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 he
supposed that was so well known that just to mention it would be
enough. That's why he kept it so secret while he was living on the
mountain, you see, and that's why even David himself didn't know it. Of
course, if anybody found out who he was, that ended his scheme, and he
knew it. So he supposed all he had to do at the last was to sign his
name to that note, and everybody would know who he was, and David would
at once be sent to his own people. (There's an aunt and some cousins, I
believe.) You see he didn't reckon on nobody's being able to READ his
name! Besides, being so ill, he probably wasn't quite sane, anyway."

"I see, I see," nodded Simeon Holly, frowning a little. "And of course
if 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 days
gone by--though such names mean little to me. But doubtless somebody
would have known. However, that is all past and gone now."

"Oh, yes, and no harm done. He fell into good hands, luckily. You'll
soon see the last of him now, of course."

"Last of him? Oh, no, I shall keep David," said Simeon Holly, with
decision.

"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 this
little town of yours hadn't been buried in this forgotten valley up
among these hills. You'll have the whole world at your doors the minute
they find out he is here--hills or no hills! Besides, there are his
people; they have some claim."

There was no answer. With a suddenly old, drawn look on his face, the
elder man had turned away.

Half an hour later Simeon Holly climbed the stairs to David's room, and
as gently and plainly as he could told the boy of this great, good
thing that had come to him.

David was amazed, but overjoyed. That he was found to be the son of a
famous man affected him not at all, only so far as it seemed to set his
father right in other eyes--in David's own, the man had always been
supreme. But the going away--the marvelous going away--filled him with
excited wonder.

"You mean, I shall go away and study--practice--learn more of my
violin?"

"Yes, David."

"And