fiddle?" he demanded. Then,
as David still continued to play, he added sharply: "Did n't you hear
me, boy?"

The music stopped abruptly. David looked up with the slightly dazed air
of one who has been summoned as from another world.

"Did you speak to me, sir?" he asked.

"I did--twice. I asked if you never did anything but play that fiddle."

"You mean at home?" David's face expressed mild wonder without a trace
of anger or resentment. "Why, yes, of course. I couldn't play ALL the
time, you know. I had to eat and sleep and study my books; and every
day we went to walk--like tramps, as you call them," he elucidated, his
face brightening with obvious delight at being able, for once, to
explain matters in terms that he felt sure would be understood.

"Tramps, indeed!" muttered Simeon Holly, under his breath. Then,
sharply: "Did you never perform any useful labor, boy? Were your days
always spent in this ungodly idleness?"

Again David frowned in mild wonder.

"Oh, I wasn't idle, sir. Father said I must never be that. He said
every instrument was needed in the great Orchestra of Life; and that I
was one, you know, even if I was only a little boy. And he said if I
kept still and didn't do my part, the harmony wouldn't be complete,
and--"

"Yes, yes, but never mind that now, boy," interrupted Simeon Holly,
with harsh impatience. "I mean, did he never set you to work--real
work?"

"Work?" David meditated again. Then suddenly his face cleared. "Oh,
yes, sir, he said I had a beautiful work to do, and that it was waiting
for me out in the world. That's why we came down from the mountain, you
know, to find it. Is that what you mean?"

"Well, no," retorted the man, "I can't say that it was. I was referring
to work--real work about the house. Did you never do any of that?"

David gave a relieved laugh.

"Oh, you mean getting the meals and tidying up the house," he replied.
"Oh, yes, I did that with father, only"--his face grew wistful--"I'm
afraid I didn't do it very well. My bacon was never as nice and crisp
as father's, and the fire was always spoiling my potatoes."

"Humph! bacon and potatoes, indeed!" scorned Simeon Holly. "Well, boy,
we call that women's work down here. We set men to something else. Do
you see that woodpile by the shed door?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good. In the kitchen you'll find an empty woodbox. Do you think
you could fill it with wood from that woodpile? You'll find plenty of
short, small