"She is an angel-mother,and angel-mothers don't live in houses,you know."There was a moment's pause;then gently the man asked:--"And you always lived there?"
"Six years,father said."
"And before that?"
"I don't remember."There was a touch of injured reserve in the boy's voice which the man was quick to perceive.He took the hint at once.
"He must have been a wonderful man--your father!"he exclaimed.
The boy turned,his eyes luminous with feeling.
"He was--he was perfect!But they--down here--don't seem to know--or care,"he choked.
"Oh,but that's because they don't understand,"soothed the man.
"Now,tell me--you must have practiced a lot to play like that.""I did--but I liked it."
"And what else did you do?and how did you happen to come--down here?"Once again David told his story,more fully,perhaps,this time than ever before,because of the sympathetic ears that were listening.
"But now"he finished wistfully,"it's all,so different,and I'm down here alone.Daddy went,you know,to the far country;and he can't come back from there.""Who told you--that?"
"Daddy himself.He wrote it to me."
"Wrote it to you!"cried the man,sitting suddenly erect.
"Yes.It was in his pocket,you see.They--found it."David's voice was very low,and not quite steady.
"David,may I see--that letter?"
The boy hesitated;then slowly he drew it from his pocket.
"Yes,Mr.Jack.I'll let YOU see it."
Reverently,tenderly,but very eagerly the man took the note and read it through,hoping somewhere to find a name that would help solve the mystery.With a sigh he handed it back.His eyes were wet.
"Thank you,David.That is a beautiful letter,"he said softly.
"And I believe you'll do it some day,too.You'll go to him with your violin at your chin and the bow drawn across the strings to tell him of the beautiful world you have found.""Yes,sir,"said David simply.Then,with a suddenly radiant smile:"And NOW I can't help finding it a beautiful world,you know,'cause I don't count the hours I don't like.""You don't what?--oh,I remember,"returned Mr.Jack,a quick change coming to his face.
"Yes,the sundial,you know,where my Lady of the Roses lives.""Jack,what is a sundial?"broke in Jill eagerly.
Jack turned,as if in relief.
"Hullo,girlie,you there?--and so still all this time?Ask David.He'll tell you what a sundial is.Suppose,anyhow,that you two go out on the piazza now.I've got--er-some work to do.
And the sun itself is out;see?--through the trees there.It came out just to say 'good-night,'I'm sure.Run along,quick!"And he playfully drove them from the room.
Alone,he turned and sat down at his desk.His work was before him,but he did not do it.His eyes were out of the window on the golden tops of the towers of Sunnycrest.Motionless,he watched them until they turned gray-white in the twilight.Then he picked up his pencil and began to write feverishly.He went to the window,however,as David stepped off the veranda,and called merrily:--"Remember,boy,that when there's another note that baffles me,I'm going to send for you.""He's coming anyhow.I asked him,"announced Jill.
And David laughed back a happy "Of course I am!"
