Just David

  CHAPTER VII

  "YOU'RE WANTED--YOU'RE WANTED!"

  It was Saturday night, and the end of David's third day at thefarmhouse. Upstairs, in the hot little room over the kitchen, the boyknelt at the window and tried to find a breath of cool air from thehills. Downstairs on the porch Simeon Holly and his wife discussed theevents of the past few days, and talked of what should be done withDavid.

  "But what shall we do with him?" moaned Mrs. Holly at last, breaking along 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 stoppedshort. David, violin in hand, had fled from the little hot room, andstood now just inside the kitchen door.

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

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

  David was frightened and heartsick. NOBODY WANTED HIM. He had heard itwith his own ears, so there was no mistake. What now about all thoselong days and nights ahead before he might go, violin in hand, to meethis father in that far-away country? How was he to live those days andnights if nobody wanted him? How was his violin to speak in a voicethat was true and pure and full, and tell of the beautiful world, ashis father had said that it must do? David quite cried aloud at thethought. Then he thought of something else that his father had said:"Remember this, my boy,--in your violin lie all the things you longfor. You have only to play, and the broad skies of your mountain homewill be over you, and the dear friends and comrades of your mountainforests will be all about you." With a quick cry David raised hisviolin 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'dtake him; but--Simeon," she broke off sharply, "where's that childplaying 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 roseto his feet and stalked across the moonlit yard to the barn.

  As before, Mrs. Holly followed him, and as before, both involuntarilypaused just inside the barn door to listen. No runs and trills androllicking bits of melody floated down the stairway to-night. The noteswere long-drawn, and plaintively sweet; and they rose and swelled anddied almost into silence while the man and the woman by the door stoodlistening.

  They were back in the long ago--Simeon Holly and his wife--back with aboy of their own who had made those same rafters ring with shouts oflaughter, and who, also, had played the violin--though not like this;and the same thought had come to each: "What if, after all, it wereJohn playing all alone in the moonlight!"

  It had not been the violin, in the end, that had driven John Holly fromhome. It had been the possibilities in a piece of crayon. All throughchildhood the boy had drawn his beloved "pictures" on every invitingspace that offered,--whether it were the "best-room" wall-paper, or thefly leaf of the big plush album,--and at eighteen he had announced hisdetermination to be an artist. For a year after that Simeon Hollyfought with all the strength of a stubborn will, banished chalk andcrayon from the house, and set the boy to homely tasks that left notime for anything but food and sleep--then John ran away.

  That was fifteen years ago, and they had not seen him since; though twounanswered letters in Simeon Holly's desk testified that perhaps this,at least, was not the boy's fault.

  It was not of the grown-up John, the willful boy and runaway son,however, that Simeon Holly and his wife were thinking, as they stoodjust inside the barn door; it was of Baby John, the little curly-headedfellow that had played at their knees, frolicked in this very barn, andnestled in their arms when the day was done.

  Mrs. Holly spoke first--and it was not as she had spoken on the porch.

  "Simeon," she began tremulously, "that dear child must go to bed!" Andshe hurried across the floor and up the stairs, followed by herhusband. "Come, David," she said, as she reached the top; "it's timelittle boys were asleep! Come!"

  Her voice was low, and not quite steady. To David her voice sounded asher eyes looked when there was in them the far-away something thathurt. Very slowly he came forward into the moonlight, his gazesearching the woman's face long and earnestly.

  "And do you--want me?" he faltered.

  The woman drew in her breath with a little sob. Before her stood theslender figure in the yellow-white gown--John's gown. Into her eyeslooked those other eyes, dark and wistful,--like John's eyes. And herarms ached with emptiness.

  "Yes, yes, for my very own--and for always!" she cried with suddenpassion, clasping the little form close. "For always!"

  And David sighed his content.

  Simeon Holly's lips parted, but they closed again with no words said.The man turned then, with a curiously baffled look, and stalked downthe stairs.

  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, bythat absurd outburst of yours in the barn to-night--and all becausethat 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 shakein 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, andin that way he won't perhaps be a dead loss. Still, he's another mouthto feed, and that counts now. There's the note, you know,--it's due inAugust."

  "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 quiteenough."

  "But there's time--more than two months. It isn't due till the last ofAugust, Simeon."

  "I know, I know. Meanwhile, there's the boy. What are you going to dowith 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 norpull weeds with a fiddle-bow--and that's all he seems to know how tohandle."

  "But he can learn--and he does play beautifully," murmured the woman;whenever before had Ellen Holly ventured to use words of argument withher husband, and in extenuation, too, of an act of her own!

  There was no reply except a muttered "Humph!" under the breath. ThenSimeon Holly rose and stalked into the house.

  The next day was Sunday, and Sunday at the farmhouse was a thing ofstern repression and solemn silence. In Simeon Holly's veins ran theblood of the Puritans, and he was more than strict as to what heconsidered right and wrong. When half-trained for the ministry,ill-health had forced him to resort to a less confining life, thoughnever had it taken from him the uncompromising rigor of his views. Itwas a distinct shock to him, therefore, on this Sunday morning to beawakened by a peal of music such as the little house had never knownbefore. All the while that he was thrusting his indignant self into hisclothing, the runs and turns and crashing chords whirled about himuntil it seemed that a whole orchestra must be imprisoned in the littleroom over the kitchen, so skillful was the boy's double stopping.Simeon Holly was white with anger when he finally hurried down the halland 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 tellyou. I was so happy, so glad! The birds in the trees woke me upsinging, 'You're wanted--you're wanted;' and the sun came over the hillthere and said, 'You're wanted--you're wanted;' and the littletree-branch tapped on my window pane and said 'You're wanted--you'rewanted!' 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 theynever told you anything about God, boy?"

  "Oh, 'God'?--of course," smiled David, in open relief. "God wraps upthe buds in their little brown blankets, and covers the roots with--"

  "I am not talking about brown blankets nor roots," interrupted the manseverely. "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, hiseyes wide and puzzled.

  "In their place, perhaps," conceded the man, stiffly, "but not on God'sday."

  "You mean--He wouldn't like them?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh!"--and David's face cleared. "That's all right, then. Your Godisn't the same one, sir, for mine loves all beautiful things every dayin the year."

  There was a moment's silence. For the first time in his life SimeonHolly found himself without words.

  "We won't talk of this any more, David," he said at last; "but we'llput it another way--I don't wish you to play your fiddle on Sunday.Now, put it up till to-morrow." And he turned and went down the hall.

  Breakfast was a very quiet meal that morning. Meals were never thingsof hilarious joy at the Holly farmhouse, as David had already foundout; but he had not seen one before quite so somber as this. It wasfollowed immediately by a half-hour of Scripture-reading and prayer,with Mrs. Holly and Perry Larson sitting very stiff and solemn in theirchairs, while Mr. Holly read. David tried to sit very stiff and solemnin his chair, also; but the roses at the window were nodding theirheads and beckoning; and the birds in the bushes beyond were sending tohim coaxing little chirps of "Come out, come out!" And how could oneexpect to sit stiff and solemn in the face of all that, particularlywhen one's fingers were tingling to take up the interrupted song of themorning and tell the whole world how beautiful it was to be wanted!

  Yet David sat very still,--or as still as he could sit,--and only thetapping of his foot, and the roving of his wistful eyes told that hismind was not with Farmer Holly and the Children of Israel in theirwanderings in the wilderness.

  After the devotions came an hour of subdued haste and confusion whilethe family prepared for church. David had never been to church. Heasked Perry Larson what it was like; but Perry only shrugged hisshoulders and said, to nobody, apparently:--

  "Sugar! Won't ye hear that, now?"--which to David was certainly noanswer at all.

  That one must be spick and span to go to church, David soon foundout--never before had he been so scrubbed and brushed and combed. Therewas, too, brought out for him to wear a little clean white blouse and ared tie, over which Mrs. Holly cried a little as she had over thenightshirt that first evening.

  The church was in the village only a quarter of a mile away; and in duetime David, open-eyed and interested, was following Mr. and Mrs. Hollydown its long center aisle. The Hollys were early as usual, and servicehad not begun. Even the organist had not taken his seat beneath thegreat pipes of blue and gold that towered to the ceiling.

  It was the pride of the town--that organ. It had been given by a greatman (out in the world) whose birthplace the town was. More than that, ayearly donation from this same great man paid for the skilled organistwho came every Sunday from the city to play it. To-day, as the organisttook his seat, he noticed a new face in the Holly pew, and he almostgave a friendly smile as he met the wondering gaze of the small boythere; then he lost himself, as usual, in the music before him.

  Down in the Holly pew the small boy held his breath. A score of violinswere singing in his ears; and a score of other instruments that hecould not name, crashed over his head, and brought him to his feet inecstasy. Before a detaining hand could stop him, he was out in theaisle, his eyes on the blue-and-gold pipes from which seemed to comethose wondrous sounds. Then his gaze fell on the man and on the banksof keys; and with soft steps he crept along the aisle and up the stairsto the organ-loft.

  For long minutes he stood motionless, listening; then the music diedinto silence and the minister rose for the invocation. It was a boy'svoice, and not a man's, however, that broke the pause.

  "Oh, sir, please," it said, "would you--could you teach ME to do that?"

  The organist choked over a cough, and the soprano reached out and drewDavid to her side, whispering something in his ear. The minister, aftera dazed silence, bowed his head; while down in the Holly pew an angryman and a sorely mortified woman vowed that, before David came tochurch again, he should have learned some things.