CHAPTER XXV
THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD
David found many new songs in his violin those early winter days, andthey were very beautiful ones. To begin with, there were all the kindlylooks and deeds that were showered upon him from every side. There wasthe first snowstorm, too, with the feathery flakes turning all theworld to fairy whiteness. This song David played to Mr. Streeter, oneday, and great was his disappointment that the man could not seem tounderstand what the song said.
"But don't you see?" pleaded David. "I'm telling you that it's yourpear-tree blossoms come back to say how glad they are that you didn'tkill them that day."
"Pear-tree blossoms--come back!" ejaculated the old man. "Well, no, Ican't see. Where's yer pear-tree blossoms?"
"Why, there--out of the window--everywhere," urged the boy.
"THERE! By ginger! boy--ye don't mean--ye CAN'T mean the SNOW!"
"Of course I do! Now, can't you see it? Why, the whole tree was just agreat big cloud of snowflakes. Don't you remember? Well, now it's goneaway and got a whole lot more trees, and all the little white petalshave come dancing down to celebrate, and to tell you they sure arecoming back next year."
"Well, by ginger!" exclaimed the man again. Then, suddenly, he threwback his head with a hearty laugh. David did not quite like the laugh,neither did he care for the five-cent piece that the man thrust intohis fingers a little later; though--had David but known it--both thelaugh and the five-cent piece gift were--for the uncomprehending manwho gave them--white milestones along an unfamiliar way.
It was soon after this that there came to David the great surprise--hisbeloved Lady of the Roses and his no less beloved Mr. Jack were to bemarried at the beginning of the New Year. So very surprised, indeed,was David at this, that even his violin was mute, and had nothing, atfirst, to say about it. But to Mr. Jack, as man to man, David said oneday:--
"I thought men, when they married women, went courting. In story-booksthey do. And you--you hardly ever said a word to my beautiful Lady ofthe Roses; and you spoke once--long ago--as if you scarcely rememberedher at all. Now, what do you mean by that?"
And Mr. Jack laughed, but he grew red, too,--and then he told itall,--that it was just the story of "The Princess and the Pauper," andthat he, David, had been the one, as it happened, to do part of theircourting for them.
And how David had laughed then, and how he had fairly hugged himselffor joy! And when next he had picked up his violin, what a beautiful,beautiful song he had found about it in the vibrant strings!
It was this same song, as it chanced, that he was playing in his roomthat Saturday afternoon when the letter from Simeon Holly's long-lostson John came to the Holly farmhouse.
Downstairs in the kitchen, Simeon Holly stood, with the letter in hishand.
"Ellen, we've got a letter from--John," he said. That Simeon Hollyspoke of it at all showed how very far along HIS unfamiliar way he hadcome since the last letter from John had arrived.
"From--John? Oh, Simeon! From John?"
"Yes."
Simeon sat down and tried to hide the shaking of his hand as he ran thepoint of his knife under the flap of the envelope. "We'll see what--hesays." And to hear him, one might have thought that letters from Johnwere everyday occurrences.
DEAR FATHER: Twice before I have written [ran the letter], and receivedno answer. But I'm going to make one more effort for forgiveness. May Inot come to you this Christmas? I have a little boy of my own now, andmy heart aches for you. I know how I should feel, should he, in yearsto come, do as I did.
I'll not deceive you--I have not given up my art. You told me once tochoose between you and it--and I chose, I suppose; at least, I ranaway. Yet in the face of all that, I ask you again, may I not come toyou at Christmas? I want you, father, and I want mother. And I want youto see my boy.
"Well?" said Simeon Holly, trying to speak with a steady coldness thatwould not show how deeply moved he was. "Well, Ellen?"
"Yes, Simeon, yes!" choked his wife, a world of mother-love and longingin her pleading eyes and voice. "Yes--you'll let it be--'Yes'!"
"Uncle Simeon, Aunt Ellen," called David, clattering down the stairsfrom his room, "I've found such a beautiful song in my violin, and I'mgoing to play it over and over so as to be sure and remember it forfather--for it is a beautiful world, Uncle Simeon, isn't it? Now,listen!"
And Simeon Holly listened--but it was not the violin that he heard. Itwas the voice of a little curly-headed boy out of the past.
When David stopped playing some time later, only the woman sat watchinghim--the man was over at his desk, pen in hand.
John, John's wife, and John's boy came the day before Christmas, andgreat was the excitement in the Holly farmhouse. John was found to bebig, strong, and bronzed with the outdoor life of many a sketchingtrip--a son to be proud of, and to be leaned upon in one's old age.Mrs. John, according to Perry Larson, was "the slickest little womangoin'." According to John's mother, she was an almost unbelievableincarnation of a long-dreamed-of, long-despaired-of daughter--sweet,lovable, and charmingly beautiful. Little John--little John washimself; and he could not have been more had he been an angel-cherubstraight from heaven--which, in fact, he was, in his dotinggrandparents' eyes.
John Holly had been at his old home less than four hours when hechanced upon David's violin. He was with his father and mother at thetime. There was no one else in the room. With a sidelong glance at hisparents, he picked up the instrument--John Holly had not forgotten hisown youth. His violin-playing in the old days had not been welcome, heremembered.
"A fiddle! Who plays?" he asked.
"David."
"Oh, the boy. You say you--took him in? By the way, what an odd littleshaver he is! Never did I see a BOY like HIM." Simeon Holly's head cameup almost aggressively.
"David is a good boy--a very good boy, indeed, John. We think a greatdeal of him."
John Holly laughed lightly, yet his brow carried a puzzled frown. Twothings John Holly had not been able thus far to understand: anindefinable change in his father, and the position of the boy David, inthe household--John Holly was still remembering his own repressed youth.
"Hm-m," he murmured, softly picking the strings, then drawing acrossthem a tentative bow. "I've a fiddle at home that I play sometimes. Doyou mind if I--tune her up?"
A flicker of something that was very near to humor flashed from hisfather's eyes.
"Oh, no. We are used to that--now." And again John Holly remembered hisyouth.
"Jove! but he's got the dandy instrument here," cried the player,dropping his bow after the first half-dozen superbly vibrant tones, andcarrying the violin to the window. A moment later he gave an amazedejaculation and turned on his father a dumfounded face.
"Great Scott, father! Where did that boy get this instrument? I KNOWsomething of violins, if I can't play them much; and this--! Where DIDhe get it?"
"Of his father, I suppose. He had it when he came here, anyway."
"'Had it when he came'! But, father, you said he was a tramp, and--oh,come, tell me, what is the secret behind this? Here I come home andfind calmly reposing on my father's sitting-room table a violin that'spriceless, for all I know. Anyhow, I do know that its value is reckonedin the thousands, not hundreds: and yet you, with equal calmness, tellme it's owned by this boy who, it's safe to say, doesn't know how toplay sixteen notes on it correctly, to say nothing of appreciatingthose he does play; and who, by your own account, is nothing but--" Aswiftly uplifted hand of warning stayed the words on his lips. Heturned to see David himself in the doorway.
"Come in, David," said Simeon Holly quietly. "My son wants to hear youplay. I don't think he has heard you." And again there flashed fromSimeon Holly's eyes a something very much like humor.
With obvious hesitation John Holly relinquished the violin. From theexpression on his face it was plain to be seen the sort of torture hedeemed was before him. But, as if constrained to ask the question, hedid say:--
"Where did you get
this violin, boy?"
"I don't know. We've always had it, ever since I could remember--thisand the other one."
"The OTHER one!"
"Father's."
"Oh!" He hesitated; then, a little severely, he observed: "This is afine instrument, boy,--a very fine instrument."
"Yes," nodded David, with a cheerful smile. "Father said it was. I likeit, too. This is an Amati, but the other is a Stradivarius. I don'tknow which I do like best, sometimes, only this is mine."
With a half-smothered ejaculation John Holly fell back limply.
"Then you--do--know?" he challenged.
"Know--what?"
"The value of that violin in your hands."
There was no answer. The boy's eyes were questioning.
"The worth, I mean,--what it's worth."
"Why, no--yes--that is, it's worth everything--to me," answered David,in a puzzled voice.
With an impatient gesture John Holly brushed this aside.
"But the other one--where is that?"
"At Joe Glaspell's. I gave it to him to play on, because he had n'tany, and he liked to play so well."
"You GAVE it to him--a Stradivarius!"
"I loaned it to him," corrected David, in a troubled voice. "Beingfather's, I couldn't bear to give it away. But Joe--Joe had to havesomething to play on."
"'Something to play on'! Father, he doesn't mean the River StreetGlaspells?" cried John Holly.
"I think he does. Joe is old Peleg Glaspell's grandson." John Hollythrew up both his hands.
"A Stradivarius--to old Peleg's grandson! Oh, ye gods!" he muttered."Well, I'll be--" He did not finish his sentence. At another word fromSimeon Holly, David had begun to play.
From his seat by the stove Simeon Holly watched his son's face--andsmiled. He saw amazement, unbelief, and delight struggle for themastery; but before the playing had ceased, he was summoned by PerryLarson to the kitchen on a matter of business. So it was into thekitchen that John Holly burst a little later, eyes and cheek aflame.
"Father, where in Heaven's name DID you get that boy?" he demanded."Who taught him to play like that? I've been trying to find out fromhim, but I'd defy Sherlock Holmes himself to make head or tail of thesort of lingo he talks, about mountain homes and the Orchestra of Life!Father, what DOES it mean?"
Obediently Simeon Holly told the story then, more fully than he hadtold it before. He brought forward the letter, too, with its mysterioussignature.
"Perhaps you can make it out, son," he laughed. "None of the rest of uscan, though I haven't shown it to anybody now for a long time. I gotdiscouraged long ago of anybody's ever making it out."
"Make it out--make it out!" cried John Holly excitedly; "I should say Icould! It's a name known the world over. It's the name of one of thegreatest violinists that ever lived."
"But how--what--how came he in my barn?" demanded Simeon Holly.
"Easily guessed, from the letter, and from what the world knows,"returned John, his voice still shaking with excitement. "He was alwaysa queer chap, they say, and full of his notions. Six or eight years agohis wife died. They say he worshiped her, and for weeks refused even totouch his violin. Then, very suddenly, he, with his four-year-old son,disappeared--dropped quite out of sight. Some people guessed thereason. I knew a man who was well acquainted with him, and at the timeof the disappearance he told me quite a lot about him. He said he wasn't a bit surprised at what had happened. That already half a dozenrelatives were interfering with the way he wanted to bring the boy up,and that David was in a fair way to be spoiled, even then, with so muchattention and flattery. The father had determined to make a wonderfulartist of his son, and he was known to have said that he believed--asdo so many others--that the first dozen years of a child's life are themaking of the man, and that if he could have the boy to himself thatlong he would risk the rest. So it seems he carried out his notionuntil he was taken sick, and had to quit--poor chap!"
"But why didn't he tell us plainly in that note who he was, then?"fumed Simeon Holly, in manifest irritation.
"He did, he thought," laughed the other. "He signed his name, and hesupposed that was so well known that just to mention it would beenough. That's why he kept it so secret while he was living on themountain, you see, and that's why even David himself didn't know it. Ofcourse, if anybody found out who he was, that ended his scheme, and heknew it. So he supposed all he had to do at the last was to sign hisname to that note, and everybody would know who he was, and David wouldat once be sent to his own people. (There's an aunt and some cousins, Ibelieve.) You see he didn't reckon on nobody's being able to READ hisname! Besides, being so ill, he probably wasn't quite sane, anyway."
"I see, I see," nodded Simeon Holly, frowning a little. "And of courseif we had made it out, some of us here would have known it, probably.Now that you call it to mind I think I have heard it myself in daysgone by--though such names mean little to me. But doubtless somebodywould have known. However, that is all past and gone now."
"Oh, yes, and no harm done. He fell into good hands, luckily. You'llsoon see the last of him now, of course."
"Last of him? Oh, no, I shall keep David," said Simeon Holly, withdecision.
"Keep him! Why, father, you forget who he is! There are friends,relatives, an adoring public, and a mint of money awaiting that boy.You can't keep him. You could never have kept him this long if thislittle town of yours hadn't been buried in this forgotten valley upamong these hills. You'll have the whole world at your doors the minutethey find out he is here--hills or no hills! Besides, there are hispeople; they have some claim."
There was no answer. With a suddenly old, drawn look on his face, theelder man had turned away.
Half an hour later Simeon Holly climbed the stairs to David's room, andas gently and plainly as he could told the boy of this great, goodthing that had come to him.
David was amazed, but overjoyed. That he was found to be the son of afamous man affected him not at all, only so far as it seemed to set hisfather right in other eyes--in David's own, the man had always beensupreme. But the going away--the marvelous going away--filled him withexcited wonder.
"You mean, I shall go away and study--practice--learn more of myviolin?"
"Yes, David."
"And hear beautiful music like the organ in church, onlymore--bigger--better?"
"I suppose so.".
"And know people--dear people--who will understand what I say when Iplay?"
Simeon Holly's face paled a little; still, he knew David had not meantto make it so hard.
"Yes."
"Why, it's my 'start'--just what I was going to have with thegold-pieces," cried David joyously. Then, uttering a sharp cry ofconsternation, he clapped his fingers to his lips.
"Your--what?" asked the man.
"N--nothing, really, Mr. Holly,--Uncle Simeon,--n--nothing."
Something, either the boy's agitation, or the luckless mention of thegold-pieces sent a sudden dismayed suspicion into Simeon Holly's eyes.
"Your 'start'?--the 'gold-pieces'? David, what do you mean?"
David shook his head. He did not intend to tell. But gently,persistently, Simeon Holly questioned until the whole piteous littletale lay bare before him: the hopes, the house of dreams, the sacrifice.
David saw then what it means when a strong man is shaken by an emotionthat has mastered him; and the sight awed and frightened the boy.
"Mr. Holly, is it because I'm--going--that you care--so much? I neverthought--or supposed--you'd--CARE," he faltered.
There was no answer. Simeon Holly's eyes were turned quite away.
"Uncle Simeon--PLEASE! I--I think I don't want to go, anyway. I--I'msure I don't want to go--and leave YOU!"
Simeon Holly turned then, and spoke.
"Go? Of course you'll go, David. Do you think I'd tie you here tome--NOW?" he choked. "What don't I owe to you--home, son, happiness!Go?--of course you'll go. I wonder if you really think I'd let youstay! Come, we'll go down to mother and tel
l her. I suspect she'll wantto start in to-night to get your socks all mended up!" And with headerect and a determined step, Simeon Holly faced the mighty sacrifice inhis turn, and led the way downstairs.
* * * * *
The friends, the relatives, the adoring public, the mint of money--theyare all David's now. But once each year, man grown though he is, hepicks up his violin and journeys to a little village far up among thehills. There in a quiet kitchen he plays to an old man and an oldwoman; and always to himself he says that he is practicing against thetime when, his violin at his chin and the bow drawn across the strings,he shall go to meet his father in the far-away land, and tell him ofthe beautiful world he has left.
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