"But what shall we do with him?" moaned Mrs. Holly at last,
breaking a long silence that had fallen between them. "What can
we do with him? Doesn't anybody want him?"

"No, of course, nobody wants him," retorted her husband
relentlessly.

And at the words a small figure in a yellow-white nightshirt
stopped short. David, violin in hand, had fled from the little
hot room, and stood now just inside the kitchen door.

"Who can want a child that has been brought up in that heathenish
fashion?" continued Simeon Holly. "According to his own story,
even his father did nothing but play the fiddle and tramp through
the woods day in and day out, with an occasional trip to the
mountain village to get food and clothing when they had
absolutely nothing to eat and wear. Of course nobody wants him!"

David, at the kitchen door, caught his breath chokingly. Then he
sped across the floor to the back hall, and on through the long
sheds to the hayloft in the barn--the place where his father
seemed always nearest.

David was frightened and heartsick. NOBODY WANTED HIM. He had
heard it with his own ears, so there was no mistake. What now
about all those long days and nights ahead before he might go,
violin in hand, to meet his father in that far-away country? How
was he to live those days and nights if nobody wanted him? How
was his violin to speak in a voice that was true and pure and