could be so; and the thought filled him with vague unrest and pain.

Perhaps it was this restlessness that drove David to explore even more
persistently the village itself, sending him into new streets in search
of something strange and interesting. One day the sound of shouts and
laughter drew him to an open lot back of the church where some boys
were at play.

David still knew very little of boys. In his mountain home he had never
had them for playmates, and he had not seen much of them when he went
with his father to the mountain village for supplies. There had been,
it is true, the boy who frequently brought milk and eggs to the cabin;
but he had been very quiet and shy, appearing always afraid and anxious
to get away, as if he had been told not to stay. More recently, since
David had been at the Holly farmhouse, his experience with boys had
been even less satisfying. The boys--with the exception of blind
Joe--had very clearly let it be understood that they had little use for
a youth who could find nothing better to do than to tramp through the
woods and the streets with a fiddle under his arm.

To-day, however, there came a change. Perhaps they were more used to
him; or perhaps they had decided suddenly that it might be good fun to
satisfy their curiosity, anyway, regardless of consequences. Whatever
it was, the lads hailed his appearance with wild shouts of glee.

"Golly, boys, look! Here's the fiddlin' kid," yelled one; and the
others joined in the "Hurrah!" he gave.

David smiled delightedly; once more he had found some one who wanted
him--and it was so nice to be wanted! Truth to tell, David had felt not
a little hurt at the persistent avoidance of all those boys and girls
of his own age.

"How--how do you do?" he said diffidently, but still with that beaming
smile.

Again the boys shouted gleefully as they hurried forward. Several had
short sticks in their hands. One had an old tomato can with a string
tied to it. The tallest boy had something that he was trying to hold
beneath his coat.

"'H--how do you do?'" they mimicked. "How do you do, fiddlin' kid?"

"I'm David; my name is David." The reminder was graciously given, with
a smile.

"David! David! His name is David," chanted the boys, as if they were a
comic-opera chorus.

David laughed outright.

"Oh, sing it again, sing it again!" he crowed. "That sounded fine!"

The boys stared, then sniffed disdainfully, and cast derisive glances
into e