CHAPTER V
DISCORDS
The dead man found in Farmer Holly's barn created a decided stir in thevillage of Hinsdale. The case was a peculiar one for many reasons.First, because of the boy--Hinsdale supposed it knew boys, but it feltinclined to change its mind after seeing this one. Second, because ofthe circumstances. The boy and his father had entered the town liketramps, yet Higgins, who talked freely of his having given the pair a"lift" on that very evening, did not hesitate to declare that he didnot believe them to be ordinary tramps at all.
As there had been little found in the dead man's pockets, save the twonotes, and as nobody could be found who wanted the violins, thereseemed to be nothing to do but to turn the body over to the town forburial. Nothing was said of this to David; indeed, as little aspossible was said to David about anything after that morning whenHiggins had given him his father's letter. At that time the men hadmade one more effort to "get track of SOMETHING," as Higgins haddespairingly put it. But the boy's answers to their questions wereanything but satisfying, anything but helpful, and were often mostdisconcerting. The boy was, in fact, regarded by most of the men, afterthat morning, as being "a little off"; and was hence let severely alone.
Who the man was the town authorities certainly did not know, neithercould they apparently find out. His name, as written by himself, wasunreadable. His notes told nothing; his son could tell little more--ofconsequence. A report, to be sure, did come from the village, far upthe mountain, that such a man and boy had lived in a hut that wasalmost inaccessible; but even this did not help solve the mystery.
David was left at the Holly farmhouse, though Simeon Holly mentallydeclared that he should lose no time in looking about for some one totake the boy away.
On that first day Higgins, picking up the reins preparatory to drivingfrom the yard, had said, with a nod of his head toward David:--
"Well, how about it, Holly? Shall we leave him here till we findsomebody that wants him?"
"Why, y--yes, I suppose so," hesitated Simeon Holly, with uncordialaccent.
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 oftrouble, Simeon."
"Perhaps not," conceded Simeon Holly darkly. "Neither, it is safe tosay, will he be anything else--worth anything."
"That's it exactly," spoke up Streeter, from his seat in the wagon. "IfI 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 ofwhat was being said. With his sensitive face illumined, he was againporing over his father's letter.
Something in the sudden quiet cut through his absorption as the noisyhum of voices had not been able to do, and he raised his head. His eyeswere starlike.
"I'm so glad father told me what to do," he breathed. "It'll be easiernow."
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 hewas. And when you've got somebody waiting, you don't mind stayingbehind yourself for a little while. Besides, I've GOT to stay to findout 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, yousee,--tell him about things. Lots of days we'd go to walk; then, whenwe got home, he'd have me tell him, with my violin, what I'd seen. Andnow 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 mymountains; that I would not need to, anyway, because the mountains, andthe sky, and the birds and squirrels and brooks are really in myviolin, you know. And--" But with an angry frown Simeon Holly stalkedaway, motioning Larson to follow him; and with a merry glance and a lowchuckle Higgins turned his horse about and drove from the yard. Amoment later David found himself alone with Mrs. Holly, who was lookingat 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 thingsof her world in the hope that they might make this strange little boyseem less wild, and more nearly human.
"Oh, yes, thank you." David's eyes had strayed back to the note in hishand. Suddenly he looked up, a new something in his eyes. "What is itto 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. "Butnever mind that, David. I--I wouldn't think any more about it."
"But what is a tramp?" persisted David, a smouldering fire beginning toshow in his eyes. "Because if they meant THIEVES--"
"No, no, David," interrupted Mrs. Holly soothingly. "They never meantthieves at all."
"Then, what is it to be a tramp?"
"Why, it's just to--to tramp," explained Mrs. Holly desperately;--"walkalong the road from one town to another, and--and not live in a houseat all."
"Oh!" David's face cleared. "That's all right, then. I'd love to be atramp, and so'd father. And we were tramps, sometimes, too, 'cause lotsof times, in the summer, we didn't stay in the cabin hardly any--justlived out of doors all day and all night. Why, I never knew really whatthe pine trees were saying till I heard them at night, lying underthem. 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 hisvoice a very genuine sympathy as for a grievous loss. "Why, then, ifyou've only heard them daytimes, you don't know a bit what pine treesreally are. But I can tell you. Listen! This is what they say,"finished the boy, whipping his violin from its case, and, after a swifttesting of the strings, plunging into a weird, haunting little melody.
In the doorway, Mrs. Holly, bewildered, yet bewitched, stoodmotionless, her eyes half-fearfully, half-longingly fixed on David'sglorified face. She was still in the same position when Simeon Hollycame around the corner of the house.
"Well, Ellen," he began, with quiet scorn, after a moment's sternwatching of the scene before him, "have you nothing better to do thismorning 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 turnedand hurried into the house.
David, on the porch steps, seemed to have heard nothing. He was stillplaying, his rapt gaze on the distant sky-line, when Simeon Hollyturned 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 hearme, boy?"
The music stopped abruptly. David looked up with the slightly dazed airof 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 traceof anger or resentment. "Why, yes, of course. I couldn't play ALL thetime, you know. I had to eat and sleep and study my books; and everyday we went to walk--like tramps, as you call them," he elucidated, hisface brightening with obvious delight at being able, for once, toexplain 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 daysalways 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 saidevery instrument was needed in the great Orchestra of Life; and that Iwas one, you know, even if I was only a little boy. And he said if Ikept still and didn't do my part, the harmony wouldn't be complete,and--"
"Yes, yes, but never mind that no
w, boy," interrupted Simeon Holly,with harsh impatience. "I mean, did he never set you to work--realwork?"
"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 waitingfor me out in the world. That's why we came down from the mountain, youknow, to find it. Is that what you mean?"
"Well, no," retorted the man, "I can't say that it was. I was referringto 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'mafraid I didn't do it very well. My bacon was never as nice and crispas 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. Doyou see that woodpile by the shed door?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very good. In the kitchen you'll find an empty woodbox. Do you thinkyou could fill it with wood from that woodpile? You'll find plenty ofshort, small sticks already chopped."
"Oh, yes, sir, I'd like to," nodded David, hastily but carefullytucking his violin into its case. A minute later he had attacked thewoodpile with a will; and Simeon Holly, after a sharply watchfulglance, had turned away.
But the woodbox, after all, was not filled. At least, it was not filledimmediately, for at the very beginning of gathering the second armfulof wood, David picked up a stick that had long lain in one position onthe ground, thereby disclosing sundry and diverse crawling things ofmany legs, which filled David's soul with delight, and drove away everythought of the empty woodbox.
It was only a matter of some strength and more patience, and still moretime, to overturn other and bigger sticks, to find other and bigger ofthe many-legged, many-jointed creatures. One, indeed, was so verywonderful that David, with a whoop of glee, summoned Mrs. Holly fromthe shed doorway to come and see.
So urgent was his plea that Mrs. Holly came with hurried steps--but shewent away with steps even more hurried; and David, sitting back on hiswoodpile seat, was left to wonder why she should scream and shudder andsay "Ugh-h-h!" at such a beautiful, interesting thing as was thislittle creature who lived in her woodpile.
Even then David did not think of that empty woodbox waiting behind thekitchen stove. This time it was a butterfly, a big black butterflybanded with gold; and it danced and fluttered all through the back yardand out into the garden, David delightedly following with soft-treadingsteps, and movements that would not startle. From the garden to theorchard, and from the orchard back to the garden danced thebutterfly--and David; and in the garden, near the house, David cameupon Mrs. Holly's pansy-bed. Even the butterfly was forgotten then, fordown in the path by the pansy-bed David dropped to his knees inveritable worship.
"Why, you're just like little people," he cried softly. "You've gotfaces; and some of you are happy, and some of you are sad. And you--youbig spotted yellow one--you're laughing at me. Oh, I'm going to playyou--all of you. You'll make such a pretty song, you're so differentfrom each other!" And David leaped lightly to his feet and ran aroundto the side porch for his violin.
Five minutes later, Simeon Holly, coming into the kitchen, heard thesound of a violin through the open window. At the same moment his eyesfell 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 thecorner 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 mancrisply.
David shook his head.
"Oh, no, sir, this isn't filling the woodbox," he laughed, softeninghis music, but not stopping it. "Did you think that was what I wasplaying? It's the flowers here that I'm playing--the little faces, likepeople, you know. See, this is that big yellow one over there that'slaughing," he finished, letting the music under his fingers burst intoa gay little melody.
Simeon Holly raised an imperious hand; and at the gesture David stoppedhis melody in the middle of a run, his eyes flying wide open in plainwonderment.
"You mean--I'm not playing--right?" he asked.
"I'm not talking of your playing," retorted Simeon Holly severely. "I'mtalking 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 hisfeet.
"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 patienceof one who finds himself obliged to explain what should be aself-evident fact; "but I saw so many beautiful things, one afteranother, and when I found these funny little flower-people I just hadto play them. Don't you see?"
"No, I can't say that I do, when I'd already told you to fill thewoodbox," 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 alwayswhen a song came to me to play it at once. Songs are like the mists ofthe morning and the rainbows, you know, and they don't stay with youlong. You just have to catch them quick, before they go. Now, don't yousee?"
But Simeon Holly, with a despairingly scornful gesture, had turnedaway; and David, after a moment's following him with wistful eyes,soberly walked toward the kitchen door. Two minutes later he wasindustriously working at his task of filling the woodbox.
That for David the affair was not satisfactorily settled was evidencedby his thoughtful countenance and preoccupied air, however; nor werematters helped any by the question David put to Mr. Holly just beforedinner.
"Do you mean," he asked, "that because I didn't fill the woodbox rightaway, I was being a discord?"
"You were what?" demanded the amazed Simeon Holly.
"Being a discord--playing out of tune, you know," explained David, withpatient earnestness. "Father said--" But again Simeon Holly had turnedirritably away; and David was left with his perplexed questions stillunanswered.
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