CHAPTER IV
TWO LETTERS
In the early gray dawn David awoke. His first sensation was thephysical numbness and stiffness that came from his hard bed on thefloor.
"Why, daddy," he began, pulling himself half-erect, "I slept all nighton--" He stopped suddenly, brushing his eyes with the backs of hishands. "Why, daddy, where--" Then full consciousness came to him.
With a low cry he sprang to his feet and ran to the window. Through thetrees he could see the sunrise glow of the eastern sky. Down in theyard no one was in sight; but the barn door was open, and, with a quickindrawing of his breath, David turned back into the room and began tothrust himself into his clothing.
The gold in his sagging pockets clinked and jingled musically; and oncehalf a dozen pieces rolled out upon the floor. For a moment the boylooked as if he were going to let them remain where they were. But thenext minute, with an impatient gesture, he had picked them up andthrust them deep into one of his pockets, silencing their jingling withhis handkerchief.
Once dressed, David picked up his violin and stepped softly into thehall. At first no sound reached his ears; then from the kitchen belowcame the clatter of brisk feet and the rattle of tins and crockery.Tightening his clasp on the violin, David slipped quietly down the backstairs and out to the yard. It was only a few seconds then before hewas hurrying through the open doorway of the barn and up the narrowstairway to the loft above.
At the top, however, he came to a sharp pause, with a low cry. The nextmoment he turned to see a kindly-faced man looking up at him from thefoot of the stairs.
"Oh, sir, please--please, where is he? What have you done with him?"appealed the boy, almost plunging headlong down the stairs in his hasteto reach the bottom.
Into the man's weather-beaten face came a look of sincere but awkwardsympathy.
"Oh, hullo, sonny! So you're the boy, are ye?" he began diffidently.
"Yes, yes, I'm David. But where is he--my father, you know? I meanthe--the part he--he left behind him?" choked the boy. "The partlike--the ice-coat?"
The man stared. Then, involuntarily, he began to back away.
"Well, ye see, I--I--"
"But, maybe you don't know," interrupted David feverishly. "You aren'tthe man I saw last night. Who are you? Where is he--the other one,please?"
"No, I--I wa'n't here--that is, not at the first," spoke up the manquickly, still unconsciously backing away. "Me--I'm only Larson, PerryLarson, ye know. 'T was Mr. Holly you see last night--him that I worksfor."
"Then, where is Mr. Holly, please?" faltered the boy, hurrying towardthe barn door. "Maybe he would know--about father. Oh, there he is!"And David ran out of the barn and across the yard to the kitchen porch.
It was an unhappy ten minutes that David spent then. Besides Mr. Holly,there were Mrs. Holly, and the man, Perry Larson. And they all talked.But little of what they said could David understand. To none of hisquestions could he obtain an answer that satisfied.
Neither, on his part, could he seem to reply to their questions in away that pleased them.
They went in to breakfast then, Mr. and Mrs. Holly, and the man, PerryLarson. They asked David to go--at least, Mrs. Holly asked him. ButDavid shook his head and said "No, no, thank you very much; I'd rathernot, if you please--not now." Then he dropped himself down on the stepsto think. As if he could EAT--with that great choking lump in histhroat that refused to be swallowed!
David was thoroughly dazed, frightened, and dismayed. He knew now thatnever again in this world would he see his dear father, or hear himspeak. This much had been made very clear to him during the last tenminutes. Why this should be so, or what his father would want him todo, he could not seem to find out. Not until now had he realized at allwhat this going away of his father was to mean to him. And he toldhimself frantically that he could not have it so. HE COULD NOT HAVE ITSO! But even as he said the words, he knew that it was so--irrevocablyso.
David began then to long for his mountain home. There at leasthe would have his dear forest all about him, with the birds and thesquirrels and the friendly little brooks. There he would have hisSilver Lake to look at, too, and all of them would speak to him of hisfather. He believed, indeed, that up there it would almost seem as ifhis father were really with him. And, anyway, if his father ever shouldcome back, it would be there that he would be sure to seek him--upthere in the little mountain home so dear to them both. Back to thecabin he would go now, then. Yes; indeed he would!
With a low word and a passionately intent expression, David got to hisfeet, picked up his violin, and hurried, firm-footed, down the drivewayand out upon the main highway, turning in the direction from whence hehad come with his father the night before.
The Hollys had just finished breakfast when Higgins, the coroner, droveinto the yard accompanied by William Streeter, the town's mostprominent farmer,--and the most miserly one, if report was to becredited.
"Well, could you get anything out of the boy?" demanded Higgins,without ceremony, as Simeon Holly and Larson appeared on the kitchenporch.
"Very little. Really nothing of importance," answered Simeon Holly.
"Where is he now?"
"Why, he was here on the steps a few minutes ago." Simeon Holly lookedabout him a bit impatiently.
"Well, I want to see him. I've got a letter for him."
"A letter!" exclaimed Simeon Holly and Larson in amazed unison.
"Yes. Found it in his father's pocket," nodded the coroner, with allthe tantalizing brevity of a man who knows he has a choice morsel ofinformation that is eagerly awaited. "It's addressed to 'My boy David,'so I calculated we'd better give it to him first without reading it,seeing it's his. After he reads it, though, I want to see it. I want tosee if what it says is any nearer being horse-sense than the other oneis."
"The other one!" exclaimed the amazed chorus again.
"Oh, yes, there's another one," spoke up William Streeter tersely. "AndI've read it--all but the scrawl at the end. There couldn't anybodyread that!" Higgins laughed.
"Well, I'm free to confess 't is a sticker--that name," he admitted."And it's the name we want, of course, to tell us who they are--sinceit seems the boy don't know, from what you said last night. I was inhopes, by this morning, you'd have found out more from him."
Simeon Holly shook his head.
"'T was impossible."
"Gosh! I should say 't was," cut in Perry Larson, with emphasis. "An'queer ain't no name for it. One minute he'd be talkin' good commonsense like anybody: an' the next he'd be chatterin' of coats made o'ice, an' birds an' squirrels an' babbling brooks. He sure is dippy!Listen. He actually don't seem ter know the diff'rence between himselfan' his fiddle. We was tryin' ter find out this mornin' what he coulddo, an' what he wanted ter do, when if he didn't up an' say that hisfather told him it didn't make so much diff'rence WHAT he did so longas he kept hisself in tune an' didn't strike false notes. Now, what doyer think o' that?"
"Yes, I, know" nodded Higgins musingly. "There WAS something queerabout them, and they weren't just ordinary tramps. Did I tell you? Iovertook them last night away up on the Fairbanks road by the Taylorplace, and I gave 'em a lift. I particularly noticed what a decent sortthey were. They were clean and quiet-spoken, and their clothes weregood, even if they were rough. Yet they didn't have any baggage butthem fiddles."
"But what was that second letter you mentioned?" asked Simeon Holly.
Higgins smiled oddly, and reached into his pocket.
"The letter? Oh, you're welcome to read the letter," he said, as hehanded over a bit of folded paper.
Simeon took it gingerly and examined it.
It was a leaf torn apparently from a note book. It was folded threetimes, and bore on the outside the superscription "To whom it mayconcern." The handwriting was peculiar, irregular, and not verylegible. But as near as it could be deciphered, the note ran thus:--
Now that the time has come when I must give David back to the world, Ihave set out for that purpose.<
br />
But I am ill--very ill, and should Death have swifter feet than I, Imust leave my task for others to complete. Deal gently with him. Heknows only that which is good and beautiful. He knows nothing of sinnor evil.
Then followed the signature--a thing of scrawls and flourishes thatconveyed no sort of meaning to Simeon Holly's puzzled eyes.
"Well?" prompted Higgins expectantly.
Simeon Holly shook his head.
"I can make little of it. It certainly is a most remarkable note."
"Could you read the name?"
"No."
"Well, I couldn't. Neither could half a dozen others that's seen it.But where's the boy? Mebbe his note'll talk sense."
"I'll go find him," volunteered Larson. "He must be somewheres 'round."
But David was very evidently not "somewheres 'round." At least he wasnot in the barn, the shed, the kitchen bedroom, nor anywhere else thatLarson looked; and the man was just coming back with a crestfallen,perplexed frown, when Mrs. Holly hurried out on to the porch.
"Mr. Higgins," she cried, in obvious excitement, "your wife has justtelephoned that her sister Mollie has just telephoned HER that thatlittle tramp boy with the violin is at her house."
"At Mollie's!" exclaimed Higgins. "Why, that's a mile or more fromhere."
"So that's where he is!" interposed Larson, hurrying forward. "Doggonethe little rascal! He must 'a' slipped away while we was eatin'breakfast."
"Yes. But, Simeon,--Mr. Higgins,--we hadn't ought to let him go likethat," appealed Mrs. Holly tremulously. "Your wife said Mollie said shefound him crying at the crossroads, because he didn't know which way totake. He said he was going back home. He means to that wretched cabinon the mountain, you know; and we can't let him do that alone--a childlike that!"
"Where is he now?" demanded Higgins.
"In Mollie's kitchen eating bread and milk; but she said she had anawful time getting him to eat. And she wants to know what to do withhim. That's why she telephoned your wife. She thought you ought to knowhe was there."
"Yes, of course. Well, tell her to tell him to come back."
"Mollie said she tried to have him come back, but that he said, no,thank you, he'd rather not. He was going home where his father couldfind him if he should ever want him. Mr. Higgins, we--we CAN'T let himgo off like that. Why, the child would die up there alone in thosedreadful woods, even if he could get there in the first place--which Ivery much doubt."
"Yes, of course, of course," muttered Higgins, with a thoughtful frown."There's his letter, too. Say!" he added, brightening, "what'll you betthat letter won't fetch him? He seems to think the world and all of hisdaddy. Here," he directed, turning to Mrs. Holly, "you tell my wife totell--better yet, you telephone Mollie yourself, please, and tell herto tell the boy we've got a letter here for him from his father, and hecan have it if he'll come back.".
"I will, I will," called Mrs. Holly, over her shoulder, as she hurriedinto the house. In an unbelievably short time she was back, her facebeaming.
"He's started, so soon," she nodded. "He's crazy with joy, Mollie said.He even left part of his breakfast, he was in such a hurry. So I guesswe'll see him all right."
"Oh, yes, we'll see him all right," echoed Simeon Holly grimly. "Butthat isn't telling what we'll do with him when we do see him."
"Oh, well, maybe this letter of his will help us out on that,"suggested Higgins soothingly. "Anyhow, even if it doesn't, I'm notworrying any. I guess some one will want him--a good healthy boy likethat."
"Did you find any money on the body?" asked Streeter.
"A little change--a few cents. Nothing to count. If the boy's letterdoesn't tell us where any of their folks are, it'll be up to the townto bury him all right."
"He had a fiddle, didn't he? And the boy had one, too. Wouldn't theybring anything?" Streeter's round blue eyes gleamed shrewdly.
Higgins gave a slow shake of his head.
"Maybe--if there was a market for 'em. But who'd buy 'em? There ain't asoul in town plays but Jack Gurnsey; and he's got one. Besides, he'ssick, and got all he can do to buy bread and butter for him and hissister without taking in more fiddles, I guess. HE wouldn't buy 'em."
"Hm--m; maybe not, maybe not," grunted Streeter. "An', as you say, he'sthe only one that's got any use for 'em here; an' like enough theyain't worth much, anyway. So I guess 't is up to the town all right."
"Yes; but--if yer'll take it from me,"--interrupted Larson,--"you'll bewise if ye keep still before the boy. It's no use ASKIN' him anythin'.We've proved that fast enough. An' if he once turns 'round an' beginster ask YOU questions, yer done for!"
"I guess you're right," nodded Higgins, with a quizzical smile. "And aslong as questioning CAN'T do any good, why, we'll just keep whistbefore the boy. Meanwhile I wish the little rascal would hurry up andget here. I want to see the inside of that letter to HIM. I'm relyingon that being some help to unsnarl this tangle of telling who they are."
"Well, he's started," reiterated Mrs. Holly, as she turned back intothe house; "so I guess he'll get here if you wait long enough."
"Oh, yes, he'll get here if we wait long enough," echoed Simeon Hollyagain, crustily.
The two men in the wagon settled themselves more comfortably in theirseats, and Perry Larson, after a half-uneasy, half-apologetic glance athis employer, dropped himself onto the bottom step. Simeon Holly hadalready sat down stiffly in one of the porch chairs. Simeon Holly never"dropped himself" anywhere. Indeed, according to Perry Larson, if therewere a hard way to do a thing, Simeon Holly found it--and did it. Thefact that, this morning, he had allowed, and was still allowing, thesacred routine of the day's work to be thus interrupted, for nothingmore important than the expected arrival of a strolling urchin, wassomething Larson would not have believed had he not seen it. Even nowhe was conscious once or twice of an involuntary desire to rub his eyesto make sure they were not deceiving him.
Impatient as the waiting men were for the arrival of David, they wereyet almost surprised, so soon did he appear, running up the driveway.
"Oh, where is it, please?" he panted. "They said you had a letter forme from daddy!"
"You're right, sonny; we have. And here it is," answered Higginspromptly, holding out the folded paper.
Plainly eager as he was, David did not open the note till he had firstcarefully set down the case holding his violin; then he devoured itwith eager eyes.
As he read, the four men watched his face. They saw first the quicktears that had to be blinked away. Then they saw the radiant glow thatgrew and deepened until the whole boyish face was aflame with thesplendor of it. They saw the shining wonder of his eyes, too, as helooked up from the letter.
"And daddy wrote this to me from the far country?" he breathed.
Simeon Holly scowled. Larson choked over a stifled chuckle. WilliamStreeter stared and shrugged his shoulders; but Higgins flushed a dullred.
"No, sonny," he stammered. "We found it on the--er--I mean,it--er--your father left it in his pocket for you," finished the man, alittle explosively.
A swift shadow crossed the boy's face.
"Oh, I hoped I'd heard--" he began. Then suddenly he stopped, his faceonce more alight. "But it's 'most the same as if he wrote it fromthere, isn't it? He left it for me, and he told me what to do."
"What's that, what's that?" cried Higgins, instantly alert. "DID hetell you what to do? Then, let's have it, so WE'LL know. You will letus read it, won't you, boy?"
"Why, y--yes," stammered David, holding it out politely, but withevident reluctance.
"Thank you," nodded Higgins, as he reached for the note.
David's letter was very different from the other one. It was longer,but it did not help much, though it was easily read. In his letter, inspite of the wavering lines, each word was formed with a care that toldof a father's thought for the young eyes that would read it. It waswritten on two of the notebook's leaves, and at the end came the singleword "Daddy."
David, my boy [read Higgins al
oud], in the far country I am waiting foryou. Do not grieve, for that will grieve me. I shall not return, butsome day you will come to me, your violin at your chin, and the bowdrawn across the strings to greet me. See that it tells me of thebeautiful world you have left--for it is a beautiful world, David;never forget that. And if sometime you are tempted to think it is not abeautiful world, just remember that you yourself can make it beautifulif you will.
You are among new faces, surrounded by things and people that arestrange to you. Some of them you will not understand; some of them youmay not like. But do not fear, David, and do not plead to go back tothe hills. Remember this, my boy,--in your violin lie all the thingsyou long for. You have only to play, and the broad skies of yourmountain home will be over you, and the dear friends and comrades ofyour mountain forests will be about you.
DADDY.
"Gorry! that's worse than the other," groaned Higgins, when he hadfinished the note. "There's actually nothing in it! Wouldn't youthink--if a man wrote anything at such a time--that he'd 'a' wrotesomething that had some sense to it--something that one could get holdof, and find out who the boy is?"
There was no answering this. The assembled men could only grunt and nodin agreement, which, after all, was no real help.
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