"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."DIDhe 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.
