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 Imade 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.
