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Just David by Eleanor H. (Eleanor Hodgman) Porter
page 7 of 266 (02%)
express.

Across the valley the grays and blues of the mountains had become
all purples now. Above, the sky in one vast flame of crimson and
gold, was a molten sea on which floated rose-pink cloud-boats.
Below, the valley with its lake and river picked out in rose and
gold against the shadowy greens of field and forest, seemed like
some enchanted fairyland of loveliness.

And all this was in David's violin, and all this, too, was on
David's uplifted, rapturous face.

As the last rose-glow turned to gray and the last strain quivered
into silence, the man spoke. His voice was almost harsh with
self-control.

"David, the time has come. We'll have to give it up--you and I."

The boy turned wonderingly, his face still softly luminous.

"Give what up?"

"This--all this."

"This! Why, father, what do you mean? This is home!"

The man nodded wearily.

"I know. It has been home; but, David, you didn't think we could
always live here, like this, did you?"
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