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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" - |