full, and tell of the beautiful world, as his father had said
that it must do? David quite cried aloud at the thought. Then he
thought of something else that his father had said: "Remember
this, my boy,--in your violin lie all the things you long for.
You have only to play, and the broad skies of your mountain home
will be over you, and the dear friends and comrades of your
mountain forests will be all about you." With a quick cry David
raised his violin and drew the bow across the strings.

Back on the porch at that moment Mrs. Holly was saying:--

"Of course there's the orphan asylum, or maybe the poorhouse--if
they'd take him; but--Simeon," she broke off sharply, "where's
that child playing now?"

Simeon listened with intent ears.

"In the barn, I should say."

"But he'd gone to bed!"

"And he'll go to bed again," asserted Simeon Holly grimly, as he
rose to his feet and stalked across the moonlit yard to the barn.

As before, Mrs. Holly followed him, and as before, both
involuntarily paused just inside the barn door to listen. No runs
and trills and rollicking bits of melody floated down the
stairway to-night. The notes were long-drawn, and plaintively
sweet; and they rose and swelled and died almost into silence
while the man and the woman by the door stood listening.