CHAPTER XIII
A SURPRISE FOR MR. JACK
Life at the Holly farmhouse was not what it had been. The coming ofDavid had introduced new elements that promised complications. Notbecause he was another mouth to feed--Simeon Holly was not worryingabout that part any longer. Crops showed good promise, and all ready inthe bank even now was the necessary money to cover the dreaded note,due the last of August. The complicating elements in regard to Davidwere of quite another nature.
To Simeon Holly the boy was a riddle to be sternly solved. To EllenHolly he was an everpresent reminder of the little boy of long ago, andas such was to be loved and trained into a semblance of what that boymight have become. To Perry Larson, David was the "derndestcheckerboard of sense an' nonsense goin'"--a game over which to chuckle.
At the Holly farmhouse they could not understand a boy who would leavea supper for a sunset, or who preferred a book to a toy pistol--asPerry Larson found out was the case on the Fourth of July; who pickedflowers, like a girl, for the table, yet who unhesitatingly struck thefirst blow in a fight with six antagonists: who would not go fishingbecause the fishes would not like it, nor hunting for any sort of wildthing that had life; who hung entranced for an hour over the "millionsof lovely striped bugs" in a field of early potatoes, and who promptlyand stubbornly refused to sprinkle those same "lovely bugs" with Parisgreen when discovered at his worship. All this was most perplexing, tosay the least.
Yet David worked, and worked well, and in most cases he obeyed orderswillingly. He learned much, too, that was interesting and profitable;nor was he the only one that made strange discoveries during those Julydays. The Hollys themselves learned much. They learned that the rose ofsunset and the gold of sunrise were worth looking at; and that themassing of the thunderheads in the west meant more than just a shower.They learned, too, that the green of the hilltop and of thefar-reaching meadow was more than grass, and that the purple haze alongthe horizon was more than the mountains that lay between them and thenext State. They were beginning to see the world with David's eyes.
There were, too, the long twilights and evenings when David, on thewings of his violin, would speed away to his mountain home, leavingbehind him a man and a woman who seemed to themselves to be listeningto the voice of a curly-headed, rosy-cheeked lad who once played attheir knees and nestled in their arms when the day was done. And here,too, the Hollys were learning; though the thing thus learned was hiddendeep in their hearts.
It was not long after David's first visit that the boy went again to"The House that Jack Built," as the Gurnseys called their tiny home.(Though in reality it had been Jack's father who had built the house.Jack and Jill, however, did not always deal with realities.) It was nota pleasant afternoon. There was a light mist in the air, and David waswithout his violin.
"I came to--to inquire for the cat--Juliette," he began, a littlebashfully. "I thought I'd rather do that than read to-day," heexplained to Jill in the doorway.
"Good! I'm so glad! I hoped you'd come," the little girl welcomed him."Come in and--and see Juliette," she added hastily, remembering at thelast moment that her brother had not looked with entire favor on heravowed admiration for this strange little boy.
Juliette, roused from her nap, was at first inclined to resent hervisitor's presence. In five minutes, however, she was purring in hislap.
The conquest of the kitten once accomplished, David looked about him alittle restlessly. He began to wonder why he had come. He wished he hadgone to see Joe Glaspell instead. He wished that Jill would not sit andstare at him like that. He wished that she would saysomething--anything. But Jill, apparently struck dumb withembarrassment, was nervously twisting the corner of her apron into alittle knot. David tried to recollect what he had talked about a fewdays before, and he wondered why he had so enjoyed himself then. Hewished that something would happen--anything!--and then from an innerroom came the sound of a violin.
David raised his head.
"It's Jack," stammered the little girl--who also had been wishingsomething would happen. "He plays, same as you do, on the violin."
"Does he?" beamed David. "But--" He paused, listening, a quick frown onhis face.
Over and over the violin was playing a single phrase--and thevariations in the phrase showed the indecision of the fingers and ofthe mind that controlled them. Again and again with irritatingsameness, yet with a still more irritating difference, came thesuccession of notes. And then David sprang to his feet, placingJuliette somewhat unceremoniously on the floor, much to that pettedyoung autocrat's disgust.
"Here, where is he? Let me show him," cried the boy, and at the note ofcommand in his voice, Jill involuntarily rose and opened the door toJack's den.
"Oh, please, Mr. Jack," burst out David, hurrying into the room. "Don'tyou see? You don't go at that thing right. If you'll just let me showyou a minute, we'll have it fixed in no time!"
The man with the violin stared, and lowered his bow. A slow red came tohis face. The phrase was peculiarly a difficult one, and beyond him, ashe knew; but that did not make the present intrusion into his privacyany the more welcome.
"Oh, will we, indeed!" he retorted, a little sharply. "Don't troubleyourself, I beg of you, boy."
"But it isn't a mite of trouble, truly," urged David, with an ardorthat ignored the sarcasm in the other's words. "I WANT to do it."
Despite his annoyance, the man gave a short laugh.
"Well, David, I believe you. And I'll warrant you'd tackle this Brahmsconcerto as nonchalantly as you did those six hoodlums with the cat theother day--and expect to win out, too!"
"But, truly, this is easy, when you know how," laughed the boy. "See!"
To his surprise, the man found himself relinquishing the violin and bowinto the slim, eager hands that reached for them. The next moment hefell back in amazement. Clear, distinct, yet connected like a string ofrounded pearls fell the troublesome notes from David's bow. "You see,"smiled the boy again, and played the phrase a second time, more slowly,and with deliberate emphasis at the difficult part. Then, as if inanswer to some irresistible summons within him, he dashed into the nextphrase and, with marvelous technique, played quite through the ripplingcadenza that completed the movement.
"Well, by George!" breathed the man dazedly, as he took the offeredviolin. The next moment he had demanded vehemently: "For Heaven's sake,who ARE you, boy?"
David's face wrinkled in grieved surprise.
"Why, I'm David. Don't you remember? I was here just the other day!"
"Yes, yes; but who taught you to play like that?"
"Father."
"'Father'!" The man echoed the word with a gesture of comic despair."First Latin, then jiujitsu, and now the violin! Boy, who was yourfather?"
David lifted his head and frowned a little. He had been questioned sooften, and so unsympathetically, about his father that he was beginningto resent it.
"He was daddy--just daddy; and I loved him dearly."
"But what was his name?"
"I don't know. We didn't seem to have a name like--like yours downhere. Anyway, if we did, I didn't know what it was."
"But, David,"--the man was speaking very gently now. He had motionedthe boy to a low seat by his side. The little girl was standing near,her eyes alight with wondering interest. "He must have had a name, youknow, just the same. Didn't you ever hear any one call him anything?Think, now."
"No." David said the single word, and turned his eyes away. It hadoccurred to him, since he had come to live in the valley, that perhapshis father did not want to have his name known. He remembered that oncethe milk-and-eggs boy had asked what to call him; and his father hadlaughed and answered: "I don't see but you'll have to call me 'The OldMan of the Mountain,' as they do down in the village." That was theonly time David could recollect hearing his father say anything abouthis name. At the time David had not thought much about it. But sincethen, down here where they appeared to think a name was so important,he had wondered if possibly his fat
her had not preferred to keep his tohimself. If such were the case, he was glad now that he did not knowthis name, so that he might not have to tell all these inquisitivepeople who asked so many questions about it. He was glad, too, thatthose men had not been able to read his father's name at the end of hisother note that first morning--if his father really did not wish hisname to be known.
"But, David, think. Where you lived, wasn't there ever anybody whocalled him by name?"
David shook his head.
"I told you. We were all alone, father and I, in the little house farup on the mountain."
"And--your mother?" Again David shook his head.
"She is an angel-mother, and angel-mothers don't live in houses, youknow."
There was a moment's pause; then gently the man asked:--
"And you always lived there?"
"Six years, father said."
"And before that?"
"I don't remember." There was a touch of injured reserve in the boy'svoice which the man was quick to perceive. He took the hint at once.
"He must have been a wonderful man--your father!" he exclaimed.
The boy turned, his eyes luminous with feeling.
"He was--he was perfect! But they--down here--don't seem to know--orcare," he choked.
"Oh, but that's because they don't understand," soothed the man. "Now,tell me--you must have practiced a lot to play like that."
"I did--but I liked it."
"And what else did you do? and how did you happen to come--down here?"
Once again David told his story, more fully, perhaps, this time thanever before, because of the sympathetic ears that were listening.
"But now" he finished wistfully, "it's all, so different, and I'm downhere alone. Daddy went, you know, to the far country; and he can't comeback from there."
"Who told you--that?"
"Daddy himself. He wrote it to me."
"Wrote it to you!" cried the man, sitting suddenly erect.
"Yes. It was in his pocket, you see. They--found it." David's voice wasvery low, and not quite steady.
"David, may I see--that letter?"
The boy hesitated; then slowly he drew it from his pocket.
"Yes, Mr. Jack. I'll let YOU see it."
Reverently, tenderly, but very eagerly the man took the note and readit through, hoping somewhere to find a name that would help solve themystery. With a sigh he handed it back. His eyes were wet.
"Thank you, David. That is a beautiful letter," he said softly. "And Ibelieve you'll do it some day, too. You'll go to him with your violinat your chin and the bow drawn across the strings to tell him of thebeautiful world you have found."
"Yes, sir," said David simply. Then, with a suddenly radiant smile:"And NOW I can't help finding it a beautiful world, you know, 'cause Idon't count the hours I don't like."
"You don't what?--oh, I remember," returned Mr. Jack, a quick changecoming to his face.
"Yes, the sundial, you know, where my Lady of the Roses lives."
"Jack, what is a sundial?" broke in Jill eagerly.
Jack turned, as if in relief.
"Hullo, girlie, you there?--and so still all this time? Ask David.He'll tell you what a sundial is. Suppose, anyhow, that you two go outon the piazza now. I've got--er-some work to do. And the sun itself isout; see?--through the trees there. It came out just to say'good-night,' I'm sure. Run along, quick!" And he playfully drove themfrom the room.
Alone, he turned and sat down at his desk. His work was before him, buthe did not do it. His eyes were out of the window on the golden tops ofthe towers of Sunnycrest. Motionless, he watched them until they turnedgray-white in the twilight. Then he picked up his pencil and began towrite feverishly. He went to the window, however, as David stepped offthe veranda, and called merrily:--
"Remember, boy, that when there's another note that baffles me, I'mgoing to send for you."
"He's coming anyhow. I asked him," announced Jill.
And David laughed back a happy "Of course I am!"
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