known. - -"But, David, think. Where you lived, wasn't there ever anybody who -called him by name?" - -David shook his head. - -"I told you. We were all alone, father and I, in the little house far -up on the mountain." - -"And--your mother?" Again David shook his head. - -"She is an angel-mother, and angel-mothers don't live in houses, you -know." - -There was a moment's pause; then gently the man asked:-- - -"And you always lived there?" - -"Six years, father said." - -"And before that?" - -"I don't remember." There was a touch of injured reserve in the boy's -voice which the man was quick to perceive. He took the hint at once. - -"He must have been a wonderful man--your father!" he exclaimed. - -The boy turned, his eyes luminous with feeling. - -"He was--he was perfect! But they--down here--don't seem to know--or -care," he choked. - -"Oh, but that's because they don't understand," soothed the man. "Now, -tell me--you must have practiced a lot to play like that." - -"I did--but I liked it." - -"And what else did you do? and how did you happen to come--down here?" - -Once again David told his story, more fully, perhaps, this time than -ever before, because of the sympathetic ears that were listening. - -"But now" he finished wistfully, "it's all, so different, and I'm down -here alone. Daddy went, you know, to the far country; and he can't come -back from there." - -"Who told you--that?" - -"Daddy himself. He wrote it to me." - -"Wrote it to you!" cried the man, sitting suddenly erect. - -"Yes. It was in his pocket, you see. They--found it." David's voice was -very low, and not quite steady. - -"David, may I see--that letter?" - -The boy hesitated; then slowly he drew it from his pocket. - -"Yes, Mr. Jack. I'll let YOU see it." - -Reverently, tenderly, but very eagerly the man took the note and read -it through, hoping somewhere to find a name that would help solve the -mystery. With a sigh he handed it back. His eyes were wet. - -"Thank you, David. That is a beautiful letter," he said softly. "And I -believe you'll do it some day, too. You'll go to him with your violin -at your chin and the bow drawn across the strings to tell him of the -beautiful world you have found." - -"Yes, sir," said David simply. Then, with a suddenly radiant smile: -"And NOW I can't help finding it a beautiful world, you know, 'cause I -don't count the hours I don't like." - -"You don't what?--oh, I remember," returned Mr. Jack, a quick change -coming to his face. - -"Yes, the sundial, you know, where my Lady of the Roses lives." - -"Jack, what is a sundial?" broke in Jill eagerly. - -Jack turned, as if in relief. - -"Hullo, girlie, you there?--and so still all this time? Ask David. -He'll tell you what a sundial is. Suppose, anyhow, that you two go out -on the piazza now. I've got--er-some work to do. And the sun itself is -out; see?--through the trees there. It came out just to say -'good-night,' I'm sure. Run along, quick!" And he playfully drove them -from the room. - -Alone, he turned and sat down at his desk. His work was before him, but -he did not do it. His eyes were out of the window on the golden tops of -the towers of Sunnycrest. Motionless, he watched them until they turned -gray-white in the twilight. Then he picked up his pencil and began to -write feverishly. He went to the window, however, as David stepped off -the veranda, and called merrily:-- - -"Remember, boy, that when there's another note that baffles me, I'm -going to send for you." - -"He's coming anyhow. I asked him," announced Jill. - - And David laughed back a happy "Of course I am!" - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -THE TOWER WINDOW - -It is not to be expected that when one's thoughts lead so persistently -to a certain place, one's feet will not follow, if they can; and -David's could--so he went to seek his Lady of the Roses. - -At four o'clock one afternoon, with his violin under his arm, he -traveled the firm white road until he came to the shadowed path that -led to the garden. He had decided that he would go exactly as he went -before. He expected, in consequence, to find his Lady exactly as he had -found her before, sitting reading under the roses. Great was his -surprise and disappointment, therefore, to find the garden with no one -in it. - -He had told himself that it was the sundial, the roses, the shimmering -pool, the garden itself that he wanted to see; but he knew now that it -was the lady--his Lady of the Roses. He did not even care to play, -though all around him was the beauty that had at first so charmed his -eye. Very slowly he walked across the sunlit, empty space, and entered -the path that led to the house. In his mind was no definite plan; yet -he walked on and on, until he came to the wide lawns surrounding the -house itself. He stopped then, entranced. - -Stone upon stone the majestic pile raised itself until it was etched, -clean-cut, against the deep blue of the sky. The towers--his -towers--brought to David's lips a cry of delight. They were even more -enchanting here than when seen from afar over the tree-tops, and David -gazed up at them in awed wonder. From somewhere came the sound of -music--a curious sort of music that David had never heard before. He -listened intently, trying to place it; then slowly he crossed the lawn, -ascended the imposing stone steps, and softly opened one of the narrow -screen doors before the wide-open French window. - -Once within the room David drew a long breath of ecstasy. Beneath his -feet he felt the velvet softness of the green moss of the woods. Above -his head he saw a sky-like canopy of blue carrying fleecy clouds on -which floated little pink-and-white children with wings, just as David -himself had so often wished that he could float. On all sides silken -hangings, like the green of swaying vines, half-hid other hangings of -feathery, snowflake lace. Everywhere mirrored walls caught the light -and reflected the potted ferns and palms so that David looked down -endless vistas of loveliness that seemed for all the world like the -long sunflecked aisles beneath the tall pines of his mountain home. - -The music that David had heard at first had long since stopped; but -David had not noticed that. He stood now in the center of the room, -awed, and trembling, but enraptured. Then from somewhere came a -voice--a voice so cold that it sounded as if it had swept across a -field of ice. - -"Well, boy, when you have quite finished your inspection, perhaps you -will tell me to what I am indebted for THIS visit," it said. - -David turned abruptly. - -"O Lady of the Roses, why didn't you tell me it was like this--in -here?" he breathed. - -"Well, really," murmured the lady in the doorway, stiffly, "it had not -occurred to me that that was hardly--necessary." - -"But it was!--don't you see? This is new, all new. I never saw anything -like it before; and I do so love new things. It gives me something new -to play; don't you understand?" - -"New--to play?" - -"Yes--on my violin," explained David, a little breathlessly, softly -testing his violin. "There's always something new in this, you know," -he hurried on, as he tightened one of the strings, "when there's -anything new outside. Now, listen! You see I don't know myself just how -it's going to sound, and I'm always so anxious to find out." And with a -joyously rapt face he began to play. - -"But, see here, boy,--you mustn't! You--" The words died on her lips; -and, to her unbounded amazement, Miss Barbara Holbrook, who had -intended peremptorily to send this persistent little tramp boy about -his business, found herself listening to a melody so compelling in its -sonorous beauty that she was left almost speechless at its close. It -was the boy who spoke. - -"There, I told you my violin would know what to say!" - -"'What to say'!--well, that's more than I do" laughed Miss Holbrook, a -little hysterically. "Boy, come here and tell me who you are." And she -led the way to a low divan that stood near a harp at the far end of the -room. - -It was the same story, told as David had told it to Jack and Jill a few -days before, only this time David's eyes were roving admiringly all -about the room, resting oftenest on the harp so near him. - -"Did that make the music that I heard?" he asked eagerly, as soon as -Miss Holbrook's questions gave him opportunity. "It's got strings." - -"Yes. I was playing when you came in. I saw you enter the window. -Really, David, are you in the habit of walking into people's houses -like this? It is most disconcerting--to their owners." - -"Yes--no--well, sometimes." David's eyes were still on the harp. "Lady -of the Roses, won't you please play again--on that?" - -"David, you are incorrigible! Why did you come into my house like this?" - -"The music said 'come'; and the towers, too. You see, I KNOW the -towers." - -"You KNOW them!" - -"Yes. I can see them from so many places, and I always watch for them. -They show best of anywhere, though, from Jack and Jill's. And now won't -you play?" - -Miss Holbrook had almost risen to her feet when she turned abruptly. - -"From--where?" she asked. - -"From Jack and Jill's--the House that Jack Built, you know." - -"You mean--Mr. John Gurnsey's house?" A deeper color had come into Miss -Holbrook's cheeks. - -"Yes. Over there at the top of the little hill across the brook, you -know. You can't see THEIR house from here, but from over there we can -see the towers finely, and the little window--Oh, Lady of the Roses," -he broke off excitedly, at the new thought that had come to him, "if -we, now, were in that little window, we COULD see their house. Let's go -up. Can't we?" - -Explicit as this was, Miss Holbrook evidently did not hear, or at least -did not understand, this request. She settled back on the divan, -indeed, almost determinedly. Her cheeks were very red now. - -"And do you know--this Mr. Jack?" she asked lightly. - -"Yes, and Jill, too. Don't you? I like them, too. DO you know them?" - -Again Miss Holbrook ignored the question put to her. "And did you walk -into their house, unannounced and uninvited, like this?" she queried. - -"No. He asked me. You see he wanted to get off some of the dirt and -blood before other folks saw me." - - "The dirt and--and--why, David, what do you mean? What was -it--an accident?" - -David frowned and reflected a moment. - -"No. I did it on purpose. I HAD to, you see," he finally elucidated. -"But there were six of them, and I got the worst of it." - -"David!" Miss Holbrook's voice was horrified. "You don't mean--a fight!" - -"Yes'm. I wanted the cat--and I got it, but I wouldn't have if Mr. Jack -hadn't come to help me." - -"Oh! So Mr. Jack--fought, too?" - -"Well, he pulled the others off, and of course that helped me," -explained David truthfully. "And then he took me home--he and Jill." - -"Jill! Was she in it?" - -"No, only her cat. They had tied a bag over its head and a tin can to -its tail, and of course I couldn't let them do that. They were hurting -her. And now, Lady of the Roses, won't you please play?" - -For a moment Miss Holbrook did not speak. She was gazing at David with -an odd look in her eyes. At last she drew a long sigh. - -"David, you are the--the LIMIT!" she breathed, as she rose and seated -herself at the harp. - -David was manifestly delighted with her playing, and begged for more -when she had finished; but Miss Holbrook shook her head. She seemed to -have grown suddenly restless, and she moved about the room calling -David's attention to something new each moment. Then, very abruptly, -she suggested that they go upstairs. From room to room she hurried the -boy, scarcely listening to his ardent comments, or answering his still -more ardent questions. Not until they reached the highest tower room, -indeed, did she sink wearily into a chair, and seem for a moment at -rest. - -David looked about him in surprise. Even his untrained eye could see -that he had entered a different world. There were no sumptuous rugs, no -silken hangings; no mirrors, no snowflake curtains. There were books, -to be sure, but besides those there were only a plain low table, a -work-basket, and three or four wooden-seated though comfortable chairs. -With increasing wonder he looked into Miss Holbrook's eyes. - -"Is it here that you stay--all day?" he asked diffidently. - -Miss Holbrook's face turned a vivid scarlet. - -"Why, David, what a question! Of course not! Why should you think I -did?" - -"Nothing; only I've been wondering all the time I've been here how you -could--with all those beautiful things around you downstairs--say what -you did." - -"Say what?--when?" - -"That other day in the garden--about ALL your hours being cloudy ones. -So I didn't know to-day but what you LIVED up here, same as Mrs. Holly -doesn't use her best rooms; and that was why your hours were all cloudy -ones." - -With a sudden movement Miss Holbrook rose to her feet. - -"Nonsense, David! You shouldn't always remember everything that people -say to you. Come, you haven't seen one of the views from the windows -yet. We are in the larger tower, you know. You can see Hinsdale village -on this side, and there's a fine view of the mountains over there. Oh -yes, and from the other side there's your friend's house--Mr. Jack's. -By the way, how is Mr. Jack these days?" Miss Holbrook stooped as she -asked the question and picked up a bit of thread from the rug. - -David ran at once to the window that looked toward the House that Jack -Built. From the tower the little house appeared to be smaller than -ever. It was in the shadow, too, and looked strangely alone and -forlorn. Unconsciously, as he gazed at it, David compared it with the -magnificence he had just seen. His voice choked as he answered. - -"He isn't well, Lady of the Roses, and he's unhappy. He's awfully -unhappy." - -Miss Holbrook's slender figure came up with a jerk. - -"What do you mean, boy? How do you know he's unhappy? Has he said so?" - -"No; but Mrs. Holly told me about him. He's sick; and he'd just found -his work to do out in the world when he had to stop and come home. -But--oh, quick, there he is! See?" - -Instead of coming nearer Miss Holbrook fell back to the center of the -room; but her eyes were still turned toward the little house. - -"Yes, I see," she murmured. The next instant she had snatched a -handkerchief from David's outstretched hand. "No--no--I wouldn't wave," -she remonstrated hurriedly. "Come--come downstairs with me." - -"But I thought--I was sure he was looking this way," asserted David, -turning reluctantly from the window. "And if he HAD seen me wave to -him, he'd have been so glad; now, wouldn't he?" - -There was no answer. The Lady of the Roses did not apparently hear. She -had gone on down the stairway. - - - -CHAPTER XV - -SECRETS - -David had so much to tell Jack and Jill that he went to see them the -very next day after his second visit to Sunnycrest. He carried his -violin with him. He found, however, only Jill at home. She was sitting -on the veranda steps. - -There was not so much embarrassment between them this time, perhaps -because they were in the freedom of the wide out-of-doors, and David -felt more at ease. He was plainly disappointed, however, that Mr. Jack -was not there. - -"But I wanted to see him! I wanted to see him 'specially," he lamented. - -"You'd better stay, then. He'll be home by and by," comforted Jill. -"He's gone pot-boiling." - -"Pot-boiling! What's that?" - -Jill chuckled. - -"Well, you see, really it's this way: he sells something to boil in -other people's pots so he can have something to boil in ours, he says. -It's stuff from the garden, you know. We raise it to sell. Poor -Jack--and he does hate it so!" - -David nodded sympathetically. - -"I know--and it must be awful, just hoeing and weeding all the time." - -"Still, of course he knows he's got to do it, because it's out of -doors, and he just has to be out of doors all he can," rejoined the -girl. "He's sick, you know, and sometimes he's so unhappy! He doesn't -say much. Jack never says much--only with his face. But I know, and -it--it just makes me want to cry." - -At David's dismayed exclamation Jill jumped to her feet. It owned to -her suddenly that she was telling this unknown boy altogether too many -of the family secrets. She proposed at once a race to the foot of the -hill; and then, to drive David's mind still farther away from the -subject under recent consideration, she deliberately lost, and -proclaimed him the victor. - -Very soon, however, there arose new complications in the shape of a -little gate that led to a path which, in its turn, led to a footbridge -across the narrow span of the little stream. - -Above the trees on the other side peeped the top of Sunnycrest's -highest tower. - -"To the Lady of the Roses!" cried David eagerly. "I know it goes there. -Come, let's see!" - -The little girl shook her head. - -"I can't." - -"Why not?" - -"Jack won't let me." - -"But it goes to a beautiful place; I was there yesterday," argued -David. "And I was up in the tower and almost waved to Mr. Jack on the -piazza back there. I saw him. And maybe she'd let you and me go up -there again to-day." - -"But I can't, I say," repeated Jill, a little impatiently. "Jack won't -let me even start." - -"Why not? Maybe he doesn't know where it goes to." - -Jill hung her head. Then she raised it defiantly. - -"Oh, yes, he does, 'cause I told him. I used to go when I was littler -and he wasn't here. I went once, after he came,--halfway,--and he saw -me and called to me. I had got halfway across the bridge, but I had to -come back. He was very angry, yet sort of--queer, too. His face was all -stern and white, and his lips snapped tight shut after every word. He -said never, never, never to let him find me the other side of that -gate." - -David frowned as they turned to go up the hill. Unhesitatingly he -determined to instruct Mr. Jack in this little matter. He would tell -him what a beautiful place Sunnycrest was, and he would try to convince -him how very desirable it was that he and Jill, and even Mr. Jack -himself, should go across the bridge at the very first opportunity that -offered. - -Mr. Jack came home before long, but David quite forgot to speak of the -footbridge just then, chiefly because Mr. Jack got out his violin and -asked David to come in and play a duet with him. The duet, however, -soon became a solo, for so great was Mr. Jack's delight in David's -playing that he placed before the boy one sheet of music after another, -begging and still begging for more. - -David, nothing loath, played on and on. Most of the music he knew, -having already learned it in his mountain home. Like old friends the -melodies seemed, and so glad was David to see their notes again that he -finished each production with a little improvised cadenza of ecstatic -welcome--to Mr. Jack's increasing surprise and delight. - -"Great Scott! you're a wonder, David," he exclaimed, at last. - -"Pooh! as if that was anything wonderful," laughed the boy. "Why, I -knew those ages ago, Mr. Jack. It's only that I'm so glad to see them -again--the notes, you know. You see, I haven't any music now. It was -all in the bag (what we brought), and we left that on the way." - -"You left it!" - -"Yes, 't was so, heavy" murmured David abstractedly, his fingers busy -with the pile of music before him. "Oh, and here's another one," he -cried exultingly. "This is where the wind sighs, 'oou--OOU--OOU' -through the pines. Listen!" And he was away again on the wings of his -violin. When he had returned Mr. Jack drew a long breath. - -"David, you are a wonder," he declared again. "And that violin of yours -is a wonder, too, if I'm not mistaken,--though I don't know enough to -tell whether it's really a rare one or not. Was it your father's?" - -"Oh, no. He had one, too, and they both are good ones. Father said so. -Joe's got father's now." - -"Joe?" - -"Joe Glaspell." - -"You don't mean Widow Glaspell's Joe, the blind boy? I didn't know he -could play." - -"He couldn't till I showed him. But he likes to hear me play. And he -understood--right away, I mean." - -"UNDERSTOOD!" - -"What I was playing, you know. And he was almost the first one that -did--since father went away. And now I play every time I go there. Joe -says he never knew before how trees and grass and sunsets and sunrises -and birds and little brooks did look, till I told him with my violin. -Now he says he thinks he can see them better than I can, because as -long as his OUTSIDE eyes can't see anything, they can't see those ugly -things all around him, and so he can just make his INSIDE eyes see only -the beautiful things that he'd LIKE to see. And that's the kind he does -see when I play. That's why I said he understood." - -For a moment there was silence. In Mr. Jack's eyes there was an odd -look as they rested on David's face. Then, abruptly, he spoke. - -"David, I wish I had money. I'd put you then where you belonged," he -sighed. - -"Do you mean--where I'd find my work to do?" asked the boy softly. - -"Well--yes; you might say it that way," smiled the man, after a -moment's hesitation--not yet was Mr. Jack quite used to this boy who -was at times so very un-boylike. - -"Father told me 't was waiting for me--somewhere." - -Mr. Jack frowned thoughtfully. - -"And he was right, David. The only trouble is, we like to pick it out -for ourselves, pretty well,--too well, as we find out sometimes, when -we're called off--for another job." - -"I know, Mr. Jack, I know," breathed David. And the man, looking into -the glowing dark eyes, wondered at what he found there. It was almost -as if the boy really understood about his own life's -disappointment--and cared; though that, of course, could not be! - -"And it's all the harder to keep ourselves in tune then, too, is n't -it?" went on David, a little wistfully. - -"In tune?" - -"With the rest of the Orchestra." - -"Oh!" And Mr. Jack, who had already heard about the "Orchestra of -Life," smiled a bit sadly. "That's just it, my boy. And if we're handed -another instrument to play on than the one we WANT to play on, we're -apt to--to let fly a discord. Anyhow, I am. But"--he went on more -lightly--"now, in your case, David, little as I know about the violin, -I know enough to understand that you ought to be where you can take up -your study of it again; where you can hear good music, and where you -can be among those who know enough to appreciate what you do." - -David's eyes sparkled. - -"And where there wouldn't be any pulling weeds or hoeing dirt?" - -"Well, I hadn't thought of including either of those pastimes." - -"My, but I would like that, Mr. Jack!--but THAT wouldn't be WORK, so -that couldn't be what father meant." David's face fell. - -"Hm-m; well, I wouldn't worry about the 'work' part," laughed Mr. Jack, -"particularly as you aren't going to do it just now. There's the money, -you know,--and we haven't got that." - -"And it takes money?" - -"Well--yes. You can't get those things here in Hinsdale, you know; and -it takes money, to get away, and to live away after you get there." - -A sudden light transfigured David's face. - -"Mr. Jack, would gold do it?--lots of little round gold-pieces?" - -"I think it would, David, if there were enough of them." - -"Many as a hundred?" - -"Sure--if they were big enough. Anyway, David, they'd start you, and -I'm thinking you wouldn't need but a start before you'd be coining -gold-pieces of your own out of that violin of yours. But why? Anybody -you know got as 'many as a hundred' gold-pieces he wants to get rid of?" - -For a moment David, his delighted thoughts flying to the gold-pieces in -the chimney cupboard of his room, was tempted to tell his secret. Then -he remembered the woman with the bread and the pail of milk, and -decided not to. He would wait. When he knew Mr. Jack better--perhaps -then he would tell; but not now. NOW Mr. Jack might think he was a -thief, and that he could not bear. So he took up his violin and began -to play; and in the charm of the music Mr. Jack seemed to forget the -gold-pieces--which was exactly what David had intended should happen. - -Not until David had said good-bye some time later, did he remember the -purpose--the special purpose--for which he had come. He turned back -with a radiant face. - -"Oh, and Mr. Jack, I 'most forgot," he cried. "I was going to tell you. -I saw you yesterday--I did, and I almost waved to you." - -"Did you? Where were you?" - -"Over there in the window--the tower window" he crowed jubilantly. - -"Oh, you went again, then, I suppose, to see Miss Holbrook." - -The man's voice sounded so oddly cold and distant that David noticed it -at once. He was reminded suddenly of the gate and the footbridge which -Jill was forbidden to cross; but he dared not speak of it then--not -when Mr. Jack looked like that. He did say, however:-- - -"Oh, but, Mr. Jack, it's such a beautiful place! You don't know what a -beautiful place it is." - -"Is it? Then, you like it so much?" - -"Oh, so much! But--didn't you ever--see it?" - - "Why, yes, I believe I did, David, long ago," murmured Mr. Jack -with what seemed to David amazing indifference. - -"And did you see HER--my Lady of the Roses?" - -"Why, y--yes--I believe so." - -"And is THAT all you remember about it?" resented David, highly -offended. - -The man gave a laugh--a little short, hard laugh that David did not -like. - -"But, let me see; you said you almost waved, didn't you? Why did n't -you, quite?" asked the man. - -David drew himself suddenly erect. Instinctively he felt that his Lady -of the Roses needed defense. - -"Because SHE didn't want me to; so I didn't, of course," he rejoined -with dignity. "She took away my handkerchief." - -"I'll warrant she did," muttered the man, behind his teeth. Aloud he -only laughed again, as he turned away. - -David went on down the steps, dissatisfied vaguely with himself, with -Mr. Jack, and even with the Lady of the Roses. - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -DAVID'S CASTLE IN SPAIN - -On his return from the House that Jack Built, David decided to count -his gold-pieces. He got them out at once from behind the books, and -stacked them up in little shining rows. As he had surmised, there were -a hundred of them. There were, indeed, a hundred and six. He was -pleased at that. One hundred and six were surely enough to give him a -"start." - -A start! David closed his eyes and pictured it. To go on with his -violin, to hear good music, to be with people who understood what he -said when he played! That was what Mr. Jack had said a "start" was. And -this gold--these round shining bits of gold--could bring him this! -David swept the little piles into a jingling heap, and sprang to his -feet with both fists full of his suddenly beloved wealth. With boyish -glee he capered about the room, jingling the coins in his hands. Then, -very soberly, he sat down again, and began to gather the gold to put -away. - -He would be wise--he would be sensible. He would watch his chance, and -when it came he would go away. First, however, he would tell Mr. Jack -and Joe, and the Lady of the Roses; yes, and the Hollys, too. Just now -there seemed to be work, real work that he could do to help Mr. Holly. -But later, possibly when September came and school,--they had said he -must go to school,--he would tell them then, and go away instead. He -would see. By that time they would believe him, perhaps, when he showed -the gold-pieces. They would not think he had--STOLEN them. It was -August now; he would wait. But meanwhile he could think--he could -always be thinking of the wonderful thing that this gold was one day to -bring to him. - -Even work, to David, did not seem work now. In the morning he was to -rake hay behind the men with the cart. Yesterday he had not liked it -very well; but now--nothing mattered now. And with a satisfied sigh -David put his precious gold away again behind the books in the cupboard. - -David found a new song in his violin the next morning. To be sure, he -could not play it--much of it--until four o'clock in the afternoon -came; for Mr. Holly did not like violins to be played in the morning, -even on days that were not especially the Lord's. There was too much -work to do. So David could only snatch a strain or two very, very -softly, while he was dressing; but that was enough to show him what a -beautiful song it was going to be. He knew what it was, at once, too. -It was the gold-pieces, and what they would bring. All through the day -it tripped through his consciousness, and danced tantalizingly just out -of reach. Yet he was wonderfully happy, and the day seemed short in -spite of the heat and the weariness. - -At four o'clock he hurried home and put his violin quickly in tune. It -came then--that dancing sprite of tantalization--and joyously abandoned -itself to the strings of the violin, so that David knew, of a surety, -what a beautiful song it was. - -It was this song that sent him the next afternoon to see his Lady of -the Roses. He found her this time out of doors in her garden. -Unceremoniously, as usual, he rushed headlong into her presence. - -"Oh, Lady--Lady of the Roses," he panted. "I've found out, and I came -quickly to tell you." - -"Why, David, what--what do you mean?" Miss Holbrook looked unmistakably -startled. - -"About the hours, you know,--the unclouded ones," explained David -eagerly. "You know you said they were ALL cloudy to you." - -Miss Holbrook's face grew very white. - -"You mean--you've found out WHY my hours are--are all cloudy ones?" she -stammered. - -"No, oh, no. I can't imagine why they are," returned David, with an -emphatic shake of his head. "It's just that I've found a way to make -all my hours sunny ones, and you can do it, too. So I came to tell you. -You know you said yours were all cloudy." - -"Oh," ejaculated Miss Holbrook, falling back into her old listless -attitude. Then, with some asperity: "Dear me, David! Did n't I tell you -not to be remembering that all the time?" - -"Yes, I know, but I've LEARNED something," urged the boy; "something -that you ought to know. You see, I did think, once, that because you -had all these beautiful things around you, the hours ought to be all -sunny ones. But now I know it isn't what's around you; it's what is IN -you!" - -"Oh, David, David, you curious boy!" - -"No, but really! Let me tell you," pleaded David. "You know I haven't -liked them,--all those hours till four o'clock came,--and I was so -glad, after I saw the sundial, to find out that they didn't count, -anyhow. But to-day they HAVE counted--they've all counted, Lady of the -Roses; and it's just because there was something inside of me that -shone and shone, and made them all sunny--those hours." - -"Dear me! And what was this wonderful thing?" - -David smiled, but he shook his head. - -"I can't tell you that yet--in words; but I'll play it. You see, I -can't always play them twice alike,--those little songs that I -find,--but this one I can. It sang so long in my head, before my violin -had a chance to tell me what it really was, that I sort of learned it. -Now, listen!" And he began to play. - -It was, indeed, a beautiful song, and Miss Holbrook said so with -promptness and enthusiasm; yet still David frowned. - -"Yes, yes," he answered, "but don't you see? That was telling you about -something inside of me that made all my hours sunshiny ones. Now, what -you want is something inside of you to make yours sunshiny, too. Don't -you see?" - -An odd look came into Miss Holbrook's eyes. - -"That's all very well for you to say, David, but you haven't told me -yet, you know, just what it is that's made all this brightness for you." - -The boy changed his position, and puckered his forehead into a deeper -frown. - -"I don't seem to explain so you can understand," he sighed. "It isn't -the SPECIAL thing. It's only that it's SOMETHING. And it's thinking -about it that does it. Now, mine wouldn't make yours shine, -but--still,"--he broke off, a happy relief in his eyes,--"yours could -be LIKE mine, in one way. Mine is something that is going to happen to -me--something just beautiful; and you could have that, you -know,--something that was going to happen to you, to think about." - -Miss Holbrook smiled, but only with her lips, Her eyes had grown somber. - -"But there isn't anything 'just beautiful' going to happen to me, -David," she demurred. - -"There could, couldn't there?" - -Miss Holbrook bit, her lip; then she gave an odd little laugh that -seemed, in some way, to go with the swift red that had come to her -cheeks. - -"I used to think there could--once," she admitted; "but I've given that -up long ago. It--it didn't happen." - -"But couldn't you just THINK it was going to?" persisted the boy. "You -see I found out yesterday that it's the THINKING that does it. All day -long I was thinking--only thinking. I wasn't DOING it, at all. I was -really raking behind the cart; but the hours all were sunny." - -Miss Holbrook laughed now outright. - -"What a persistent little mental-science preacher you are!" she -exclaimed. "And there's truth--more truth than you know--in it all, -too. But I can't do it, David,--not that--not that. 'T would take more -than THINKING--to bring that," she added, under her breath, as if to -herself. - -"But thinking does bring things," maintained David earnestly. "There's -Joe--Joe Glaspell. His mother works out all day; and he's blind." - -"Blind? Oh-h!" shuddered Miss Holbrook. - -"Yes; and he has to stay all alone, except for Betty, and she is n't -there much. He THINKS ALL his things. He has to. He can't SEE anything -with his outside eyes. But he sees everything with his inside -eyes--everything that I play. Why, Lady of the Roses, he's even seen -this--all this here. I told him about it, you know, right away after -I'd found you that first day: the big trees and the long shadows across -the grass, and the roses, and the shining water, and the lovely marble -people peeping through the green leaves; and the sundial, and you so -beautiful sitting here in the middle of it all. Then I played it for -him; and he said he could see it all just as plain! And THAT was with -his inside eyes! And so, if Joe, shut up there in his dark little room, -can make his THINK bring him all that, I should think that YOU, here in -this beautiful, beautiful place, could make your think bring you -anything you wanted it to." - -But Miss Holbrook sighed again and shook her head. - -"Not that, David, not that," she murmured. "It would take more than -thinking to bring--that." Then, with a quick change of manner, she -cried: "Come, come, suppose we don't worry any more about MY hours. -Let's think of yours. Tell me, what have you been doing since I saw you -last? Perhaps you have been again to--to see Mr. Jack, for instance." - -"I have; but I saw Jill mostly, till the last." David hesitated, then -he blurted it out: "Lady of the Roses, do you know about the gate and -the footbridge?" - -Miss Holbrook looked up quickly. - -"Know--what, David?" - -"Know about them--that they're there?" - -"Why--yes, of course; at least, I suppose you mean the footbridge that -crosses the little stream at the foot of the hill over there." - -"That's the one." Again David hesitated, and again he blurted out the -burden of his thoughts. "Lady of the Roses, did you ever--cross that -bridge?" - -Miss Holbrook stirred uneasily. - -"Not--recently." - -"But you don't MIND folks crossing it?" - -"Certainly not--if they wish to." - -"There! I knew 't wasn't your blame," triumphed David. - -"MY blame!" - -"Yes; that Mr. Jack wouldn't let Jill come across, you know. He called -her back when she'd got halfway over once." Miss Holbrook's face -changed color. - -"But I do object," she cried sharply, "to their crossing it when they -DON'T want to! Don't forget that, please." - -"But Jill did want to." - -"How about her brother--did he want her to?" - -"N--no." - -"Very well, then. I didn't, either." - -David frowned. Never had he seen his beloved Lady of the Roses look -like this before. He was reminded of what Jill had said about Jack: -"His face was all stern and white, and his lips snapped tight shut -after every word." So, too, looked Miss Holbrook's face; so, too, had -her lips snapped tight shut after her last words. David could not -understand it. He said nothing more, however; but, as was usually the -case when he was perplexed, he picked up his violin and began to play. -And as he played, there gradually came to Miss Holbrook's eyes a softer -light, and to her lips lines less tightly drawn. Neither the footbridge -nor Mr. Jack, however, was mentioned again that afternoon. - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -"THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER" - -It was in the early twilight that Mr. Jack told the story. He, Jill, -and David were on the veranda, as usual watching the towers of -Sunnycrest turn from gold to silver as the sun dropped behind the -hills. It was Jill who had asked for the story. - -"About fairies and princesses, you know," she had ordered. - -"But how will David like that?" Mr. Jack had demurred. "Maybe he -doesn't care for fairies and princesses." - -"I read one once about a prince--'t was 'The Prince and the Pauper,' -and I liked that," averred David stoutly. - -Mr. Jack smiled; then his brows drew together in a frown. His eyes were -moodily fixed on the towers. - -"Hm-m; well," he said, "I might, I suppose, tell you a story about a -PRINCESS and--a Pauper. I--know one well enough." - -"Good!--then tell it," cried both Jill and David. And Mr. Jack began -his story. - -"She was not always a Princess, and he was not always a Pauper,--and -that's where the story came in, I suppose," sighed the man. "She was -just a girl, once, and he was a boy; and they played together -and--liked each other. He lived in a little house on a hill." - -"Like this?" demanded Jill. - -"Eh? Oh--er--yes, SOMETHING like this," returned Mr. Jack, with an odd -half-smile. "And she lived in another bit of a house in a town far away -from the boy." - -"Then how could they play together?" questioned David. - -"They couldn't, ALWAYS. It was only summers when she came to visit in -the boy's town. She was very near him then, for the old aunt whom she -visited lived in a big stone house with towers, on another hill, in -plain sight from the boy's home." - -"Towers like those--where the Lady of the Roses lives?" asked David. - -"Eh? What? Oh--er--yes," murmured Mr. Jack. "We'll say the towers were -something like those over there." He paused, then went on musingly: -"The girl used to signal, sometimes, from one of the tower windows. One -wave of the handkerchief meant, 'I'm coming, over'; two waves, with a -little pause between, meant, 'You are to come over here.' So the boy -used to wait always, after that first wave to see if another followed; -so that he might know whether he were to be host or guest that day. The -waves always came at eight o'clock in the morning, and very eagerly the -boy used to watch for them all through the summer when the girl was -there." - -"Did they always come, every morning?" Asked Jill. - -"No; sometimes the girl had other things to do. Her aunt would want her -to go somewhere with her, or other cousins were expected whom the girl -must entertain; and she knew the boy did not like other guests to be -there when he was, so she never asked him to come over at such times. -On such occasions she did sometimes run up to the tower at eight -o'clock and wave three times, and that meant, 'Dead Day.' So the boy, -after all, never drew a real breath of relief until he made sure that -no dreaded third wave was to follow the one or the two." - -"Seems to me," observed David, "that all this was sort of one-sided. -Didn't the boy say anything?" - -"Oh, yes," smiled Mr. Jack. "But the boy did not have any tower to wave -from, you must remember. He had only the little piazza on his tiny bit -of a house. But he rigged up a pole, and he asked his mother to make -him two little flags, a red and a blue one. The red meant 'All right'; -and the blue meant 'Got to work'; and these he used to run up on his -pole in answer to her waving 'I'm coming over,' or 'You are to come -over here.' So, you see, occasionally it was the boy who had to bring -the 'Dead Day,' as there were times when he had to work. And, by the -way, perhaps you would be interested to know that after a while he -thought up a third flag to answer her three waves. He found an old -black silk handkerchief of his father's, and he made that into a flag. -He told the girl it meant 'I'm heartbroken,' and he said it was a sign -of the deepest mourning. The girl laughed and tipped her head saucily -to one side, and said, 'Pooh! as if you really cared!' But the boy -stoutly maintained his position, and it was that, perhaps, which made -her play the little joke one day. - -"The boy was fourteen that summer, and the girl thirteen. They had -begun their signals years before, but they had not had the black one so -long. On this day that I tell you of, the girl waved three waves, which -meant, 'Dead Day,' you remember, and watched until the boy had hoisted -his black flag which said, 'I'm heart-broken,' in response. Then, as -fast as her mischievous little feet could carry her, she raced down one -hill and across to the other. Very stealthily she advanced till she -found the boy bent over a puzzle on the back stoop, and--and he was -whistling merrily. - -"How she teased him then! How she taunted him with 'Heart-broken, -indeed--and whistling like that!' In vain he blushed and stammered, and -protested that his whistling was only to keep up his spirits. The girl -only laughed and tossed her yellow curls; then she hunted till she -found some little jingling bells, and these she tied to the black badge -of mourning and pulled it high up on the flagpole. The next instant she -was off with a run and a skip, and a saucy wave of her hand; and the -boy was left all alone with an hour's work ahead of him to untie the -knots from his desecrated badge of mourning. - -"And yet they were wonderfully good friends--this boy and girl. From -the very first, when they were seven and eight, they had said that they -would marry each other when they grew up, and always they spoke of it -as the expected thing, and laid many happy plans for the time when it -should come. To be sure, as they grew older, it was not mentioned quite -so often, perhaps; but the boy at least thought--if he thought of it -all--that that was only because it was already so well understood." - -"What did the girl think?" It was Jill who asked the question. - -"Eh? The girl? Oh," answered Mr. Jack, a little bitterly, "I'm afraid I -don't know exactly what the girl did think, but--it was n't that, -anyhow--that is, judging from what followed." - -"What did follow?" - -"Well, to begin with, the old aunt died. The girl was sixteen then. It -was in the winter that this happened, and the girl was far away at -school. She came to the funeral, however, but the boy did not see her, -save in the distance; and then he hardly knew her, so strange did she -look in her black dress and hat. She was there only two days, and -though he gazed wistfully up at the gray tower, he knew well enough -that of course she could not wave to him at such a time as that. Yet he -had hoped--almost believed that she would wave two waves that last day, -and let him go over to see her. - -"But she didn't wave, and he didn't go over. She went away. And then -the town learned a wonderful thing. The old lady, her aunt, who had -been considered just fairly rich, turned out to be the possessor of -almost fabulous wealth, owing to her great holdings of stock in a -Western gold mine which had suddenly struck it rich. And to the girl -she willed it all. It was then, of course, that the girl became the -Princess, but the boy did not realize that--just then. To him she was -still 'the girl.' - -"For three years he did not see her. She was at school, or traveling -abroad, he heard. He, too, had been away to school, and was, indeed, -just ready to enter college. Then, that summer, he heard that she was -coming to the old home, and his heart sang within him. Remember, to him -she was still the girl. He knew, of course, that she was not the LITTLE -girl who had promised to marry him. But he was sure she was the merry -comrade, the true-hearted young girl who used to smile frankly into his -eyes, and whom he was now to win for his wife. You see he had -forgotten--quite forgotten about the Princess and the money. Such a -foolish, foolish boy as he was! - -"So he got out his flags gleefully, and one day, when his mother wasn't -in the kitchen, he ironed out the wrinkles and smoothed them all ready -to be raised on the pole. He would be ready when the girl waved--for of -course she would wave; he would show her that he had not forgotten. He -could see just how the sparkle would come to her eyes, and just how the -little fine lines of mischief would crinkle around her nose when she -was ready to give that first wave. He could imagine that she would like -to find him napping; that she would like to take him by surprise, and -make him scurry around for his flags to answer her. - -"But he would show her! As if she, a girl, were to beat him at their -old game! He wondered which it would be: 'I'm coming over,' or, 'You -are to come over here.' Whichever it was, he would answer, of course, -with the red 'All right.' Still, it WOULD be a joke to run up the blue -'Got to work,' and then slip across to see her, just as she, so long -ago, had played the joke on him! On the whole, however, he thought the -red flag would be better. And it was that one which he laid uppermost -ready to his hand, when he arranged them. - -"At last she came. He heard of it at once. It was already past four -o'clock, but he could not forbear, even then, to look toward the tower. -It would be like her, after all, to wave then, that very night, just so -as to catch him napping, he thought. She did not wave, however. The boy -was sure of that, for he watched the tower till dark. - -"In the morning, long before eight o'clock, the boy was ready. He -debated for some time whether to stand out of doors on the piazza, or -to hide behind the screened window, where he could still watch the -tower. He decided at last that it would be better not to let her see -him when she looked toward the house; then his triumph would be all the -more complete when he dashed out to run up his answer. - -"Eight o'clock came and passed. The boy waited until nine, but there -was no sign of life from the tower. The boy was angry then, at himself. -He called himself, indeed, a fool, to hide as he did. Of course she -wouldn't wave when he was nowhere in sight--when he had apparently -forgotten! And here was a whole precious day wasted! - -"The next morning, long before eight, the boy stood in plain sight on -the piazza. As before he waited until nine; and as before there was no -sign of life at the tower window. The next morning he was there again, -and the next, and the next. It took just five days, indeed, to convince -the boy--as he was convinced at last--that the girl did not intend to -wave at all." - -"But how unkind of her!" exclaimed David. - -"She couldn't have been nice one bit!" decided Jill. - -"You forget," said Mr. Jack. "She was the Princess." - -"Huh!" grunted Jill and David in unison. - -"The boy remembered it then," went on Mr. Jack, after a pause,--"about -the money, and that she was a Princess. And of course he knew--when he -thought of it--that he could not expect that a Princess would wave like -a girl--just a girl. Besides, very likely she did not care particularly -about seeing him. Princesses did forget, he fancied,--they had so much, -so very much to fill their lives. It was this thought that kept him -from going to see her--this, and the recollection that, after all, if -she really HAD wanted to see him, she could have waved. - -"There came a day, however, when another youth, who did not dare to go -alone, persuaded him, and together they paid her a call. The boy -understood, then, many things. He found the Princess; there was no sign -of the girl. The Princess was tall and dignified, with a cold little -hand and a smooth, sweet voice. There was no frank smile in her eyes, -neither were there any mischievous crinkles about her nose and lips. -There was no mention of towers or flags; no reference to wavings or to -childhood's days. There was only a stiffly polite little conversation -about colleges and travels, with a word or two about books and plays. -Then the callers went home. On the way the boy smiled scornfully to -himself. He was trying to picture the beauteous vision he had seen, -this unapproachable Princess in her filmy lace gown,--standing in the -tower window and waving--waving to a bit of a house on the opposite -hill. As if that could happen! - -"The boy, during those last three years, had known only books. He knew -little of girls--only one girl--and he knew still less of Princesses. -So when, three days after the call, there came a chance to join a -summer camp with a man who loved books even better than did the boy -himself, he went gladly. Once he had refused to go on this very trip; -but then there had been the girl. Now there was only the Princess--and -the Princess didn't count." - -"Like the hours that aren't sunshiny," interpreted David. - -"Yes," corroborated Mr. Jack. "Like the hours when the sun does n't -shine." - -"And then?" prompted Jill. - -"Well, then,--there wasn't much worth telling," rejoined Mr. Jack -gloomily. "Two more years passed, and the Princess grew to be -twenty-one. She came into full control of her property then, and after -a while she came back to the old stone house with the towers and turned -it into a fairyland of beauty. She spent money like water. All manner -of artists, from the man who painted her ceilings to the man who -planted her seeds, came and bowed to her will. From the four corners of -the earth she brought her treasures and lavished them through the house -and grounds. Then, every summer, she came herself, and lived among -them, a very Princess indeed." - -"And the boy?--what became of the boy?" demanded David. "Didn't he see -her--ever?" - -Mr. Jack shook his head. - -"Not often, David; and when he did, it did not make him any--happier. -You see, the boy had become the Pauper; you must n't forget that." - -"But he wasn't a Pauper when you left him last." - -"Wasn't he? Well, then, I'll tell you about that. You see, the boy, -even though he did go away, soon found out that in his heart the -Princess was still the girl, just the same. He loved her, and he wanted -her to be his wife; so for a little--for a very little--he was wild -enough to think that he might work and study and do great things in the -world until he was even a Prince himself, and then he could marry the -Princess." - -"Well, couldn't he?" - -"No. To begin with, he lost his health. Then, away back in the little -house on the hill something happened--a something that left a very -precious charge for him to keep; and he had to go back and keep it, and -to try to see if he couldn't find that lost health, as well. And that -is all." - -"All! You don't mean that that is the end!" exclaimed Jill. - -"That's the end." - -"But that isn't a mite of a nice end," complained David. "They always -get married and live happy ever after--in stories." - -"Do they?" Mr. Jack smiled a little sadly. "Perhaps they do, David,--in -stories." - -"Well, can't they in this one?" - -"I don't see how." - -"Why can't he go to her and ask her to marry him?" - -Mr. Jack drew himself up proudly. - -"The Pauper and the Princess? Never! Paupers don't go to Princesses, -David, and say, 'I love you.'" - -David frowned. - -"Why not? I don't see why--if they want to do it. Seems as if somehow -it might be fixed." - -"It can't be," returned Mr. Jack, his gaze on the towers that crowned -the opposite hill; "not so long as always before the Pauper's eyes -there are those gray walls behind which he pictures the Princess in the -midst of her golden luxury." - -To neither David nor Jill did the change to the present tense seem -strange. The story was much too real to them for that. - -"Well, anyhow, I think it ought to be fixed," declared David, as he -rose to his feet. - -"So do I--but we can't fix it," laughed Jill. "And I'm hungry. Let's -see what there is to eat!" - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -DAVID TO THE RESCUE - -It was a beautiful moonlight night, but for once David was not thinking -of the moon. All the way to the Holly farmhouse he was thinking of Mr. -Jack's story, "The Princess and the Pauper." It held him strangely. He -felt that he never could forget it. For some reason that he could not -have explained, it made him sad, too, and his step was very quiet as he -went up the walk toward the kitchen door. - -It was after eight o'clock. David had taken supper with Mr. Jack and -Jill, and not for some hours had he been at the farmhouse. In the -doorway now he stopped short; then instinctively he stepped back into -the shadow. In the kitchen a kerosene light was burning. It showed Mrs. -Holly crying at the table, and Mr. Holly, white-faced and stern-lipped, -staring at nothing. Then Mrs. Holly raised her face, drawn and -tear-stained, and asked a trembling question. - -"Simeon, have you thought? We might go--to John--for--help." - -David was frightened then, so angry was the look that came into Simeon -Holly's face. - -"Ellen, we'll have no more of this," said the man harshly. "Understand, -I'd rather lose the whole thing and--and starve, than go to--John." - -David fled then. Up the back stairs he crept to his room and left his -violin. A moment later he stole down again and sought Perry Larson whom -he had seen smoking in the barn doorway. - -"Perry, what is it?" he asked in a trembling voice. "What has -happened--in there?" He pointed toward the house. - -The man puffed for a moment in silence before he took his pipe from his -mouth. - -"Well, sonny, I s'pose I may as well tell ye. You'll have ter know it -sometime, seein' as 't won't be no secret long. They've had a stroke o' -bad luck--Mr. an' Mis' Holly has." - -"What is it?" - -The man hitched in his seat. - -"By sugar, boy, I s'pose if I tell ye, there ain't no sartinty that -you'll sense it at all. I reckon it ain't in your class." - -"But what is it?" - -"Well, it's money--and one might as well talk moonshine to you as -money, I s'pose; but here goes it. It's a thousand dollars, boy, that -they owed. Here, like this," he explained, rummaging his pockets until -he had found a silver dollar to lay on his open palm. "Now, jest -imagine a thousand of them; that's heaps an' heaps--more 'n I ever see -in my life." - -"Like the stars?" guessed David. - -The man nodded. - -"Ex-ACTLY! Well, they owed this--Mr. an' Mis' Holly did--and they had -agreed ter pay it next Sat'day. And they was all right, too. They had -it plum saved in the bank, an' was goin' ter draw it Thursday, ter make -sure. An' they was feelin' mighty pert over it, too, when ter-day along -comes the news that somethin's broke kersmash in that bank, an' they've -shet it up. An' nary a cent can the Hollys git now--an' maybe never. -Anyhow, not 'fore it's too late for this job." - -"But won't he wait?--that man they owe it to? I should think he'd have -to, if they didn't have it to pay." - -"Not much he will, when it's old Streeter that's got the mortgage on a -good fat farm like this!" - -David drew his brows together perplexedly. - -"What is a--a mortgage?" he asked. "Is it anything like a -porte-cochere? I KNOW what that is, 'cause my Lady of the Roses has -one; but we haven't got that--down here." - -Perry Larson sighed in exasperation. - -"Gosh, if that ain't 'bout what I expected of ye! No, it ain't even -second cousin to a--a-that thing you're a-talkin' of. In plain wordin', -it's jest this: Mr. Holly, he says ter Streeter: 'You give me a -thousand dollars and I'll pay ye back on a sartin day; if I don't pay, -you can sell my farm fur what it'll bring, an' TAKE yer pay. Well, now -here 't is. Mr. Holly can't pay, an' so Streeter will put up the farm -fur sale." - -"What, with Mr. and Mrs. Holly LIVING here?" - -"Sure! Only they'll have ter git out, ye know." - -"Where'll they go?" - -"The Lord knows; I don't." - -"And is THAT what they're crying for--in there?--because they've got to -go?" - -"Sure!" - -"But isn't there anything, anywhere, that can be done to--stop it?" - -"I don't see how, kid,--not unless some one ponies up with the money -'fore next Sat'day,--an' a thousand o' them things don't grow on ev'ry -bush," he finished, gently patting the coin in his hand. - -At the words a swift change came to David's face. His cheeks paled and -his eyes dilated in terror. It was as if ahead of him he saw a yawning -abyss, eager to engulf him. - -"And you say--MONEY would--fix it?" he asked thickly. - -"Ex-ACT-ly!--a thousand o' them, though, 't would take." - -A dawning relief came into David's eyes--it was as if he saw a bridge -across the abyss. - -"You mean--that there wouldn't ANYTHING do, only silver pieces--like -those?" he questioned hopefully. - -"Sugar, kid, 'course there would! Gosh, but you BE a checkerboard o' -sense an' nonsense, an' no mistake! Any money would do the job--any -money! Don't ye see? Anything that's money." - -"Would g-gold do it?" David's voice was very faint now. - -"Sure!--gold, or silver, or greenbacks, or--or a check, if it had the -dough behind it." - -David did not appear to hear the last. With an oddly strained look he -had hung upon the man's first words; but at the end of the sentence he -only murmured, "Oh, thank you," and turned away. He was walking slowly -now toward the house. His head was bowed. His step lagged. - -"Now, ain't that jest like that chap," muttered the man, "ter slink off -like that as if he was a whipped cur. I'll bet two cents an' a -doughnut, too, that in five minutes he'll be what he calls 'playin' it' -on that 'ere fiddle o' his. An' I'll be derned, too, if I ain't curious -ter see what he WILL make of it. It strikes me this ought ter fetch -somethin' first cousin to a dirge!" - -On the porch steps David paused a breathless instant. From the kitchen -came the sound of Mrs. Holly's sobs and of a stern voice praying. With -a shudder and a little choking cry the boy turned then and crept softly -upstairs to his room. - -He played, too, as Perry Larson had wagered. But it was not the tragedy -of the closed bank, nor the honor of the threatened farm-selling that -fell from his violin. It was, instead, the swan song of a little pile -of gold--gold which lay now in a chimney cupboard, but which was soon -to be placed at the feet of the mourning man and woman downstairs. And -in the song was the sob of a boy who sees his house of dreams burn to -ashes; who sees his wonderful life and work out in the wide world turn -to endless days of weed-pulling and dirt-digging in a narrow valley. -There was in the song, too, something of the struggle, the fierce yea -and nay of the conflict. But, at the end, there was the wild burst of -exaltation of renunciation, so that the man in the barn door below -fairly sprang to his feet with an angry:-- - -"Gosh! if he hain't turned the thing into a jig--durn him! Don't he -know more'n that at such a time as this?" - -Later, a very little later, the shadowy figure of the boy stood before -him. - -"I've been thinking," stammered David, "that maybe I--could help, about -that money, you know." - -"Now, look a-here, boy," exploded Perry, in open exasperation, "as I -said in the first place, this ain't in your class. 'T ain't no pink -cloud sailin' in the sky, nor a bluebird singin' in a blackb'rry bush. -An' you might 'play it'--as you call it--till doomsday, an' 't wouldn't -do no good--though I'm free ter confess that your playin' of them 'ere -other things sounds real pert an' chirky at times; but 't won't do no -good here." - -David stepped forward, bringing his small, anxious face full into the -moonlight. - -"But 't was the money, Perry; I meant about, the money," he explained. -"They were good to me and wanted me when there wasn't any one else that -did; and now I'd like to do something for them. There aren't so MANY -pieces, and they aren't silver. There's only one hundred and six of -them; I counted. But maybe they 'd help some. It--it would be -a--start." His voice broke over the once beloved word, then went on -with renewed strength. "There, see! Would these do?" And with both -hands he held up to view his cap sagging under its weight of gold. - -Perry Larson's jaw fell open. His eyes bulged. Dazedly he reached out -and touched with trembling fingers the heap of shining disks that -seemed in the mellow light like little earth-born children of the moon -itself. The next instant he recoiled sharply. - -"Great snakes, boy, where'd you git that money?" he demanded. - -"Of father. He went to the far country, you know." - -Perry Larson snorted angrily. - -"See here, boy, for once, if ye can, talk horse-sense! Surely, even YOU -don't expect me ter believe that he's sent you that money from--from -where he's gone to!" - -"Oh, no. He left it." - -"Left it! Why, boy, you know better! There wa'n't a cent--hardly--found -on him." - -"He gave it to me before--by the roadside." - -"Gave it to you! Where in the name of goodness has it been since?" - -"In the little cupboard in my room, behind the books." - -"Great snakes!" muttered Perry Larson, reaching out his hand and -gingerly picking up one of the gold-pieces. - -David eyed him anxiously. - -"Won't they--do?" he faltered. "There aren't a thousand; there's only a -hundred and six; but--" - -"Do!" cut in the man, excitedly. He had been examining the gold-piece -at close range. "Do! Well, I reckon they'll do. By Jiminy!--and ter -think you've had this up yer sleeve all this time! Well, I'll believe -anythin' of yer now--anythin'! You can't stump me with nuthin'! Come -on." And he hurriedly led the way toward the house. - -"But they weren't up my sleeve," corrected David, as he tried to keep -up with the long strides of the man. "I SAID they were in the cupboard -in my room." - -There was no answer. Larson had reached the porch steps, and had paused -there hesitatingly. From the kitchen still came the sound of sobs. -Aside from that there was silence. The boy, however, did not hesitate. -He went straight up the steps and through the open kitchen door. At the -table sat the man and the woman, their eyes covered with their hands. - -With a swift overturning of his cap, David dumped his burden onto the -table, and stepped back respectfully. - -"If you please, sir, would this--help any?" he asked. - -At the jingle of the coins Simeon Holly and his wife lifted their heads -abruptly. A half-uttered sob died on the woman's lips. A quick cry came -from the man's. He reached forth an eager hand and had almost clutched -the gold when a sudden change came to his face. With a stern -ejaculation he drew back. - -"Boy, where did that money come from?" he challenged. - -David sighed in a discouraged way. It seemed that, always, the showing -of this gold mean't questioning--eternal questioning. - -"Surely," continued Simeon Holly, "you did not--" With the boy's frank -gaze upturned to his, the man could not finish his sentence. - -Before David could answer came the voice of Perry Larson from the -kitchen doorway. - -"No, sir, he didn't, Mr. Holly; an' it's all straight, I'm -thinkin'--though I'm free ter confess it does sound nutty. His dad give -it to him." - -"His--father! But where--where has it been ever since?" - -"In the chimney cupboard in his room, he says, sir." - -Simeon Holly turned in frowning amazement. - -"David, what does this mean? Why have you kept this gold in a place -like that?" - -"Why, there wasn't anything else to do with it," answered the boy -perplexedly. "I hadn't any use for it, you know, and father said to -keep it till I needed it." - -"'Hadn't any use for it'!" blustered Larson from the doorway. "Jiminy! -Now, ain't that jest like that boy?" - -But David hurried on with his explanation. - -"We never used to use them--father and I--except to buy things to eat -and wear; and down here YOU give me those, you know." - -"Gorry!" interjected Perry Larson. "Do you reckon, boy, that Mr. Holly -himself was give them things he gives ter you?" - -The boy turned sharply, a startled question in his eyes. - -"What do you mean? Do you mean that--" His face changed suddenly. His -cheeks turned a shamed red. "Why, he did--he did have to buy them, of -course, just as father did. And I never even thought of it before! -Then, it's yours, anyway--it belongs to you," he argued, turning to -Farmer Holly, and shoving the gold nearer to his hands. "There isn't -enough, maybe--but 't will help!" - -"They're ten-dollar gold pieces, sir," spoke up Larson importantly; -"an' there's a hundred an' six of them. That's jest one thousand an' -sixty dollars, as I make it." - -Simeon Holly, self-controlled man that he was, almost leaped from his -chair. - -"One thousand and sixty dollars!" he gasped. Then, to David: "Boy, in -Heaven's name, who are you?" - -"I don't know--only David." The boy spoke wearily, with a grieved sob -in his voice. He was very tired, a good deal perplexed, and a little -angry. He wished, if no one wanted this gold, that he could take it -upstairs again to the chimney cupboard; or, if they objected to that, -that they would at least give it to him, and let him go away now to -that beautiful music he was to hear, and to those kind people who were -always to understand what he said when he played. - -"Of course," ventured Perry Larson diffidently, "I ain't professin' ter -know any great shakes about the hand of the Lord, Mr. Holly, but it do -strike me that this 'ere gold comes mighty near bein' -proverdential--fur you." - -Simeon Holly fell back in his seat. His eyes clung to the gold, but his -lips set into rigid lines. - -"That money is the boy's, Larson. It isn't mine," he said. - -"He's give it to ye." - -Simeon Holly shook his head. - -"David is nothing but a child, Perry. He doesn't realize at all what he -is doing, nor how valuable his gift is." - -"I know, sir, but you DID take him in, when there wouldn't nobody else -do it," argued Larson. "An', anyhow, couldn't you make a kind of an I O -U of it, even if he is a kid? Then, some day you could pay him back. -Meanwhile you'd be a-keepin' him, an' a-schoolin' him; an' that's -somethin'." - -"I know, I know," nodded Simeon Holly thoughtfully, his eyes going from -the gold to David's face. Then, aloud, yet as if to himself, he -breathed: "Boy, boy, who was your father? How came he by all that -gold--and he--a tramp!" - -David drew himself suddenly erect. His eyes flashed. - -"I don't know, sir. But I do know this: he didn't STEAL it!" - -Across the table Mrs. Holly drew a quick breath, but she did not -speak--save with her pleading eyes. Mrs. Holly seldom spoke--save with -her eyes--when her husband was solving a knotty problem. She was -dumfounded now that he should listen so patiently to the man, -Larson,--though she was not more surprised than was Larson himself. For -both of them, however, there came at this moment a still greater -surprise. Simeon Holly leaned forward suddenly, the stern lines quite -gone from his lips, and his face working with emotion as he drew David -toward him. - -"You're a good son, boy,--a good loyal son; and--and I wish you were -mine! I believe you. He didn't steal it, and I won't steal it, either. -But I will use it, since you are so good as to offer it. But it shall -be a loan, David, and some day, God helping me, you shall have it back. -Meanwhile, you're my boy, David,--my boy!" - -"Oh, thank you, sir," rejoiced David. "And, really, you know, being -wanted like that is better than the start would be, isn't it?" - -"Better than--what?" - -David shifted his position. He had not meant to say just that. - -"N--nothing," he stammered, looking about for a means of quick escape. -"I--I was just talking," he finished. And he was immeasurably relieved -to find that Mr. Holly did not press the matter further. - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE UNBEAUTIFUL WORLD - -In spite of the exaltation of renunciation, and in spite of the joy of -being newly and especially "wanted," those early September days were -sometimes hard for David. Not until he had relinquished all hope of his -"start" did he fully realize what that hope had meant to him. - -There were times, to be sure, when there was nothing but rejoicing -within him that he was able thus to aid the Hollys. There were other -times when there was nothing but the sore heartache because of the -great work out in the beautiful world that could now never be done; and -because of the unlovely work at hand that must be done. To tell the -truth, indeed, David's entire conception of life had become suddenly a -chaos of puzzling contradictions. - -To Mr. Jack, one day, David went with his perplexities. Not that he -told him of the gold-pieces and of the unexpected use to which they had -been put--indeed, no. David had made up his mind never, if he could -help himself, to mention those gold-pieces to any one who did not -already know of them. They meant questions, and the questions, -explanations. And he had had enough of both on that particular subject. -But to Mr. Jack he said one day, when they were alone together:-- - -"Mr. Jack, how many folks have you got inside of your head?" - -"Eh--what, David?" - -David repeated his question and attached an explanation. - -"I mean, the folks that--that make you do things." - -Mr. Jack laughed. - -"Well," he said, "I believe some people make claims to quite a number, -and perhaps almost every one owns to a Dr. Jekyll and a Mr. Hyde." - -"Who are they?" - -"Never mind, David. I don't think you know the gentlemen, anyhow. -They're only something like the little girl with a curl. One is very, -very good, indeed, and the other is horrid." - -"Oh, yes, I know them; they're the ones that come to me," returned -David, with a sigh. "I've had them a lot, lately." - -Mr. Jack stared. - -"Oh, have you?" - -"Yes; and that's what's the trouble. How can you drive them off--the -one that is bad, I mean?" - -"Well, really," confessed Mr. Jack, "I'm not sure I can tell. You -see--the gentlemen visit me sometimes." - -"Oh, do they?" - -"Yes." - -"I'm so glad--that is, I mean," amended David, in answer to Mr. Jack's -uplifted eyebrows, "I'm glad that you understand what I'm talking -about. You see, I tried Perry Larson last night on it, to get him to -tell me what to do. But he only stared and laughed. He didn't know the -names of 'em, anyhow, as you do, and at last he got really almost angry -and said I made him feel so 'buggy' and 'creepy' that he wouldn't dare -look at himself in the glass if I kept on, for fear some one he'd never -known was there should jump out at him." - -Mr. Jack chuckled. - -"Well, I suspect, David, that Perry knew one of your gentlemen by the -name of 'conscience,' perhaps; and I also suspect that maybe conscience -does pretty nearly fill the bill, and that you've been having a bout -with that. Eh? Now, what is the trouble? Tell me about it." - -David stirred uneasily. Instead of answering, he asked another question. - -"Mr. Jack, it is a beautiful world, isn't it?" - -For a moment there was no, answer; then a low voice replied:-- - -"Your father said it was, David." - -Again David moved restlessly. - -"Yes; but father was on the mountain. And down here--well, down here -there are lots of things that I don't believe he knew about." - -"What, for instance?" - -"Why, lots of things--too many to tell. Of course there are things like -catching fish, and killing birds and squirrels and other things to eat, -and plaguing cats and dogs. Father never would have called those -beautiful. Then there are others like little Jimmy Clark who can't -walk, and the man at the Marstons' who's sick, and Joe Glaspell who is -blind. Then there are still different ones like Mr. Holly's little boy. -Perry says he ran away years and years ago, and made his people very -unhappy. Father wouldn't call that a beautiful world, would he? And how -can people like that always play in tune? And there are the Princess -and the Pauper that you told about." - -"Oh, the story?" - -"Yes; and people like them can't be happy and think the world is -beautiful, of course." - -"Why not?" - -"Because they didn't end right. They didn't get married and live happy -ever after, you know." - -"Well, I don't think I'd worry about that, David,--at least, not about -the Princess. I fancy the world was very beautiful to her, all right. -The Pauper--well, perhaps he wasn't very happy. But, after all, David, -you know happiness is something inside of yourself. Perhaps half of -these people are happy, in their way." - -"There! and that's another thing," sighed David. "You see, I found that -out--that it was inside of yourself--quite a while ago, and I told the -Lady of the Roses. But now I--can't make it work myself." - -"What's the matter?" - -"Well, you see then something was going to happen--something that I -liked; and I found that just thinking of it made it so that I didn't -mind raking or hoeing, or anything like that; and I told the Lady of -the Roses. And I told her that even if it wasn't going to happen she -could THINK it was going to, and that that would be just the same, -because 't was the thinking that made my hours sunny ones. It wasn't -the DOING at all. I said I knew because I hadn't DONE it yet. See?" - -"I--think so, David." - -"Well, I've found out that it isn't the same at all; for now that I -KNOW that this beautiful thing isn't ever going to happen to me, I can -think and think all day, and it doesn't do a mite of good. The sun is -just as hot, and my back aches just as hard, and the field is just as -big and endless as it used to be when I had to call it that those hours -didn't count. Now, what is the matter?" - -Mr. Jack laughed, but he shook his head a little sadly. - -"You're getting into too deep waters for me, David. I suspect you're -floundering in a sea that has upset the boats of sages since the world -began. But what is it that was so nice, and that isn't going to happen? -Perhaps I MIGHT help on that." - -"No, you couldn't," frowned David; "and there couldn't anybody, either, -you see, because I wouldn't go back now and LET it happen, anyhow, as -long as I know what I do. Why, if I did, there wouldn't be ANY hours -that were sunny then--not even the ones after four o'clock; I--I'd feel -so mean! But what I don't see is just how I can fix it up with the Lady -of the Roses." - -"What has she to do with it?" - -"Why, at the very first, when she said she didn't have ANY sunshiny -hours, I told her--" - -"When she said what?" interposed Mr. Jack, coming suddenly erect in his -chair. - -"That she didn't have any hours to count, you know." - -"To--COUNT?" - -"Yes; it was the sundial. Didn't I tell you? Yes, I know I did--about -the words on it--not counting any hours that weren't sunny, you know. -And she said she wouldn't have ANY hours to count; that the sun never -shone for her." - -"Why, David," demurred Mr. Jack in a voice that shook a little, "are -you sure? Did she say just that? You--you must be mistaken--when she -has--has everything to make her happy." - -"I wasn't, because I said that same thing to her myself--afterwards. -And then I told her--when I found out myself, you know--about its being -what was inside of you, after all, that counted; and then is when I -asked her if she couldn't think of something nice that was going to -happen to her sometime." - -"Well, what did she say?" - -"She shook her head, and said 'No.' Then she looked away, and her eyes -got soft and dark like little pools in the brook where the water stops -to rest. And she said she had hoped once that this something would -happen; but that it hadn't, and that it would take something more than -thinking to bring it. And I know now what she meant, because thinking -isn't all that counts, is it?" - -Mr. Jack did not answer. He had risen to his feet, and was pacing -restlessly up and down the veranda. Once or twice he turned his eyes -toward the towers of Sunnycrest, and David noticed that there was a new -look on his face. - -Very soon, however, the old tiredness came back to his eyes, and he -dropped into his seat again, muttering "Fool! of course it couldn't -be--that!" - -"Be what?" asked David. - -Mr. Jack started. - -"Er--nothing; nothing that you would understand, David. Go on--with -what you were saying." - -"There isn't any more. It's all done. It's only that I'm wondering how -I'm going to learn here that it's a beautiful world, so that I -can--tell father." - -Mr. Jack roused himself. He had the air of a man who determinedly -throws to one side a heavy burden. - -"Well, David," he smiled, "as I said before, you are still out on that -sea where there are so many little upturned boats. There might be a -good many ways of answering that question." - -"Mr. Holly says," mused the boy, aloud, a little gloomily, "that it -doesn't make any difference whether we find things beautiful or not; -that we're here to do something serious in the world." - -"That is about what I should have expected of Mr. Holly" retorted Mr. -Jack grimly. "He acts it--and looks it. But--I don't believe you are -going to tell your father just that." - -"No, sir, I don't believe I am," accorded David soberly. - -"I have an idea that you're going to find that answer just where your -father said you would--in your violin. See if you don't. Things that -aren't beautiful you'll make beautiful--because we find what we are -looking for, and you're looking for beautiful things. After all, boy, -if we march straight ahead, chin up, and sing our own little song with -all our might and main, we shan't come so far amiss from the goal, I'm -thinking. There! that's preaching, and I didn't mean to preach; -but--well, to tell the truth, that was meant for myself, for--I'm -hunting for the beautiful world, too." - -"Yes, sir, I know," returned David fervently. And again Mr. Jack, -looking into the sympathetic, glowing dark eyes, wondered if, after -all, David really could--know. - -Even yet Mr. Jack was not used to David; there were "so many of him," -he told himself. There were the boy, the artist, and a third -personality so evanescent that it defied being named. The boy was -jolly, impetuous, confidential, and delightful--plainly reveling in all -manner of fun and frolic. The artist was nothing but a bunch of nervous -alertness, ready to find melody and rhythm in every passing thought or -flying cloud. The third--that baffling third that defied the -naming--was a dreamy, visionary, untouchable creature who floated so -far above one's head that one's hand could never pull him down to get a -good square chance to see what he did look like. All this thought Mr. -Jack as he gazed into David's luminous eyes. - - - -CHAPTER XX - -THE UNFAMILIAR WAY - -In September David entered the village school. School and David did not -assimilate at once. Very confidently the teacher set to work to grade -her new pupil; but she was not so confident when she found that while -in Latin he was perilously near herself (and in French--which she was -not required to teach--disastrously beyond her!), in United States -history he knew only the barest outlines of certain portions, and could -not name a single battle in any of its wars. In most studies he was far -beyond boys of his own age, yet at every turn she encountered these -puzzling spots of discrepancy, which rendered grading in the ordinary -way out of the question. - -David's methods of recitation, too, were peculiar, and somewhat -disconcerting. He also did not hesitate to speak aloud when he chose, -nor to rise from his seat and move to any part of the room as the whim -seized him. In time, of course, all this was changed; but it was -several days before the boy learned so to conduct himself that he did -not shatter to atoms the peace and propriety of the schoolroom. - -Outside of school David had little work to do now, though there were -still left a few light tasks about the house. Home life at the Holly -farmhouse was the same for David, yet with a difference--the difference -that comes from being really wanted instead of being merely dutifully -kept. There were other differences, too, subtle differences that did -not show, perhaps, but that still were there. - -Mr. and Mrs. Holly, more than ever now, were learning to look at the -world through David's eyes. One day--one wonderful day--they even went -to walk in the woods with the boy; and whenever before had Simeon Holly -left his work for so frivolous a thing as a walk in the woods! - -It was not accomplished, however, without a struggle, as David could -have told. The day was a Saturday, clear, crisp, and beautiful, with a -promise of October in the air; and David fairly tingled to be free and -away. Mrs. Holly was baking--and the birds sang unheard outside her -pantry window. Mr. Holly was digging potatoes--and the clouds sailed -unnoticed above his head. - -All the morning David urged and begged. If for once, just this once, -they would leave everything and come, they would not regret it, he was -sure. But they shook their heads and said, "No, no, impossible!" In the -afternoon the pies were done and the potatoes dug, and David urged and -pleaded again. If once, only this once, they would go to walk with him -in the woods, he would be so happy, so very happy! And to please the -boy--they went. - -It was a curious walk. Ellen Holly trod softly, with timid feet. She -threw hurried, frightened glances from side to side. It was plain that -Ellen Holly did not know how to play. Simeon Holly stalked at her -elbow, stern, silent, and preoccupied. It was plain that Simeon Holly -not only did not know how to play, but did not even care to find out. - -The boy tripped ahead and talked. He had the air of a monarch -displaying his kingdom. On one side was a bit of moss worthy of the -closest attention; on another, a vine that carried allurement in every -tendril. Here was a flower that was like a story for interest, and -there was a bush that bore a secret worth the telling. Even Simeon -Holly glowed into a semblance of life when David had unerringly picked -out and called by name the spruce, and fir, and pine, and larch, and -then, in answer to Mrs. Holly's murmured: "But, David, where's the -difference? They look so much alike!" he had said:-- - -"Oh, but they aren't, you know. Just see how much more pointed at the -top that fir is than that spruce back there; and the branches grow -straight out, too, like arms, and they're all smooth and tapering at -the ends like a pussy-cat's tail. But the spruce back there--ITS -branches turned down and out--didn't you notice?--and they're all bushy -at the ends like a squirrel's tail. Oh, they're lots different! That's -a larch 'way ahead--that one with the branches all scraggly and close -down to the ground. I could start to climb that easy; but I couldn't -that pine over there. See, it's 'way up, up, before there's a place for -your foot! But I love pines. Up there on the mountains where I lived, -the pines were so tall that it seemed as if God used them sometimes to -hold up the sky." - -And Simeon Holly heard, and said nothing; and that he did say -nothing--especially nothing in answer to David's confident assertions -concerning celestial and terrestrial architecture--only goes to show -how well, indeed, the man was learning to look at the world through -David's eyes. - -Nor were these all of David's friends to whom Mr. and Mrs. Holly were -introduced on that memorable walk. There were the birds, and the -squirrels, and, in fact, everything that had life. And each one he -greeted joyously by name, as he would greet a friend whose home and -habits he knew. Here was a wonderful woodpecker, there was a beautiful -bluejay. Ahead, that brilliant bit of color that flashed across their -path was a tanager. Once, far up in the sky, as they crossed an open -space, David spied a long black streak moving southward. - -"Oh, see!" he exclaimed. "The crows! See them?--'way up there? Wouldn't -it be fun if we could do that, and fly hundreds and hundreds of miles, -maybe a thousand?" - -"Oh, David," remonstrated Mrs. Holly, unbelievingly. - -"But they do! These look as if they'd started on their winter journey -South, too; but if they have, they're early. Most of them don't go till -October. They come back in March, you know. Though I've had them, on -the mountain, that stayed all the year with me." - -"My! but I love to watch them go," murmured David, his eyes following -the rapidly disappearing blackline. "Lots of birds you can't see, you -know, when they start for the South. They fly at night--the woodpeckers -and orioles and cuckoos, and lots of others. They're afraid, I guess, -don't you? But I've seen them. I've watched them. They tell each other -when they're going to start." - -"Oh, David," remonstrated Mrs. Holly, again, her eyes reproving, but -plainly enthralled. - -"But they do tell each other," claimed the boy, with sparkling eyes. -"They must! For, all of a sudden, some night, you'll hear the signal, -and then they'll begin to gather from all directions. I've seen them. -Then, suddenly, they're all up and off to the South--not in one big -flock, but broken up into little flocks, following one after another, -with such a beautiful whir of wings. Oof--OOF--OOF!--and they're gone! -And I don't see them again till next year. But you've seen the -swallows, haven't you? They go in the daytime, and they're the easiest -to tell of any of them. They fly so swift and straight. Haven't you -seen the swallows go?" - -"Why, I--I don't know, David," murmured Mrs. Holly, with a helpless -glance at her husband stalking on ahead. "I--I didn't know there were -such things to--to know." - -There was more, much more, that David said before the walk came to an -end. And though, when it did end, neither Simeon Holly nor his wife -said a word of its having been a pleasure or a profit, there was yet on -their faces something of the peace and rest and quietness that belonged -to the woods they had left. - -It was a beautiful month--that September, and David made the most of -it. Out of school meant out of doors for him. He saw Mr. Jack and Jill -often. He spent much time, too, with the Lady of the Roses. She was -still the Lady of the ROSES to David, though in the garden now were the -purple and scarlet and yellow of the asters, salvia, and golden glow, -instead of the blush and perfume of the roses. - -David was very much at home at Sunnycrest. He was welcome, he knew, to -go where he pleased. Even the servants were kind to him, as well as was -the elderly cousin whom he seldom saw, but who, he knew, lived there as -company for his Lady of the Roses. - -Perhaps best, next to the garden, David loved the tower room; possibly -because Miss Holbrook herself so often suggested that they go there. -And it was there that they were when he said, dreamily, one day:-- - -"I like this place--up here so high, only sometimes it does make me -think of that Princess, because it was in a tower like this that she -was, you know." - -"Fairy stories, David?" asked Miss Holbrook lightly. - -"No, not exactly, though there was a Princess in it. Mr. Jack told it." -David's eyes were still out of the window. - -"Oh, Mr. Jack! And does Mr. Jack often tell you stories?" - -"No. He never told only this one--and maybe that's why I remember it -so." - -"Well, and what did the Princess do?" Miss Holbrook's voice was still -light, still carelessly preoccupied. Her attention, plainly, was given -to the sewing in her hand. - -"She didn't do and that's what was the trouble," sighed I David. "She -didn't wave, you know." - -The needle in Miss Holbrook's fingers stopped short in mid-air, the -thread half-drawn. - -"Didn't--wave!" she stammered. "What do you--mean?" - -"Nothing," laughed the boy, turning away from the window. "I forgot -that you didn't know the story." - -"But maybe I do--that is--what was the story?" asked Miss Holbrook, -wetting her lips as if they had grown suddenly very dry. - -"Oh, do you? I wonder now! It wasn't 'The PRINCE and the Pauper,' but -the PRINCESS and the Pauper," cited David; "and they used to wave -signals, and answer with flags. Do you know the story?" - -There was no answer. Miss Holbrook was putting away her work, -hurriedly, and with hands that shook. David noticed that she even -pricked herself in her anxiety to get the needle tucked away. Then she -drew him to a low stool at her side. - -"David, I want you to tell me that story, please," she said, "just as -Mr. Jack told it to you. Now, be careful and put it all in, because -I--I want to hear it," she finished, with an odd little laugh that -seemed to bring two bright red spots to her cheeks. - -"Oh, do you want to hear it? Then I will tell it," cried David -joyfully. To David, almost as delightful as to hear a story was to tell -one himself. "You see, first--" And he plunged headlong into the -introduction. - -David knew it well--that story: and there was, perhaps, little that he -forgot. It might not have been always told in Mr. Jack's language; but -his meaning was there, and very intently Miss Holbrook listened while -David told of the boy and the girl, the wavings, and the flags that -were blue, black, and red. She laughed once,--that was at the little -joke with the bells that the girl played,--but she did not speak until -sometime later when David was telling of the first home-coming of the -Princess, and of the time when the boy on his tiny piazza watched and -watched in vain for a waving white signal from the tower. - -"Do you mean to say," interposed Miss Holbrook then, almost starting to -her feet, "that that boy expected--" She stopped suddenly, and fell -back in her chair. The two red spots on her cheeks had become a rosy -glow now, all over her face. - -"Expected what?" asked David. - -"N--nothing. Go on. I was so--so interested," explained Miss Holbrook -faintly. "Go on." - -And David did go on; nor did the story lose by his telling. It gained, -indeed, something, for now it had woven through it the very strong -sympathy of a boy who loved the Pauper for his sorrow and hated the -Princess for causing that sorrow. - -"And so," he concluded mournfully, "you see it isn't a very nice story, -after all, for it didn't end well a bit. They ought to have got married -and lived happy ever after. But they didn't." - -Miss Holbrook drew in her breath a little uncertainly, and put her hand -to her throat. Her face now, instead of being red, was very white. - -"But, David," she faltered, after a moment, "perhaps -he--the--Pauper--did not--not love the Princess any longer." - -"Mr. Jack said that he did." - -The white face went suddenly pink again. - -"Then, why didn't he go to her and--and--tell her?" - -David lifted his chin. With all his dignity he answered, and his words -and accent were Mr. Jack's. - -"Paupers don't go to Princesses, and say 'I love you.'" - -"But perhaps if they did--that is--if--" Miss Holbrook bit her lips and -did not finish her sentence. She did not, indeed, say anything more for -a long time. But she had not forgotten the story. David knew that, -because later she began to question him carefully about many little -points--points that he was very sure he had already made quite plain. -She talked about it, indeed, until he wondered if perhaps she were -going to tell it to some one else sometime. He asked her if she were; -but she only shook her head. And after that she did not question him -any more. And a little later David went home. - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -HEAVY HEARTS - -For a week David had not been near the House that Jack Built, and that, -too, when Jill had been confined within doors for several days with a -cold. Jill, indeed, was inclined to be grieved at this apparent lack of -interest on the part of her favorite playfellow; but upon her return -from her first day of school, after her recovery, she met her brother -with startled eyes. - -"Jack, it hasn't been David's fault at all," she cried remorsefully. -"He's sick." - -"Sick!" - -"Yes; awfully sick. They've had to send away for doctors and -everything." - -"Why, Jill, are you sure? Where did you hear this?" - -"At school to-day. Every one was talking about it." - -"But what is the matter?" - -"Fever--some sort. Some say it's typhoid, and some scarlet, and some -say another kind that I can't remember; but everybody says he's awfully -sick. He got it down to Glaspell's, some say,--and some say he didn't. -But, anyhow, Betty Glaspell has been sick with something, and they -haven't let folks in there this week," finished Jill, her eyes big with -terror. - -"The Glaspells? But what was David doing down there?" - -"Why, you know,--he told us once,--teaching Joe to play. He's been -there lots. Joe is blind, you know, and can't see, but he just loves -music, and was crazy over David's violin; so David took down his other -one--the one that was his father's, you know--and showed him how to -pick out little tunes, just to take up his time so he wouldn't mind so -much that he couldn't see. Now, Jack, wasn't that just like David? -Jack, I can't have anything happen to David!" - -"No, dear, no; of course not! I'm afraid we can't any of us, for that -matter," sighed Jack, his forehead drawn into anxious lines. "I'll go -down to the Hollys', Jill, the first thing tomorrow morning, and see -how he is and if there's anything we can do. Meanwhile, don't take it -too much to heart, dear. It may not be half so bad as you think. -School-children always get things like that exaggerated, you must -remember," he finished, speaking with a lightness that he did not feel. - -To himself the man owned that he was troubled, seriously troubled. He -had to admit that Jill's story bore the earmarks of truth; and -overwhelmingly he realized now just how big a place this somewhat -puzzling small boy had come to fill in his own heart. He did not need -Jill's anxious "Now, hurry, Jack," the next morning to start him off in -all haste for the Holly farmhouse. A dozen rods from the driveway he -met Perry Larson and stopped him abruptly. - -"Good morning, Larson; I hope this isn't true--what I hear--that David -is very ill." - -Larson pulled off his hat and with his free hand sought the one -particular spot on his head to which he always appealed when he was -very much troubled. - -"Well, yes, sir, I'm afraid 't is, Mr. Jack--er--Mr. Gurnsey, I mean. -He is turrible sick, poor little chap, an' it's too bad--that's what it -is--too bad!" - -"Oh, I'm sorry! I hoped the report was exaggerated. I came down to see -if--if there wasn't something I could do." - -"Well, 'course you can ask--there ain't no law ag'in' that; an' ye -needn't be afraid, neither. The report has got 'round that it's -ketchin'--what he's got, and that he got it down to the Glaspells'; but -'t ain't so. The doctor says he didn't ketch nothin', an' he can't give -nothin'. It's his head an' brain that ain't right, an' he's got a -mighty bad fever. He's been kind of flighty an' nervous, anyhow, lately. - -"As I was sayin', 'course you can ask, but I'm thinkin' there won't be -nothin' you can do ter help. Ev'rythin' that can be done is bein' done. -In fact, there ain't much of anythin' else that is bein' done down -there jest now but, tendin' ter him. They've got one o' them 'ere -edyercated nurses from the Junction--what wears caps, ye know, an' -makes yer feel as if they knew it all, an' you didn't know nothin'. An' -then there's Mr. an' Mis' Holly besides. If they had THEIR way, there -wouldn't neither of, em let him out o' their sight fur a minute, -they're that cut up about it." - -"I fancy they think a good deal of the boy--as we all do," murmured the -younger man, a little unsteadily. - -Larson winkled his forehead in deep thought. - -"Yes; an' that's what beats me," he answered slowly; "'bout HIM,--Mr. -Holly, I mean. 'Course we'd 'a' expected it of HER--losin' her own boy -as she did, an' bein' jest naturally so sweet an' lovin'-hearted. But -HIM--that's diff'rent. Now, you know jest as well as I do what Mr. -Holly is--every one does, so I ain't sayin' nothin' sland'rous. He's a -good man--a powerful good man; an' there ain't a squarer man goin' ter -work fur. But the fact is, he was made up wrong side out, an' the seams -has always showed bad--turrible bad, with ravelin's all stickin' out -every which way ter ketch an' pull. But, gosh! I'm blamed if that, ere -boy ain't got him so smoothed down, you wouldn't know, scursely, that -he had a seam on him, sometimes; though how he's done it beats me. Now, -there's Mis' Holly--she's tried ter smooth 'em, I'll warrant, lots of -times. But I'm free ter say she hain't never so much as clipped a -ravelin' in all them forty years they've lived tergether. Fact is, it's -worked the other way with her. All that HER rubbin' up ag'in' them -seams has amounted to is ter git herself so smoothed down that she -don't never dare ter say her soul's her own, most generally,--anyhow, -not if he happens ter intermate it belongs ter anybody else!" - -Jack Gurnsey suddenly choked over a cough. - -"I wish I could--do something," he murmured uncertainly. - -"'T ain't likely ye can--not so long as Mr. an' Mis' Holly is on their -two feet. Why, there ain't nothin' they won't do, an' you'll believe -it, maybe, when I tell you that yesterday Mr. Holly, he tramped all -through Sawyer's woods in the rain, jest ter find a little bit of moss -that the boy was callin' for. Think o' that, will ye? Simeon Holly -huntin' moss! An' he got it, too, an' brung it home, an' they say it -cut him up somethin' turrible when the boy jest turned away, and didn't -take no notice. You understand, 'course, sir, the little chap ain't -right in his head, an' so half the time he don't know what he says." - -"Oh, I'm sorry, sorry!" exclaimed Gurnsey, as he turned away, and -hurried toward the farmhouse. - -Mrs. Holly herself answered his low knock. She looked worn and pale. - -"Thank you, sir," she said gratefully, in reply to his offer of -assistance, "but there isn't anything you can do, Mr. Gurnsey. We're -having everything done that can be, and every one is very kind. We have -a very good nurse, and Dr. Kennedy has had consultation with Dr. Benson -from the Junction. They are doing all in their power, of course, but -they say that--that it's going to be the nursing that will count now." - -"Then I don't fear for him, surely" declared the man, with fervor. - -"I know, but--well, he shall have the very best possible--of that." - -"I know he will; but isn't there anything--anything that I can do?" - -She shook her head. - -"No. Of course, if he gets better--" She hesitated; then lifted her -chin a little higher; "WHEN he gets better," she corrected with -courageous emphasis, "he will want to see you." - -"And he shall see me," asserted Gurnsey. "And he will be better, Mrs. -Holly,--I'm sure he will." - -"Yes, yes, of course, only--oh, Mr. Jack, he's so sick--so very sick! -The doctor says he's a peculiarly sensitive nature, and that he thinks -something's been troubling him lately." Her voice broke. - -"Poor little chap!" Mr. Jack's voice, too, was husky. - -She looked up with swift gratefulness for his sympathy. - -"And you loved him, too, I know" she choked. "He talks of you -often--very often." - -"Indeed I love him! Who could help it?" - -"There couldn't anybody, Mr. Jack,--and that's just it. Now, since he's -been sick, we've wondered more than ever who he is. You see, I can't -help thinking that somewhere he's got friends who ought to know about -him--now." - -"Yes, I see," nodded the man. - -"He isn't an ordinary boy, Mr. Jack. He's been trained in lots of -ways--about his manners, and at the table, and all that. And lots of -things his father has told him are beautiful, just beautiful! He isn't -a tramp. He never was one. And there's his playing. YOU know how he can -play." - -"Indeed I do! You must miss his playing, too." - -"I do; he talks of that, also," she hurried on, working her fingers -nervously together; "but oftenest he--he speaks of singing, and I can't -quite understand that, for he didn't ever sing, you know." - -"Singing? What does he say?" The man asked the question because he saw -that it was affording the overwrought little woman real relief to free -her mind; but at the first words of her reply he became suddenly alert. - -"It's 'his song,' as he calls it, that he talks about, always. It isn't -much--what he says--but I noticed it because he always says the same -thing, like this: I'll just hold up my chin and march straight on and -on, and I'll sing it with all my might and main.' And when I ask him -what he's going to sing, he always says, 'My song--my song,' just like -that. Do you think, Mr. Jack, he did have--a song?" - -For a moment the man did not answer. Something in his throat tightened, -and held the words. Then, in a low voice he managed to stammer:-- - -"I think he did, Mrs. Holly, and--I think he sang it, too." The next -moment, with a quick lifting of his hat and a murmured "I'll call again -soon," he turned and walked swiftly down the driveway. - -So very swiftly, indeed, was Mr. Jack walking, and so self-absorbed was -he, that he did not see the carriage until it was almost upon him; then -he stepped aside to let it pass. What he saw as he gravely raised his -hat was a handsome span of black horses, a liveried coachman, and a -pair of startled eyes looking straight into his. What he did not see -was the quick gesture with which Miss Holbrook almost ordered her -carriage stopped the minute it had passed him by. - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -AS PERRY SAW IT - -One by one the days passed, and there came from the anxious watchers at -David's bedside only the words, "There's very little change." Often -Jack Gurnsey went to the farmhouse to inquire for the boy. Often, too, -he saw Perry Larson; and Perry was never loath to talk of David. It was -from Perry, indeed, that Gurnsey began to learn some things of David -that he had never known before. - -"It does beat all," Perry Larson said to him one day, "how many folks -asks me how that boy is--folks that you'd never think knew him, anyhow, -ter say nothin' of carin' whether he lived or died. Now, there's old -Mis' Somers, fur instance. YOU know what she is--sour as a lemon an' -puckery as a chokecherry. Well, if she didn't give me yesterday a great -bo-kay o' posies she'd growed herself, an' said they was fur him--that -they berlonged ter him, anyhow. - -"'Course, I didn't exactly sense what she meant by that, so I asked her -straight out; an' it seems that somehow, when the boy first come, he -struck her place one day an' spied a great big red rose on one of her -bushes. It seems he had his fiddle, an' he, played it,--that rose -a-growin' (you know his way!), an' she heard an' spoke up pretty sharp -an' asked him what in time he was doin'. Well, most kids would 'a' -run,--knowin' her temper as they does,--but not much David. He stands -up as pert as ye please, an' tells her how happy that red rose must be -ter make all that dreary garden look so pretty; an' then he goes on, -merry as a lark, a-playin' down the hill. - -"Well, Mis' Somers owned up ter me that she was pretty mad at the time, -'cause her garden did look like tunket, an' she knew it. She said she -hadn't cared ter do a thing with it since her Bessie died that thought -so much of it. But after what David had said, even mad as she was, the -thing kind o' got on her nerves, an' she couldn't see a thing, day or -night, but that red rose a-growin' there so pert an' courageous-like, -until at last, jest ter quiet herself, she fairly had ter set to an' -slick that garden up! She said she raked an' weeded, an' fixed up all -the plants there was, in good shape, an' then she sent down to the -Junction fur some all growed in pots, 'cause 't was too late ter plant -seeds. An, now it's doin' beautiful, so she jest could n't help sendin' -them posies ter David. When I told Mis' Holly, she said she was glad it -happened, 'cause what Mis' Somers needed was somethin' ter git her out -of herself--an' I'm free ter say she did look better-natured, an' no -mistake,--kind o' like a chokecherry in blossom, ye might say." - -"An' then there's the Widder Glaspell," continued Perry, after a pause. -"'Course, any one would expect she'd feel bad, seein' as how good David -was ter her boy--teachin' him ter play, ye know. But Mis' Glaspell says -Joe jest does take on somethin' turrible, an' he won't tech the fiddle, -though he was plum carried away with it when David was well an' -teachin' of him. An' there's the Clark kid. He's lame, ye know, an' he -thought the world an' all of David's playin'. - -"'Course, there's you an' Miss Holbrook, always askin' an' sendin' -things--but that ain't so strange, 'cause you was 'specially his -friends. But it's them others what beats me. Why, some days it's 'most -ev'ry soul I meet, jest askin' how he is, an' sayin' they hopes he'll -git well. Sometimes it's kids that he's played to, an' I'll be -triggered if one of 'em one day didn't have no excuse to offer except -that David had fit him--'bout a cat, or somethin'--an' that ever since -then he'd thought a heap of him--though he guessed David didn't know -it. Listen ter that, will ye! - -"An' once a woman held me up, an' took on turrible, but all I could git -from her was that he'd sat on her doorstep an' played ter her baby once -or twice;--as if that was anythin'! But one of the derndest funny ones -was the woman who said she could wash her dishes a sight easier after -she'd a-seen him go by playin'. There was Bill Dowd, too. You know he -really HAS got a screw loose in his head somewheres, an' there ain't -any one but what says he's the town fool, all right. Well, what do ye -think HE said?" - -Mr. Jack shook his head. - -"Well, he said he did hope as how nothin' would happen ter that boy -cause he did so like ter see him smile, an' that he always did smile -every time he met him! There, what do ye think o' that?" - -"Well, I think, Perry," returned Mr. Jack soberly, "that Bill Dowd -wasn't playing the fool, when he said that, quite so much as he -sometimes is, perhaps." - -"Hm-m, maybe not," murmured Perry Larson perplexedly. "Still, I'm free -ter say I do think 't was kind o' queer." He paused, then slapped his -knee suddenly. "Say, did I tell ye about Streeter--Old Bill Streeter -an' the pear tree?" - -Again Mr. Jack shook his head. - -"Well, then, I'm goin' to," declared the other, with gleeful emphasis. -"An', say, I don't believe even YOU can explain this--I don't! Well, -you know Streeter--ev'ry one does, so I ain't sayin' nothin' -sland'rous. He was cut on a bias, an' that bias runs ter money every -time. You know as well as I do that he won't lift his finger unless -there's a dollar stickin' to it, an' that he hain't no use fur anythin' -nor anybody unless there's money in it for him. I'm blamed if I don't -think that if he ever gits ter heaven, he'll pluck his own wings an' -sell the feathers fur what they'll bring." - -"Oh, Perry!" remonstrated Mr. Jack, in a half-stifled voice. - -Perry Larson only grinned and went on imperturbably. - -"Well, seein' as we both understand what he is, I'll tell ye what he -DONE. He called me up ter his fence one day, big as life, an' says he, -'How's the boy?' An' you could 'a' knocked me down with a feather. -Streeter--a-askin' how a boy was that was sick! An' he seemed ter care, -too. I hain't seen him look so longfaced since--since he was paid up on -a sartin note I knows of, jest as he was smackin' his lips over a nice -fat farm that was comin' to him! - -"Well, I was that plum puzzled that I meant ter find out why Streeter -was takin' sech notice, if I hung fur it. So I set to on a little -detective work of my own, knowin', of course, that 't wa'n't no use -askin' of him himself. Well, an' what do you s'pose I found out? If -that little scamp of a boy hadn't even got round him--Streeter, the -skinflint! He had--an' he went there often, the neighbors said; an' -Streeter doted on him. They declared that actually he give him a cent -once--though THAT part I ain't swallerin' yet. - -"They said--the neighbors did--that it all started from the pear -tree--that big one ter the left of his house. Maybe you remember it. -Well, anyhow, it seems that it's old, an' through bearin' any fruit, -though it still blossoms fit ter kill, every year, only a little late -'most always, an' the blossoms stay on longer'n common, as if they knew -there wa'n't nothin' doin' later. Well, old Streeter said it had got -ter come down. I reckon he suspected it of swipin' some of the -sunshine, or maybe a little rain that belonged ter the tree t'other -side of the road what did bear fruit an' was worth somethin'! Anyhow, -he got his man an' his axe, an' was plum ready ter start in when he -sees David an' David sees him. - -"'T was when the boy first come. He'd gone ter walk an' had struck this -pear tree, all in bloom,--an' 'course, YOU know how the boy would -act--a pear tree, bloomin', is a likely sight, I'll own. He danced and -laughed and clapped his hands,--he didn't have his fiddle with -him,--an' carried on like all possessed. Then he sees the man with the -axe, an' Streeter an' Streeter sees him. - -"They said it was rich then--Bill Warner heard it all from t'other side -of the fence. He said that David, when he found out what was goin' ter -happen, went clean crazy, an' rampaged on at such a rate that old -Streeter couldn't do nothin' but stand an' stare, until he finally -managed ter growl out: 'But I tell ye, boy, the tree ain't no use no -more!' - -"Bill says the boy flew all to pieces then. 'No use--no use!' he cries; -'such a perfectly beautiful thing as that no use! Why, it don't have -ter be any use when it's so pretty. It's jest ter look at an' love, an' -be happy with!' Fancy sayin' that ter old Streeter! I'd like ter seen -his face. But Bill says that wa'n't half what the boy said. He declared -that 't was God's present, anyhow, that trees was; an' that the things -He give us ter look at was jest as much use as the things He give us -ter eat; an' that the stars an' the sunsets an' the snowflakes an' the -little white cloud-boats, an' I don't know what-all, was jest as -important in the Orchestra of Life as turnips an' squashes. An' then, -Billy says, he ended by jest flingin' himself on ter Streeter an' -beggin' him ter wait till he could go back an' git his fiddle so he -could tell him what a beautiful thing that tree was. - -"Well, if you'll believe it, old Streeter was so plum befuzzled he sent -the man an' the axe away--an' that tree's a-livin' ter-day--'t is!" he -finished; then, with a sudden gloom on his face, Larson added, huskily: -"An' I only hope I'll be sayin' the same thing of that boy--come next -month at this time!" - -"We'll hope you will," sighed the other fervently. - -And so one by one the days passed, while the whole town waited and -while in the great airy "parlor bedroom" of the Holly farmhouse one -small boy fought his battle for life. Then came the blackest day and -night of all when the town could only wait and watch--it had lost its -hope; when the doctors shook their heads and refused to meet Mrs. -Holly's eyes; when the pulse in the slim wrist outside the coverlet -played hide-and-seek with the cool, persistent fingers that sought so -earnestly for it; when Perry Larson sat for uncounted sleepless hours -by the kitchen stove, and fearfully listened for a step crossing the -hallway; when Mr. Jack on his porch, and Miss Holbrook in her tower -widow, went with David down into the dark valley, and came so near the -rushing river that life, with its petty prides and prejudices, could -never seem quite the same to them again. - -Then, after that blackest day and night, came the dawn--as the dawns do -come after the blackest of days and nights. In the slender wrist -outside the coverlet the pulse gained and steadied. On the forehead -beneath the nurse's fingers, a moisture came. The doctors nodded their -heads now, and looked every one straight in the eye. "He will live," -they said. "The crisis is passed." Out by the kitchen stove Perry -Larson heard the step cross the hall and sprang upright; but at the -first glimpse of Mrs. Holly's tear-wet, yet radiant face, he collapsed -limply. - -"Gosh!" he muttered. "Say, do you know, I didn't s'pose I did care so -much! I reckon I'll go an' tell Mr. Jack. He'll want ter hear." - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -PUZZLES - -David's convalescence was picturesque, in a way. As soon as he was -able, like a king he sat upon his throne and received his subjects; and -a very gracious king he was, indeed. His room overflowed with flowers -and fruit, and his bed quite groaned with the toys and books and games -brought for his diversion, each one of which he hailed with delight, -from Miss Holbrook's sumptuously bound "Waverley Novels" to little -crippled Jimmy Clark's bag of marbles. - -Only two things puzzled David: one was why everybody was so good to -him; and the other was why he never could have the pleasure of both Mr. -Jack's and Miss Holbrook's company at the same time. - -David discovered this last curious circumstance concerning Mr. Jack and -Miss Holbrook very early in his convalescence. It was on the second -afternoon that Mr. Jack had been admitted to the sick-room. David had -been hearing all the latest news of Jill and Joe, when suddenly he -noticed an odd change come to his visitor's face. - -The windows of the Holly "parlor bedroom" commanded a fine view of the -road, and it was toward one of these windows that Mr. Jack's eyes were -directed. David, sitting up in bed, saw then that down the road was -approaching very swiftly a handsome span of black horses and an open -carriage which he had come to recognize as belonging to Miss Holbrook. -He watched it eagerly now till he saw the horses turn in at the Holly -driveway. Then he gave a low cry of delight. - -"It's my Lady of the Roses! She's coming to see me. Look! Oh, I'm so -glad! Now you'll see her, and just KNOW how lovely she is. Why, Mr. -Jack, you aren't going NOW!" he broke off in manifest disappointment, -as Mr. Jack leaped to his feet. - -"I think I'll have to, if you don't mind, David," returned the man, an -oddly nervous haste in his manner. "And YOU won't mind, now that you'll -have Miss Holbrook. I want to speak to Larson. I saw him in the field -out there a minute ago. And I guess I'll slip right through this window -here, too, David. I don't want to lose him; and I can catch him quicker -this way than any other," he finished, throwing up the sash. - -"Oh, but Mr. Jack, please just wait a minute," begged David. "I wanted -you to see my Lady of the Roses, and--" But Mr. Jack was already on the -ground outside the low window, and the next minute, with a merry nod -and smile, he had pulled the sash down after him and was hurrying away. - -Almost at once, then, Miss Holbrook appeared at the bedroom door. - -"Mrs. Holly said I was to walk right in, David, so here I am," she -began, in a cheery voice. "Oh, you're looking lots better than when I -saw you Monday, young man!" - -"I am better," caroled David; "and to-day I'm 'specially better, -because Mr. Jack has been here." - -"Oh, has Mr. Jack been to see you to-day?" There was an indefinable -change in Miss Holbrook's voice. - -"Yes, right now. Why, he was here when you were driving into the yard." - -Miss Holbrook gave a perceptible start and looked about her a little -wildly. - -"Here when--But I didn't meet him anywhere--in the hall." - -"He didn't go through the hall," laughed David gleefully. "He went -right through that window there." - -"The window!" An angry flush mounted to Miss Holbrook's forehead. -"Indeed, did he have to resort to that to escape--" She bit her lip and -stopped abruptly. - -David's eyes widened a little. - -"Escape? Oh, HE wasn't the one that was escaping. It was Perry. Mr. -Jack was afraid he'd lose him. He saw him out the window there, right -after he'd seen you, and he said he wanted to speak to him and he was -afraid he'd get away. So he jumped right through that window there. -See?" - -"Oh, yes, I--see," murmured Miss Holbrook, in a voice David thought was -a little queer. - -"I wanted him to stay," frowned David uncertainly. "I wanted him to see -you." - -"Dear me, David, I hope you didn't tell him so." - -"Oh, yes, I did. But he couldn't stay, even then. You see, he wanted to -catch Perry Larson." - -"I've no doubt of it," retorted Miss Holbrook, with so much emphasis -that David again looked at her with a slightly disturbed frown. - -"But he'll come again soon, I'm sure, and then maybe you'll be here, -too. I do so want him to see you, Lady of the Roses!" - -"Nonsense, David!" laughed Miss Holbrook a little nervously. "Mr.--Mr. -Gurnsey doesn't want to see me. He's seen me dozens of times." - -"Oh, yes, he told me he'd seen you long ago," nodded David gravely; -"but he didn't act as if he remembered it much." - -"Didn't he, indeed!" laughed Miss Holbrook, again flushing a little. -"Well, I'm sure, dear, we wouldn't want to tax the poor gentleman's -memory too much, you know. Come, suppose you see what I've brought -you," she finished gayly. - -"Oh, what is it?" cried David, as, under Miss Holbrook's swift fingers, -the wrappings fell away and disclosed a box which, upon being opened, -was found to be filled with quantities of oddly shaped bits of pictured -wood--a jumble of confusion. - -"It's a jig-saw puzzle, David. All these little pieces fitted together -make a picture, you see. I tried last night and I could n't do it. I -brought it down to see if you could." - -"Oh, thank you! I'd love to," rejoiced the boy. And in the fascination -of the marvel of finding one fantastic bit that fitted another, David -apparently forgot all about Mr. Jack--which seemed not unpleasing to -his Lady of the Roses. - -It was not until nearly a week later that David had his wish of seeing -his Mr. Jack and his Lady of the Roses meet at his bedside. It was the -day Miss Holbrook brought to him the wonderful set of handsomely bound -"Waverley Novels." He was still glorying in his new possession, in -fact, when Mr. Jack appeared suddenly in the doorway. - -"Hullo my boy, I just--Oh, I beg your pardon. I supposed you -were--alone," he stammered, looking very red indeed. - -"He is--that is, he will be, soon--except for you, Mr. Gurnsey," smiled -Miss Holbrook, very brightly. She was already on her feet. - -"No, no, I beg of you," stammered Mr. Jack, growing still more red. -"Don't let me drive--that is, I mean, don't go, please. I didn't know. -I had no warning--I didn't see--Your carriage was not at the door -to-day." - -Miss Holbrook's eyebrows rose the fraction of an inch. - -"I sent it home. I am planning to walk back. I have several calls to -make on the way; and it's high time I was starting. Good-bye, David." - -"But, Lady, of the Roses, please, please, don't go," besought David, -who had been looking from one to the other in worried dismay. "Why, -you've just come!" - -But neither coaxing nor argument availed; and before David really knew -just what had happened, he found himself alone with Mr. Jack. - -Even then disappointment was piled on disappointment, for Mr. Jack's -visit was not the unalloyed happiness it usually was. Mr. Jack himself -was almost cross at first, and then he was silent and restless, moving -jerkily about the room in a way that disturbed David very much. - -Mr. Jack had brought with him a book; but even that only made matters -worse, for when he saw the beautifully bound volumes that Miss Holbrook -had just left, he frowned, and told David that he guessed he did not -need his gift at all, with all those other fine books. And David could -not seem to make him understand that the one book from him was just -exactly as dear as were the whole set of books that his Lady of the -Roses brought. - -Certainly it was not a satisfactory visit at all, and for the first -time David was almost glad to have Mr. Jack go and leave him with his -books. The BOOKS, David told himself, he could understand; Mr. Jack he -could not--to-day. - -Several times after this David's Lady of the Roses and Mr. Jack -happened to call at the same hour; but never could David persuade these -two friends of his to stay together. Always, if one came and the other -was there, the other went away, in spite of David's protestations that -two people did not tire him at all and his assertions that he often -entertained as many as that at once. Tractable as they were in all -other ways, anxious as they seemed to please him, on this one point -they were obdurate: never would they stay together. - -They were not angry with each other--David was sure of that, for they -were always very especially polite, and rose, and stood, and bowed in a -most delightful fashion. Still, he sometimes thought that they did not -quite like each other, for always, after the one went away, the other, -left behind, was silent and almost stern--if it was Mr. Jack; and -flushed-faced and nervous--if it was Miss Holbrook. But why this was so -David could not understand. - -The span of handsome black horses came very frequently to the Holly -farmhouse now, and as time passed they often bore away behind them a -white-faced but happy-eyed boy on the seat beside Miss Holbrook. - -"My, but I don't see how every one can be so good to me!" exclaimed the -boy, one day, to his Lady of the Roses. - -"Oh, that's easy, David," she smiled. "The only trouble is to find out -what you want--you ask for so little." - -"But I don't need to ask--you do it all beforehand," asserted the boy, -"you and Mr. Jack, and everybody." - -"Really? That's good." For a brief moment Miss Holbrook hesitated; -then, as if casually, she asked: "And he tells you stories, too, I -suppose,--this Mr. Jack,--just as he used to, doesn't he?" - -"Well, he never did tell me but one, you know, before; but he's told me -more now, since I've been sick." - -"Oh, yes, I remember, and that one was 'The Princess and the Pauper,' -wasn't it? Well, has he told you any more--like--that?" - -The boy shook his head with decision. - -"No, he doesn't tell me any more like that, and--and I don't want him -to, either." - -Miss Holbrook laughed a little oddly. - -"Why, David, what is the matter with that?" she queried. - -"The ending; it wasn't nice, you know." - -"Oh, yes, I--I remember." - -"I've asked him to change it," went on David, in a grieved voice. "I -asked him just the other day, but he wouldn't." - -"Perhaps he--he didn't want to." Miss Holbrook spoke very quickly, but -so low that David barely heard the words. - -"Didn't want to? Oh, yes, he did! He looked awful sober, and as if he -really cared, you know. And he said he'd give all he had in the world -if he really could change it, but he couldn't." - -"Did he say--just that?" Miss Holbrook was leaning forward a little -breathlessly now. - -"Yes--just that; and that's the part I couldn't understand," commented -David. "For I don't see why a story--just a story made up out of -somebody's head--can't be changed any way you want it. And I told him -so." - -"Well, and what did he say to that?" - -"He didn't say anything for a minute, and I had to ask him again. Then -he sat up suddenly, just as if he'd been asleep, you know, and said, -'Eh, what, David?' And then I told him again what I'd said. This time -he shook his head, and smiled that kind of a smile that isn't really a -smile, you know, and said something about a real, true-to-life story's -never having but one ending, and that was a logical ending. Lady of the -Roses, what is a logical ending?" - -The Lady of the Roses laughed unexpectedly. The two little red spots, -that David always loved to see, flamed into her cheeks, and her eyes -showed a sudden sparkle. When she answered, her words came -disconnectedly, with little laughing breaths between. - -"Well, David, I--I'm not sure I can--tell you. But perhaps I--can find -out. This much, however, I am sure of: Mr. Jack's logical ending -wouldn't be--mine!" - -What she meant David did not know; nor would she tell him when he -asked; but a few days later she sent for him, and very gladly -David--able now to go where he pleased--obeyed the summons. - -It was November, and the garden was bleak and cold; but in the library -a bright fire danced on the hearth, and before this Miss Holbrook drew -up two low chairs. - -She looked particularly pretty, David thought. The rich red of her -dress had apparently brought out an answering red in her cheeks. Her -eyes were very bright and her lips smiled; yet she seemed oddly nervous -and restless. She sewed a little, with a bit of yellow silk on -white--but not for long. She knitted with two long ivory needles -flashing in and out of a silky mesh of blue--but this, too, she soon -ceased doing. On a low stand at David's side she had placed books and -pictures, and for a time she talked of those. Then very abruptly she -asked:-- - -"David, when will you see--Mr. Jack again--do you suppose?" - -"Tomorrow. I'm going up to the House that Jack Built to tea, and I'm to -stay all night. It's Halloween--that is, it isn't really Halloween, -because it's too late. I lost that, being sick, you know. So we're -going to pretend, and Mr. Jack is going to show me what it is like. -That is what Mr. Jack and Jill always do; when something ails the real -thing, they just pretend with the make-believe one. He's planned lots -of things for Jill and me to do; with nuts and apples and candles, you -know. It's to-morrow night, so I'll see him then." - -"To-morrow? So--so soon?" faltered Miss Holbrook. And to David, gazing -at her with wondering eyes, it seemed for a moment almost as if she -were looking about for a place to which she might run and hide. Then -determinedly, as if she were taking hold of something with both hands, -she leaned forward, looked David squarely in the eyes, and began to -talk hurriedly, yet very distinctly. - -"David, listen. I've something I want you to say to Mr. Jack, and I -want you to be sure and get it just right. It's about the--the story, -'The Princess and the Pauper,' you know. You can remember, I think, for -you remembered that so well. Will you say it to him--what I'm going to -tell you--just as I say it?" - -"Why, of course I will!" David's promise was unhesitating, though his -eyes were still puzzled. - -"It's about the--the ending," stammered Miss Holbrook. "That is, it -may--it may have something to do with the ending--perhaps," she -finished lamely. And again David noticed that odd shifting of Miss -Holbrook's gaze as if she were searching for some means of escape. -Then, as before, he saw her chin lift determinedly, as she began to -talk faster than ever. - -"Now, listen," she admonished him, earnestly. - -And David listened. - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -A STORY REMODELED - -The pretended Halloween was a great success. So very excited, indeed, -did David become over the swinging apples and popping nuts that he -quite forgot to tell Mr. Jack what the Lady of the Roses had said until -Jill had gone up to bed and he himself was about to take from Mr. -Jack's hand the little lighted lamp. - -"Oh, Mr. Jack, I forgot," he cried then. "There was something I was -going to tell you." - -"Never mind to-night, David; it's so late. Suppose we leave it until -to-morrow," suggested Mr. Jack, still with the lamp extended in his -hand. - -"But I promised the Lady of the Roses that I'd say it to-night," -demurred the boy, in a troubled voice. - -The man drew his lamp halfway back suddenly. - -"The Lady of the Roses! Do you mean--she sent a message--to ME?" he -demanded. - -"Yes; about the story, 'The Princess and the Pauper,' you know." - -With an abrupt exclamation Mr. Jack set the lamp on the table and -turned to a chair. He had apparently lost his haste to go to bed. - -"See here, David, suppose you come and sit down, and tell me just what -you're talking about. And first--just what does the Lady of the Roses -know about that--that 'Princess and the Pauper'?" - -"Why, she knows it all, of course," returned the boy in surprise. "I -told it to her." - -"You--told--it--to her!" Mr. Jack relaxed in his chair. "David!" - -"Yes. And she was just as interested as could be." - -"I don't doubt it!" Mr. Jack's lips snapped together a little grimly. - -"Only she didn't like the ending, either." - -Mr. Jack sat up suddenly. - -"She didn't like--David, are you sure? Did she SAY that?" - -David frowned in thought. - -"Well, I don't know as I can tell, exactly, but I'm sure she did n't -like it, because just before she told me WHAT to say to you, she said -that--that what she was going to say would probably have something to -do with the ending, anyway. Still--" David paused in yet deeper -thought. "Come to think of it, there really isn't anything--not in what -she said--that CHANGED that ending, as I can see. They didn't get -married and live happy ever after, anyhow." - -"Yes, but what did she say?" asked Mr. Jack in a voice that was not -quite steady. "Now, be careful, David, and tell it just as she said it." - -"Oh, I will," nodded David. "SHE said to do that, too." - -"Did she?" Mr. Jack leaned farther forward in his chair. "But tell me, -how did she happen to--to say anything about it? Suppose you begin at -the beginning--away back, David. I want to hear it all--all!" - -David gave a contented sigh, and settled himself more comfortably. - -"Well, to begin with, you see, I told her the story long ago, before I -was sick, and she was ever so interested then, and asked lots of -questions. Then the other day something came up--I've forgotten -how--about the ending, and I told her how hard I'd tried to have you -change it, but you wouldn't. And she spoke right up quick and said -probably you didn't want to change it, anyhow. But of course I settled -THAT question without any trouble," went on David confidently, "by just -telling her how you said you'd give anything in the world to change it." - -"And you told her that--just that, David?" cried the man. - -"Why, yes, I had to," answered David, in surprise, "else she wouldn't -have known that you DID want to change it. Don't you see?" - -"Oh, yes! I--see--a good deal that I'm thinking you don't," muttered -Mr. Jack, falling back in his chair. - -"Well, then is when I told her about the logical ending--what you said, -you know,--oh, yes! and that was when I found out she did n't like the -ending, because she laughed such a funny little laugh and colored up, -and said that she wasn't sure she could tell me what a logical ending -was, but that she would try to find out, and that, anyhow, YOUR ending -wouldn't be hers--she was sure of that." - -"David, did she say that--really?" Mr. Jack was on his feet now. - -"She did; and then yesterday she asked me to come over, and she said -some more things,--about the story, I mean,--but she didn't say another -thing about the ending. She didn't ever say anything about that except -that little bit I told you of a minute ago." - -"Yes, yes, but what did she say?" demanded Mr. Jack, stopping short in -his walk up and down the room. - -"She said: 'You tell Mr. Jack that I know something about that story of -his that perhaps he doesn't. In the first place, I know the Princess a -lot better than he does, and she isn't a bit the kind of girl he's -pictured her." - -"Yes! Go on--go on!" - -"'Now, for instance,' she says, 'when the boy made that call, after the -girl first came back, and when the boy didn't like it because they -talked of colleges and travels, and such things, you tell him that I -happen to know that that girl was just hoping and hoping he'd speak of -the old days and games; but that she could n't speak, of course, when -he hadn't been even once to see her during all those weeks, and when -he'd acted in every way just as if he'd forgotten.'" - -"But she hadn't waved--that Princess hadn't waved--once!" argued Mr. -Jack; "and he looked and looked for it." - -"Yes, SHE spoke of that," returned David. "But SHE said she shouldn't -think the Princess would have waved, when she'd got to be such a great -big girl as that--WAVING to a BOY! She said that for her part she -should have been ashamed of her if she had!" - -"Oh, did she!" murmured Mr. Jack blankly, dropping suddenly into his -chair. - -"Yes, she did," repeated David, with a little virtuous uplifting of his -chin. - -It was plain to be seen that David's sympathies had unaccountably met -with a change of heart. - -"But--the Pauper--" - -"Oh, yes, and that's another thing," interrupted David. "The Lady of -the Roses said that she didn't like that name one bit; that it wasn't -true, anyway, because he wasn't a pauper. And she said, too, that as -for his picturing the Princess as being perfectly happy in all that -magnificence, he didn't get it right at all. For SHE knew that the -Princess wasn't one bit happy, because she was so lonesome for things -and people she had known when she was just the girl." - -Again Mr. Jack sprang to his feet. For a minute he strode up and down -the room in silence; then in a shaking voice he asked:-- - -"David, you--you aren't making all this up, are you? You're saying just -what--what Miss Holbrook told you to?" - -"Why, of course, I'm not making it up," protested the boy aggrievedly. -"This is the Lady of the Roses' story--SHE made it up--only she talked -it as if 't was real, of course, just as you did. She said another -thing, too. She said that she happened to know that the Princess had -got all that magnificence around her in the first place just to see if -it wouldn't make her happy, but that it hadn't, and that now she had -one place--a little room--that was left just as it used to be when she -was the girl, and that she went there and sat very often. And she said -it was right in sight of where the boy lived, too, where he could see -it every day; and that if he hadn't been so blind he could have looked -right through those gray walls and seen that, and seen lots of other -things. And what did she mean by that, Mr. Jack?" - -"I don't know--I don't know, David," half-groaned Mr. Jack. "Sometimes -I think she means--and then I think that can't be--true." - -"But do you think it's helped it any--the story?" persisted the boy. -"She's only talked a little about the Princess. She didn't really -change things any--not the ending." - -"But she said it might, David--she said it might! Don't you remember?" -cried the man eagerly. And to David, his eagerness did not seem at all -strange. Mr. Jack had said before--long ago--that he would be very glad -indeed to have a happier ending to this tale. "Think now," continued -the man. "Perhaps she said something else, too. Did she say anything -else, David?" - -David shook his head slowly. - -"No, only--yes, there was a little something, but it doesn't CHANGE -things any, for it was only a 'supposing.' She said: 'Just supposing, -after long years, that the Princess found out about how the boy felt -long ago, and suppose he should look up at the tower some day, at the -old time, and see a ONE--TWO wave, which meant, "Come over to see me." -Just what do you suppose he would do?' But of course, THAT can't do any -good," finished David gloomily, as he rose to go to bed, "for that was -only a 'supposing.'" - -"Of course," agreed Mr. Jack steadily; and David did not know that only -stern self-control had forced the steadiness into that voice, nor that, -for Mr. Jack, the whole world had burst suddenly into song. - -Neither did David, the next morning, know that long before eight -o'clock Mr. Jack stood at a certain window, his eyes unswervingly fixed -on the gray towers of Sunnycrest. What David did know, however, was -that just after eight, Mr. Jack strode through the room where he and -Jill were playing checkers, flung himself into his hat and coat, and -then fairly leaped down the steps toward the path that led to the -footbridge at the bottom of the hill. - -"Why, whatever in the world ails Jack?" gasped Jill. Then, after a -startled pause, she asked. "David, do folks ever go crazy for joy? -Yesterday, you see, Jack got two splendid pieces of news. One was from -his doctor. He was examined, and he's fine, the doctor says; all well, -so he can go back, now any time, to the city and work. I shall go to -school then, you know,--a young ladies' school," she finished, a little -importantly. - -"He's well? How splendid! But what was the other news? You said there -were two; only it couldn't have been nicer than that was; to be -well--all well!" - -"The other? Well, that was only that his old place in the city was -waiting for him. He was with a firm of big lawyers, you know, and of -course it is nice to have a place all waiting. But I can't see anything -in those things to make him act like this, now. Can you?" - -"Why, yes, maybe," declared David. "He's found his work--don't you -see?--out in the world, and he's going to do it. I know how I'd feel if -I had found mine that father told me of! Only what I can't understand -is, if Mr. Jack knew all this yesterday, why did n't he act like this -then, instead of waiting till to-day?" - -"I wonder," said Jill. - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD - -David found many new songs in his violin those early winter days, and -they were very beautiful ones. To begin with, there were all the kindly -looks and deeds that were showered upon him from every side. There was -the first snowstorm, too, with the feathery flakes turning all the -world to fairy whiteness. This song David played to Mr. Streeter, one -day, and great was his disappointment that the man could not seem to -understand what the song said. - -"But don't you see?" pleaded David. "I'm telling you that it's your -pear-tree blossoms come back to say how glad they are that you didn't -kill them that day." - -"Pear-tree blossoms--come back!" ejaculated the old man. "Well, no, I -can't see. Where's yer pear-tree blossoms?" - -"Why, there--out of the window--everywhere," urged the boy. - -"THERE! By ginger! boy--ye don't mean--ye CAN'T mean the SNOW!" - -"Of course I do! Now, can't you see it? Why, the whole tree was just a -great big cloud of snowflakes. Don't you remember? Well, now it's gone -away and got a whole lot more trees, and all the little white petals -have come dancing down to celebrate, and to tell you they sure are -coming back next year." - -"Well, by ginger!" exclaimed the man again. Then, suddenly, he threw -back his head with a hearty laugh. David did not quite like the laugh, -neither did he care for the five-cent piece that the man thrust into -his fingers a little later; though--had David but known it--both the -laugh and the five-cent piece gift were--for the uncomprehending man -who gave them--white milestones along an unfamiliar way. - -It was soon after this that there came to David the great surprise--his -beloved Lady of the Roses and his no less beloved Mr. Jack were to be -married at the beginning of the New Year. So very surprised, indeed, -was David at this, that even his violin was mute, and had nothing, at -first, to say about it. But to Mr. Jack, as man to man, David said one -day:-- - -"I thought men, when they married women, went courting. In story-books -they do. And you--you hardly ever said a word to my beautiful Lady of -the Roses; and you spoke once--long ago--as if you scarcely remembered -her at all. Now, what do you mean by that?" - -And Mr. Jack laughed, but he grew red, too,--and then he told it -all,--that it was just the story of "The Princess and the Pauper," and -that he, David, had been the one, as it happened, to do part of their -courting for them. - -And how David had laughed then, and how he had fairly hugged himself -for joy! And when next he had picked up his violin, what a beautiful, -beautiful song he had found about it in the vibrant strings! - -It was this same song, as it chanced, that he was playing in his room -that Saturday afternoon when the letter from Simeon Holly's long-lost -son John came to the Holly farmhouse. - -Downstairs in the kitchen, Simeon Holly stood, with the letter in his -hand. - -"Ellen, we've got a letter from--John," he said. That Simeon Holly -spoke of it at all showed how very far along HIS unfamiliar way he had -come since the last letter from John had arrived. - -"From--John? Oh, Simeon! From John?" - -"Yes." - -Simeon sat down and tried to hide the shaking of his hand as he ran the -point of his knife under the flap of the envelope. "We'll see what--he -says." And to hear him, one might have thought that letters from John -were everyday occurrences. - - -DEAR FATHER: Twice before I have written [ran the letter], and received -no answer. But I'm going to make one more effort for forgiveness. May I -not come to you this Christmas? I have a little boy of my own now, and -my heart aches for you. I know how I should feel, should he, in years -to come, do as I did. - -I'll not deceive you--I have not given up my art. You told me once to -choose between you and it--and I chose, I suppose; at least, I ran -away. Yet in the face of all that, I ask you again, may I not come to -you at Christmas? I want you, father, and I want mother. And I want you -to see my boy. - - -"Well?" said Simeon Holly, trying to speak with a steady coldness that -would not show how deeply moved he was. "Well, Ellen?" - -"Yes, Simeon, yes!" choked his wife, a world of mother-love and longing -in her pleading eyes and voice. "Yes--you'll let it be--'Yes'!" - -"Uncle Simeon, Aunt Ellen," called David, clattering down the stairs -from his room, "I've found such a beautiful song in my violin, and I'm -going to play it over and over so as to be sure and remember it for -father--for it is a beautiful world, Uncle Simeon, isn't it? Now, -listen!" - -And Simeon Holly listened--but it was not the violin that he heard. It -was the voice of a little curly-headed boy out of the past. - -When David stopped playing some time later, only the woman sat watching -him--the man was over at his desk, pen in hand. - -John, John's wife, and John's boy came the day before Christmas, and -great was the excitement in the Holly farmhouse. John was found to be -big, strong, and bronzed with the outdoor life of many a sketching -trip--a son to be proud of, and to be leaned upon in one's old age. -Mrs. John, according to Perry Larson, was "the slickest little woman -goin'." According to John's mother, she was an almost unbelievable -incarnation of a long-dreamed-of, long-despaired-of daughter--sweet, -lovable, and charmingly beautiful. Little John--little John was -himself; and he could not have been more had he been an angel-cherub -straight from heaven--which, in fact, he was, in his doting -grandparents' eyes. - -John Holly had been at his old home less than four hours when he -chanced upon David's violin. He was with his father and mother at the -time. There was no one else in the room. With a sidelong glance at his -parents, he picked up the instrument--John Holly had not forgotten his -own youth. His violin-playing in the old days had not been welcome, he -remembered. - -"A fiddle! Who plays?" he asked. - -"David." - -"Oh, the boy. You say you--took him in? By the way, what an odd little -shaver he is! Never did I see a BOY like HIM." Simeon Holly's head came -up almost aggressively. - -"David is a good boy--a very good boy, indeed, John. We think a great -deal of him." - -John Holly laughed lightly, yet his brow carried a puzzled frown. Two -things John Holly had not been able thus far to understand: an -indefinable change in his father, and the position of the boy David, in -the household--John Holly was still remembering his own repressed youth. - -"Hm-m," he murmured, softly picking the strings, then drawing across -them a tentative bow. "I've a fiddle at home that I play sometimes. Do -you mind if I--tune her up?" - -A flicker of something that was very near to humor flashed from his -father's eyes. - -"Oh, no. We are used to that--now." And again John Holly remembered his -youth. - -"Jove! but he's got the dandy instrument here," cried the player, -dropping his bow after the first half-dozen superbly vibrant tones, and -carrying the violin to the window. A moment later he gave an amazed -ejaculation and turned on his father a dumfounded face. - -"Great Scott, father! Where did that boy get this instrument? I KNOW -something of violins, if I can't play them much; and this--! Where DID -he get it?" - -"Of his father, I suppose. He had it when he came here, anyway." - -"'Had it when he came'! But, father, you said he was a tramp, and--oh, -come, tell me, what is the secret behind this? Here I come home and -find calmly reposing on my father's sitting-room table a violin that's -priceless, for all I know. Anyhow, I do know that its value is reckoned -in the thousands, not hundreds: and yet you, with equal calmness, tell -me it's owned by this boy who, it's safe to say, doesn't know how to -play sixteen notes on it correctly, to say nothing of appreciating -those he does play; and who, by your own account, is nothing but--" A -swiftly uplifted hand of warning stayed the words on his lips. He -turned to see David himself in the doorway. - -"Come in, David," said Simeon Holly quietly. "My son wants to hear you -play. I don't think he has heard you." And again there flashed from -Simeon Holly's eyes a something very much like humor. - -With obvious hesitation John Holly relinquished the violin. From the -expression on his face it was plain to be seen the sort of torture he -deemed was before him. But, as if constrained to ask the question, he -did say:-- - -"Where did you get this violin, boy?" - -"I don't know. We've always had it, ever since I could remember--this -and the other one." - -"The OTHER one!" - -"Father's." - -"Oh!" He hesitated; then, a little severely, he observed: "This is a -fine instrument, boy,--a very fine instrument." - -"Yes," nodded David, with a cheerful smile. "Father said it was. I like -it, too. This is an Amati, but the other is a Stradivarius. I don't -know which I do like best, sometimes, only this is mine." - -With a half-smothered ejaculation John Holly fell back limply. - -"Then you--do--know?" he challenged. - -"Know--what?" - -"The value of that violin in your hands." - -There was no answer. The boy's eyes were questioning. - -"The worth, I mean,--what it's worth." - -"Why, no--yes--that is, it's worth everything--to me," answered David, -in a puzzled voice. - -With an impatient gesture John Holly brushed this aside. - -"But the other one--where is that?" - -"At Joe Glaspell's. I gave it to him to play on, because he had n't -any, and he liked to play so well." - -"You GAVE it to him--a Stradivarius!" - -"I loaned it to him," corrected David, in a troubled voice. "Being -father's, I couldn't bear to give it away. But Joe--Joe had to have -something to play on." - -"'Something to play on'! Father, he doesn't mean the River Street -Glaspells?" cried John Holly. - -"I think he does. Joe is old Peleg Glaspell's grandson." John Holly -threw up both his hands. - -"A Stradivarius--to old Peleg's grandson! Oh, ye gods!" he muttered. -"Well, I'll be--" He did not finish his sentence. At another word from -Simeon Holly, David had begun to play. - -From his seat by the stove Simeon Holly watched his son's face--and -smiled. He saw amazement, unbelief, and delight struggle for the -mastery; but before the playing had ceased, he was summoned by Perry -Larson to the kitchen on a matter of business. So it was into the -kitchen that John Holly burst a little later, eyes and cheek aflame. - -"Father, where in Heaven's name DID you get that boy?" he demanded. -"Who taught him to play like that? I've been trying to find out from -him, but I'd defy Sherlock Holmes himself to make head or tail of the -sort of lingo he talks, about mountain homes and the Orchestra of Life! -Father, what DOES it mean?" - -Obediently Simeon Holly told the story then, more fully than he had -told it before. He brought forward the letter, too, with its mysterious -signature. - -"Perhaps you can make it out, son," he laughed. "None of the rest of us -can, though I haven't shown it to anybody now for a long time. I got -discouraged long ago of anybody's ever making it out." - -"Make it out--make it out!" cried John Holly excitedly; "I should say I -could! It's a name known the world over. It's the name of one of the -greatest violinists that ever lived." - -"But how--what--how came he in my barn?" demanded Simeon Holly. - -"Easily guessed, from the letter, and from what the world knows," -returned John, his voice still shaking with excitement. "He was always -a queer chap, they say, and full of his notions. Six or eight years ago -his wife died. They say he worshiped her, and for weeks refused even to -touch his violin. Then, very suddenly, he, with his four-year-old son, -disappeared--dropped quite out of sight. Some people guessed the -reason. I knew a man who was well acquainted with him, and at the time -of the disappearance he told me quite a lot about him. He said he was -n't a bit surprised at what had happened. That already half a dozen -relatives were interfering with the way he wanted to bring the boy up, -and that David was in a fair way to be spoiled, even then, with so much -attention and flattery. The father had determined to make a wonderful -artist of his son, and he was known to have said that he believed--as -do so many others--that the first dozen years of a child's life are the -making of the man, and that if he could have the boy to himself that -long he would risk the rest. So it seems he carried out his notion -until he was taken sick, and had to quit--poor chap!" - -"But why didn't he tell us plainly in that note who he was, then?" -fumed Simeon Holly, in manifest irritation. - -"He did, he thought," laughed the other. "He signed his name, and he -supposed that was so well known that just to mention it would be -enough. That's why he kept it so secret while he was living on the -mountain, you see, and that's why even David himself didn't know it. Of -course, if anybody found out who he was, that ended his scheme, and he -knew it. So he supposed all he had to do at the last was to sign his -name to that note, and everybody would know who he was, and David would -at once be sent to his own people. (There's an aunt and some cousins, I -believe.) You see he didn't reckon on nobody's being able to READ his -name! Besides, being so ill, he probably wasn't quite sane, anyway." - -"I see, I see," nodded Simeon Holly, frowning a little. "And of course -if we had made it out, some of us here would have known it, probably. -Now that you call it to mind I think I have heard it myself in days -gone by--though such names mean little to me. But doubtless somebody -would have known. However, that is all past and gone now." - -"Oh, yes, and no harm done. He fell into good hands, luckily. You'll -soon see the last of him now, of course." - -"Last of him? Oh, no, I shall keep David," said Simeon Holly, with -decision. - -"Keep him! Why, father, you forget who he is! There are friends, -relatives, an adoring public, and a mint of money awaiting that boy. -You can't keep him. You could never have kept him this long if this -little town of yours hadn't been buried in this forgotten valley up -among these hills. You'll have the whole world at your doors the minute -they find out he is here--hills or no hills! Besides, there are his -people; they have some claim." - -There was no answer. With a suddenly old, drawn look on his face, the -elder man had turned away. - -Half an hour later Simeon Holly climbed the stairs to David's room, and -as gently and plainly as he could told the boy of this great, good -thing that had come to him. - -David was amazed, but overjoyed. That he was found to be the son of a -famous man affected him not at all, only so far as it seemed to set his -father right in other eyes--in David's own, the man had always been -supreme. But the going away--the marvelous going away--filled him with -excited wonder. - -"You mean, I shall go away and study--practice--learn more of my -violin?" - -"Yes, David." - -"And hear beautiful music like the organ in church, only -more--bigger--better?" - -"I suppose so.". - -"And know people--dear people--who will understand what I say when I -play?" - -Simeon Holly's face paled a little; still, he knew David had not meant -to make it so hard. - -"Yes." - -"Why, it's my 'start'--just what I was going to have with the -gold-pieces," cried David joyously. Then, uttering a sharp cry of -consternation, he clapped his fingers to his lips. - -"Your--what?" asked the man. - -"N--nothing, really, Mr. Holly,--Uncle Simeon,--n--nothing." - -Something, either the boy's agitation, or the luckless mention of the -gold-pieces sent a sudden dismayed suspicion into Simeon Holly's eyes. - -"Your 'start'?--the 'gold-pieces'? David, what do you mean?" - -David shook his head. He did not intend to tell. But gently, -persistently, Simeon Holly questioned until the whole piteous little -tale lay bare before him: the hopes, the house of dreams, the sacrifice. - -David saw then what it means when a strong man is shaken by an emotion -that has mastered him; and the sight awed and frightened the boy. - -"Mr. Holly, is it because I'm--going--that you care--so much? I never -thought--or supposed--you'd--CARE," he faltered. - -There was no answer. Simeon Holly's eyes were turned quite away. - -"Uncle Simeon--PLEASE! I--I think I don't want to go, anyway. I--I'm -sure I don't want to go--and leave YOU!" - -Simeon Holly turned then, and spoke. - -"Go? Of course you'll go, David. Do you think I'd tie you here to -me--NOW?" he choked. "What don't I owe to you--home, son, happiness! -Go?--of course you'll go. I wonder if you really think I'd let you -stay! Come, we'll go down to mother and tell her. I suspect she'll want -to start in to-night to get your socks all mended up!" And with head -erect and a determined step, Simeon Holly faced the mighty sacrifice in -his turn, and led the way downstairs. - - * * * * * - -The friends, the relatives, the adoring public, the mint of money--they -are all David's now. But once each year, man grown though he is, he -picks up his violin and journeys to a little village far up among the -hills. There in a quiet kitchen he plays to an old man and an old -woman; and always to himself he says that he is practicing against the -time when, his violin at his chin and the bow drawn across the strings, -he shall go to meet his father in the far-away land, and tell him of -the beautiful world he has left. - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Just David, by Eleanor H. 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