"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.
