"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 I
made 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