"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 inion 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 Idon'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.
