Just David [50]
just out of reach. Yet he was wonderfully happy, and the day seemed short in spite of the heat and the weariness.
At four o'clock he hurried home and put his violin quickly in tune. It came then--that dancing sprite of tantalization--and joyously abandoned itself to the strings of the violin, so that David knew, of a surety, what a beautiful song it was.
It was this song that sent him the next afternoon to see his Lady of the Roses. He found her this time out of doors in her garden. Unceremoniously, as usual, he rushed headlong into her presence.
"Oh, Lady--Lady of the Roses," he panted. "I've found out, and I came quickly to tell you."
"Why, David, what--what do you mean?" Miss Holbrook looked unmistakably startled.
"About the hours, you know,--the unclouded ones," explained David eagerly. "You know you said they were ALL cloudy to you."
Miss Holbrook's face grew very white.
"You mean--you've found out WHY my hours are--are all cloudy ones?" she stammered.
"No, oh, no. I can't imagine why they are," returned David, with an emphatic shake of his head. "It's just that I've found a way to make all my hours sunny ones, and you can do it, too. So I came to tell you. You know you said yours were all cloudy."
"Oh," ejaculated Miss Holbrook, falling back into her old listless attitude. Then, with some asperity: "Dear me, David! Did n't I tell you not to be remembering that all the time?"
"Yes, I know, but I've LEARNED something," urged the boy; "something that you ought to know. You see, I did think, once, that because you had all these beautiful things around you, the hours ought to be all sunny ones. But now I know it isn't what's around you; it's what is IN you!"
"Oh, David, David, you curious boy!"
"No, but really! Let me tell you," pleaded David. "You know I haven't liked them,--all those hours till four o'clock came,--and I was so glad, after I saw the sundial, to find out that they didn't count, anyhow. But to-day they HAVE counted--they've all counted, Lady of the Roses; and it's just because there was something inside of me that shone and shone, and made them all sunny--those hours."
"Dear me! And what was this wonderful thing?"
David smiled, but he shook his head.
"I can't tell you that yet--in words; but I'll play it. You see, I can't always play them twice alike,--those little songs that I find,--but this one I can. It sang so long in my head, before my violin had a chance to tell me what it really was, that I sort of learned it. Now, listen!" And be began to play.
It was, indeed, a beautiful song, and Miss Holbrook said so with promptness and enthusiasm; yet still David frowned.
"Yes, yes," he answered, "but don't you see? That was telling you about something inside of me that made all my hours sunshiny ones. Now, what you want is something inside of you to make yours sunshiny, too. Don't you see?"
An odd look came into Miss Holbrook's eyes.
"That's all very well for you to say, David, but you haven't told me yet, you know, just what it is that's made all this brightness for you."
The boy changed his position, and puckered his forehead into a deeper frown.
"I don't seem to explain so you can understand," he sighed. "It isn't the SPECIAL thing. It's only that it's SOMETHING. And it's thinking about it that does it. Now, mine wouldn't make yours shine, but--still,"--he broke off, a happy relief in his eyes,--"yours could be LIKE mine, in one way. Mine is something that is going to happen to me--something just beautiful; and you could have that, you know,--something that was going to happen to you, to think about."
Miss Holbrook smiled, but only with her lips, Her eyes had grown somber.
"But there isn't anything 'just beautiful' going to happen to me, David," she demurred.
"There could, couldn't there?"
Miss Holbrook bit, her lip; then she gave an odd little laugh that seemed, in some way, to go with the swift red that had come to her cheeks.
"I used to think there could--once," she admitted; "but I've given that up long ago. It--it didn't happen."
At four o'clock he hurried home and put his violin quickly in tune. It came then--that dancing sprite of tantalization--and joyously abandoned itself to the strings of the violin, so that David knew, of a surety, what a beautiful song it was.
It was this song that sent him the next afternoon to see his Lady of the Roses. He found her this time out of doors in her garden. Unceremoniously, as usual, he rushed headlong into her presence.
"Oh, Lady--Lady of the Roses," he panted. "I've found out, and I came quickly to tell you."
"Why, David, what--what do you mean?" Miss Holbrook looked unmistakably startled.
"About the hours, you know,--the unclouded ones," explained David eagerly. "You know you said they were ALL cloudy to you."
Miss Holbrook's face grew very white.
"You mean--you've found out WHY my hours are--are all cloudy ones?" she stammered.
"No, oh, no. I can't imagine why they are," returned David, with an emphatic shake of his head. "It's just that I've found a way to make all my hours sunny ones, and you can do it, too. So I came to tell you. You know you said yours were all cloudy."
"Oh," ejaculated Miss Holbrook, falling back into her old listless attitude. Then, with some asperity: "Dear me, David! Did n't I tell you not to be remembering that all the time?"
"Yes, I know, but I've LEARNED something," urged the boy; "something that you ought to know. You see, I did think, once, that because you had all these beautiful things around you, the hours ought to be all sunny ones. But now I know it isn't what's around you; it's what is IN you!"
"Oh, David, David, you curious boy!"
"No, but really! Let me tell you," pleaded David. "You know I haven't liked them,--all those hours till four o'clock came,--and I was so glad, after I saw the sundial, to find out that they didn't count, anyhow. But to-day they HAVE counted--they've all counted, Lady of the Roses; and it's just because there was something inside of me that shone and shone, and made them all sunny--those hours."
"Dear me! And what was this wonderful thing?"
David smiled, but he shook his head.
"I can't tell you that yet--in words; but I'll play it. You see, I can't always play them twice alike,--those little songs that I find,--but this one I can. It sang so long in my head, before my violin had a chance to tell me what it really was, that I sort of learned it. Now, listen!" And be began to play.
It was, indeed, a beautiful song, and Miss Holbrook said so with promptness and enthusiasm; yet still David frowned.
"Yes, yes," he answered, "but don't you see? That was telling you about something inside of me that made all my hours sunshiny ones. Now, what you want is something inside of you to make yours sunshiny, too. Don't you see?"
An odd look came into Miss Holbrook's eyes.
"That's all very well for you to say, David, but you haven't told me yet, you know, just what it is that's made all this brightness for you."
The boy changed his position, and puckered his forehead into a deeper frown.
"I don't seem to explain so you can understand," he sighed. "It isn't the SPECIAL thing. It's only that it's SOMETHING. And it's thinking about it that does it. Now, mine wouldn't make yours shine, but--still,"--he broke off, a happy relief in his eyes,--"yours could be LIKE mine, in one way. Mine is something that is going to happen to me--something just beautiful; and you could have that, you know,--something that was going to happen to you, to think about."
Miss Holbrook smiled, but only with her lips, Her eyes had grown somber.
"But there isn't anything 'just beautiful' going to happen to me, David," she demurred.
"There could, couldn't there?"
Miss Holbrook bit, her lip; then she gave an odd little laugh that seemed, in some way, to go with the swift red that had come to her cheeks.
"I used to think there could--once," she admitted; "but I've given that up long ago. It--it didn't happen."