Just David

by Eleanor H. Porter

  CHAPTER IX

  JOE

  Day by day, however, as time passed, David diligently tried to performthe "dos" and avoid the "don'ts"; and day by day he came to realize howimportant weeds and woodboxes were, if he were to conform to what wasevidently Farmer Holly's idea of "playing in, tune" in this strange newOrchestra of Life in which he found himself.

  But, try as he would, there was yet an unreality about it all, apersistent feeling of uselessness and waste, that would not be setaside. So that, after all, the only part of this strange new life ofhis that seemed real to him was the time that came after four o'clockeach day, when he was released from work.

  And how full he filled those hours! There was so much to see, so muchto do. For sunny days there were field and stream and pasture land andthe whole wide town to explore. For rainy days, if he did not care togo to walk, there was his room with the books in the chimney cupboard.Some of them David had read before, but many of them he had not. One ortwo were old friends; but not so "Dare Devil Dick," and "The Pirates ofPigeon Cove" (which he found hidden in an obscure corner behind a looseboard). Side by side stood "The Lady of the Lake," "Treasure Island,"and "David Copperfield"; and coverless and dogeared lay "RobinsonCrusoe," "The Arabian Nights," and "Grimm's Fairy Tales." There weremore, many more, and David devoured them all with eager eyes. The goodin them he absorbed as he absorbed the sunshine; the evil he cast asideunconsciously--it rolled off, indeed, like the proverbial water fromthe duck's back.

  David hardly knew sometimes which he liked the better, his imaginativeadventures between the covers of his books or his real adventures inhis daily strolls. True, it was not his mountain home--this place inwhich he found himself; neither was there anywhere his Silver Lake withits far, far-reaching sky above. More deplorable yet, nowhere was therethe dear father he loved so well. But the sun still set in rose andgold, and the sky, though small, still carried the snowy sails of itscloud-boats; while as to his father--his father had told him not togrieve, and David was trying very hard to obey.

  With his violin for company David started out each day, unless heelected to stay indoors with his books. Sometimes it was toward thevillage that he turned his steps; sometimes it was toward the hillsback of the town. Whichever way it was, there was always sure to besomething waiting at the end for him and his violin to discover, if itwas nothing more than a big white rose in bloom, or a squirrel sittingby the roadside.

  Very soon, however, David discovered that there was something to befound in his wanderings besides squirrels and roses; and thatwas--people. In spite of the strangeness of these people, they werewonderfully interesting, David thought. And after that he turned hissteps more and more frequently toward the village when four o'clockreleased him from the day's work.

  At first David did not talk much to these people. He shrank sensitivelyfrom their bold stares and unpleasantly audible comments. He watchedthem with round eyes of wonder and interest, however,--when he did notthink they were watching him. And in time he came to know not a littleabout them and about the strange ways in which they passed their time.

  There was the greenhouse man. It would be pleasant to spend one's daygrowing plants and flowers--but not under that hot, stifling glassroof, decided David. Besides, he would not want always to pick and sendaway the very prettiest ones to the city every morning, as thegreenhouse man did.

  There was the doctor who rode all day long behind the gray mare, makingsick folks well. David liked him, and mentally vowed that he himselfwould be a doctor sometime. Still, there was the stage-driver--Davidwas not sure but he would prefer to follow this man's profession for alife-work; for in his, one could still have the freedom of long days inthe open, and yet not be saddened by the sight of the sick before theyhad been made well--which was where the stage-driver had the better ofthe doctor, in David's opinion. There were the blacksmith and thestorekeepers, too, but to these David gave little thought or attention.

  Though he might not know what he did want to do, he knew very well whathe did not. All of which merely goes to prove that David was still onthe lookout for that great work which his father had said was waitingfor him out in the world.

  Meanwhile David played his violin. If he found a crimson rambler inbloom in a door-yard, he put it into a little melody of puredelight--that a woman in the house behind the rambler heard the musicand was cheered at her task, David did not know. If he found a kittenat play in the sunshine, he put it into a riotous abandonment oftumbling turns and trills--that a fretful baby heard and stopped itswailing, David also did not know. And once, just because the sky wasblue and the air was sweet, and it was so good to be alive, Davidlifted his bow and put it all into a rapturous paean of ringingexultation--that a sick man in a darkened chamber above the streetlifted his head, drew in his breath, and took suddenly a new lease oflife, David still again did not know. All of which merely goes to provethat David had perhaps found his work and was doing it--although yetstill again David did not know.

  It was in the cemetery one afternoon that David came upon the Lady inBlack. She was on her knees putting flowers on a little mound beforeher. She looked up as David approached. For a moment she gazedwistfully at him; then as if impelled by a hidden force, she spoke.

  "Little boy, who are you?"

  "I'm David."

  "David! David who? Do you live here? I've seen you here before."

  "Oh, yes, I've been here quite a lot of times." Purposely the boyevaded the questions. David was getting tired of questions--especiallythese questions.

  "And have you--lost one dear to you, little boy?"

  "Lost some one?"

  "I mean--is your father or mother--here?"

  "Here? Oh, no, they aren't here. My mother is an angel-mother,and my father has gone to the far country. He is waiting for me there,you know."

  "But, that's the same--that is--" She stopped helplessly, bewilderedeyes on David's serene face. Then suddenly a great light came to herown. "Oh, little boy, I wish I could understand that--just that," shebreathed. "It would make it so much easier--if I could just rememberthat they aren't here--that they're WAITING--over there!"

  But David apparently did not hear. He had turned and was playing softlyas he walked away. Silently the Lady in Black knelt, listening, lookingafter him. When she rose some time later and left the cemetery, thelight on her face was still there, deeper, more glorified.

  Toward boys and girls--especially boys--of his own age, Davidfrequently turned wistful eyes. David wanted a friend, a friend whowould know and understand; a friend who would see things as he sawthem, who would understand what he was saying when he played. It seemedto David that in some boy of his own age he ought to find such afriend. He had seen many boys--but he had not yet found the friend.David had begun to think, indeed, that of all these strange beings inthis new life of his, boys were the strangest.

  They stared and nudged each other unpleasantly when they came upon himplaying. They jeered when he tried to tell them what he had beenplaying. They had never heard of the great Orchestra of Life, and theyfell into most disconcerting fits of laughter, or else backed away asif afraid, when he told them that they themselves were instruments init, and that if they did not keep themselves in tune, there was sure tobe a discord somewhere.

  Then there were their games and frolics. Such as were played withballs, bats, and bags of beans, David thought he would like very much.But the boys only scoffed when he asked them to teach him how to play.They laughed when a dog chased a cat, and they thought it very, veryfunny when Tony, the old black man, tripped on the string they drewacross his path. They liked to throw stones and shoot guns, and themore creeping, crawling, or flying creatures that they could send tothe far country, the happier they were, apparently. Nor did they likeit at all when he asked them if they were sure all these creeping,crawling, flying creatures wanted to leave this beautiful world and tobe made dead. They sneered and called him a sissy. David did not knowwhat a sissy was; but from the way they said it, he judged i
t must beeven worse to be a sissy than to be a thief.

  And then he discovered Joe.

  David had found himself in a very strange, very unlovely neighborhoodthat afternoon. The street was full of papers and tin cans, the houseswere unspeakably forlorn with sagging blinds and lack of paint. Untidywomen and blear-eyed men leaned over the dilapidated fences, or lolledon mud-tracked doorsteps. David, his shrinking eyes turning from oneside to the other, passed slowly through the street, his violin underhis arm. Nowhere could David find here the tiniest spot of beauty to"play." He had reached quite the most forlorn little shanty on thestreet when the promise in his father's letter occurred to him. With asuddenly illumined face, he raised his violin to position and plungedinto a veritable whirl of trills and runs and tripping melodies.

  "If I didn't just entirely forget that I didn't NEED to SEE anythingbeautiful to play," laughed David softly to himself. "Why, it's alreadyright here in my violin!"

  David had passed the tumble-down shanty, and was hesitating where twostreets crossed, when he felt a light touch on his arm. He turned toconfront a small girl in a patched and faded calico dress, obviouslyoutgrown. Her eyes were wide and frightened. In the middle of heroutstretched dirty little palm was a copper cent.

  "If you please, Joe sent this--to you," she faltered.

  "To me? What for?" David stopped playing and lowered his violin.

  The little girl backed away perceptibly, though she still held out thecoin.

  "He wanted you to stay and play some more. He said to tell you he'd 'a'sent more money if he could. But he didn't have it. He just had thiscent."

  David's eyes flew wide open.

  "You mean he WANTS me to play? He likes it?" he asked joyfully.

  "Yes. He said he knew 't wa'n't much--the cent. But he thought maybeyou'd play a LITTLE for it."

  "Play? Of course I'll play" cried David. "Oh, no, I don't want themoney," he added, waving the again-proffered coin aside. "I don't needmoney where I'm living now. Where is he--the one that wanted me toplay?" he finished eagerly.

  "In there by the window. It's Joe. He's my brother." The little girl,in spite of her evident satisfaction at the accomplishment of herpurpose, yet kept quite aloof from the boy. Nor did the fact that herefused the money appear to bring her anything but uneasy surprise.

  In the window David saw a boy apparently about his own age, a boy withsandy hair, pale cheeks, and wide-open, curiously intent blue eyes.

  "Is he coming? Did you get him? Will he play?" called the boy at thewindow eagerly.

  "Yes, I'm right here. I'm the one. Can't you see the violin? Shall Iplay here or come in?" answered David, not one whit less eagerly.

  The small girl opened her lips as if to explain something; but the boyin the window did not wait.

  "Oh, come in. WILL you come in?" he cried unbelievingly. "And will youjust let me touch it--the fiddle? Come! You WILL come? See, there isn'tanybody home, only just Betty and me."

  "Of course I will!" David fairly stumbled up the broken steps in hisimpatience to reach the wide-open door. "Did you like it--what Iplayed? And did you know what I was playing? Did you understand? Couldyou see the cloud-boats up in the sky, and my Silver Lake down in thevalley? And could you hear the birds, and the winds in the trees, andthe little brooks? Could you? Oh, did you understand? I've so wanted tofind some one that could! But I wouldn't think that YOU--HERE--" With agesture, and an expression on his face that were unmistakable, Davidcame to a helpless pause.

  "There, Joe, what'd I tell you," cried the little girl, in a huskywhisper, darting to her brother's side. "Oh, why did you make me gethim here? Everybody says he's crazy as a loon, and--"

  But the boy reached out a quickly silencing hand. His face wascuriously alight, as if from an inward glow. His eyes, still widelyintent, were staring straight ahead.

  "Stop, Betty, wait," he hushed her. "Maybe--I think I DO understand.Boy, you mean--INSIDE of you, you see those things, and then you try tomake your fiddle tell what you are seeing. Is that it?"

  "Yes, yes," cried David. "Oh, you DO understand. And I never thoughtyou could. I never thought that anybody could that did n't haveanything to look at but him--but these things."

  "'Anything but these to look at'!" echoed the boy, with a suddenanguish in his voice. "Anything but these! I guess if I could seeANYTHING, I wouldn't mind WHAT I see! An' you wouldn't, neither, if youwas--blind, like me."

  "Blind!" David fell back. Face and voice were full of horror. "You meanyou can't see--anything, with your eyes?"

  "Nothin'."

  "Oh! I never saw any one blind before. There was one in a book--butfather took it away. Since then, in books down here, I've foundothers--but--"

  "Yes, yes. Well, never mind that," cut in the blind boy, growingrestive under the pity in the other's voice. "Play. Won't you?"

  "But how are you EVER going to know what a beautiful world it is?"shuddered David. "How can you know? And how can you ever play in tune?You're one of the instruments. Father said everybody was. And he saideverybody was playing SOMETHING all the time; and if you didn't play intune--"

  "Joe, Joe, please," begged the little girl "Won't you let him go? I'mafraid. I told you--"

  "Shucks, Betty! He won't hurt ye," laughed Joe, a little irritably.Then to David he turned again with some sharpness.

  "Play, won't ye? You SAID you'd play!"

  "Yes, oh, yes, I'll play," faltered David, bringing his violin hastilyto position, and testing the strings with fingers that shook a little.

  "There!" breathed Joe, settling back in his chair with a contentedsigh. "Now, play it again--what you did before."

  But David did not play what he did before--at first. There were no airycloud-boats, no far-reaching sky, no birds, or murmuring forest brooksin his music this time. There were only the poverty-stricken room, thedirty street, the boy alone at the window, with his sightless eyes--theboy who never, never would know what a beautiful world he lived in.

  Then suddenly to David came a new thought. This boy, Joe, had saidbefore that he understood. He had seemed to know that he was being toldof the sunny skies and the forest winds, the singing birds and thebabbling brooks. Perhaps again now he would understand.

  What if, for those sightless eyes, one could create a world?

  Possibly never before had David played as he played then. It was as ifupon those four quivering strings, he was laying the purple and gold ofa thousand sunsets, the rose and amber of a thousand sunrises, thegreen of a boundless earth, the blue of a sky that reached to heavenitself--to make Joe understand.

  "Gee!" breathed Joe, when the music came to an end with a crashingchord. "Say, wa'n't that just great? Won't you let me, please, justtouch that fiddle?" And David, looking into the blind boy's exaltedface, knew that Joe had indeed--understood.