g'?"

Miss Holbrook rose to her feet.

"For Heaven's sake, boy, who, and what are you?" she demanded. "Can YOU
read Latin?"

"Why, of course! Can't you?" With a disdainful gesture Miss Holbrook
swept this aside.

"Boy, who are you?" she demanded again imperatively.

"I'm David. I told you."

"But David who? Where do you live?"

The boy's face clouded.

"I'm David--just David. I live at Farmer Holly's now; but I did live on
the mountain with--father, you know."

A great light of understanding broke over Miss Holbrook's face. She
dropped back into her seat.

"Oh, I remember," she murmured. "You're the little--er--boy whom he
took. I have heard the story. So THAT is who you are," she added, the
old look of aversion coming back to her eyes. She had almost said "the
little tramp boy"--but she had stopped in time.

"Yes. And now what do they mean, please,--those words,--'I count no
hours but unclouded ones'?"

Miss Holbrook stirred in her seat and frowned.

"Why, it means what it says, of course, boy. A sundial counts its hours
by the shadow the sun throws, and when there is no sun there is no
shadow; hence it's only the sunny hours that are counted by the dial,"
she explained a little fretfully.

David's face radiated delight.

"Oh, but I like that!" he exclaimed.

"You like it!"

"Yes. I should like to be one myself, you know."

"Well, really! And how, pray?" In spite of herself a faint gleam of
interest came into Miss Holbrook's eyes.

David laughed and dropped himself easily to the ground at her feet. He
was holding his violin on his knees now.

"Why, it would be such fun," he chuckled, "to just forget all about the
hours when the sun didn't shine, and remember only the nice, pleasant
ones. Now for me, there wouldn't be any hours, really, until after four
o'clock, except little specks of minutes that I'd get in between when I
DID see something interesting."

Miss Holbrook stared frankly.

"What an extraordinary boy you are, to be sure," she murmured. "And
what, may I ask, is it that you do every day until four o'clock, that
you wish to forget?"

David sighed.

"Well, there are lots of things. I hoed potatoes and corn, first, but
they're too big now, mostly; and I pulled up weeds, too, till they were
gone. I've been picking up stones, lately, and clearing up the yard.
Then, of course, there's always the woodbox to fill, and the eggs to
hunt, besides the chickens to feed,--though I don't mi