On the porch long minutes later,when once more David had gone to bed,Simeon Holly said coldly to his wife:--"I suppose you realize,Ellen,just what you've pledged yourself to,by that absurd outburst of yours in the barn to-night--and all because that ungodly music and the moonshine had gone to your head!""But I want the boy,Simeon.He--he makes me think of--John."Harsh lines came to the man's mouth,but there was a perceptible shake in his voice as he answered:--"We're not talking of John,Ellen.We're talking of this irresponsible,hardly sane boy upstairs.He can work,I suppose,if he's taught,and in that way he won't perhaps be a dead loss.
Still,he's another mouth to feed,and that counts now.There's the note,you know,--it's due in August.""But you say there's money--almost enough for it--in the bank."Mrs.Holly's voice was anxiously apologetic.
"Yes,I know"vouchsafed the man."But almost enough is not quite enough.""But there's time--more than two months.It isn't due till the last of August,Simeon.""I know,I know.Meanwhile,there's the boy.What are you going to do with him?""Why,can't you use him--on the farm--a little?""Perhaps.I doubt it,though,"gloomed the man."One can't hoe corn nor pull weeds with a fiddle-bow--and that's all he seems to know how to handle.""But he can learn--and he does play beautifully,"murmured the woman;whenever before had Ellen Holly ventured to use words of argument with her husband,and in extenuation,too,of an act of her own!
There was no reply except a muttered "Humph!"under the breath.
Then Simeon Holly rose and stalked into the house.
The next day was Sunday,and Sunday at the farmhouse was a thing of stern repression and solemn silence.In Simeon Holly's veins ran the blood of the Puritans,and he was more than strict as to what he considered right and wrong.When half-trained for the ministry,ill-health had forced him to resort to a less confining life,though never had it taken from him the uncompromising rigor of his views.It was a distinct shock to him,therefore,on this Sunday morning to be awakened by a peal of music such as the little house had never known before.All the while that he was thrusting his indignant self into his clothing,the runs and turns and crashing chords whirled about him until it seemed that a whole orchestra must be imprisoned in the little room over the kitchen,so skillful was the boy's double stopping.Simeon Holly was white with anger when he finally hurried down the hall and threw open David's bedroom door.
"Boy,what do you mean by this?"he demanded.
David laughed gleefully.
"And didn't you know?"he asked."Why,I thought my music would tell you.I was so happy,so glad!The birds in the trees woke me up singing,'You're wanted--you're wanted;'and the sun came over the hill there and said,'You're wanted--you're wanted;'and the little tree-branch tapped on my window pane and said "You're wanted--you're wanted!'And I just had to take up my violin and tell you about it!""But it's Sunday--the Lord's Day,"remonstrated the man sternly.
David stood motionless,his eyes questioning.
"Are you quite a heathen,then?"catechised the man sharply.
"Have they never told you anything about God,boy?""Oh,'God'?--of course,"smiled David,in open relief."God wraps up the buds in their little brown blankets,and covers the roots with--""I am not talking about brown blankets nor roots,"interrupted the man severely."This is God's day,and as such should be kept holy.""'Holy'?"
"Yes.You should not fiddle nor laugh nor sing.""But those are good things,and beautiful things,"defended David,his eyes wide and puzzled.
"In their place,perhaps,"conceded the man,stiffly."but not on God's day.""You mean--He wouldn't like them?"
"Yes."
