wagon. "If I thought he'd be worth his salt, now, I'd take him
myself; but--well, look at him this minute," he finished, with a
disdainful shrug.

David, on the lowest step, was very evidently not hearing a word
of what was being said. With his sensitive face illumined, he was
again poring over his father's letter.

Something in the sudden quiet cut through his absorption as the
noisy hum of voices had not been able to do, and he raised his
head. His eyes were starlike.

"I'm so glad father told me what to do," he breathed. "It'll be
easier now."

Receiving no answer from the somewhat awkwardly silent men, he
went on, as if in explanation:--

"You know he's waiting for me--in the far country, I mean. He
said he was. And when you've got somebody waiting, you don't mind
staying behind yourself for a little while. Besides, I've GOT to
stay to find out about the beautiful world, you know, so I can
tell him, when _I_ go. That's the way I used to do back home on
the mountain, you see,--tell him about things. Lots of days we'd
go to walk; then, when we got home, he'd have me tell him, with
my violin, what I'd seen. And now he says I'm to stay here."

"Here!" It was the quick, stern voice of Simeon Holly.

"Yes," nodded David earnestly; "to learn about the beautiful