Just David | Page 7

underbrush
on all sides. Just out of sight a brook babbled noisily of its delight in
being alive; and away up in the treetops the morning sun played
hide-and-seek among the dancing leaves.
And David leaped, and laughed, and loved it all, nor was any of it
strange to him. The birds, the trees, the sun, the brook, the scurrying
little creatures of the forest, all were friends of his. But the man--the
man did not leap or laugh, though he, too, loved it all. The man was
afraid.
He knew now that he had undertaken more than he could carry out.
Step by step the bag had grown heavier, and hour by hour the insistent,
teasing pain in his side had increased until now it was a torture. He had
forgotten that the way to the valley was so long; he had not realized
how nearly spent was his strength before he even started down the trail.
Throbbing through his brain was the question, what if, after all, he
could not--but even to himself he would not say the words.
At noon they paused for luncheon, and at night they camped where the
chattering brook had stopped to rest in a still, black pool. The next
morning the man and the boy picked up the trail again, but without the
bag. Under some leaves in a little hollow, the man had hidden the bag,
and had then said, as if casually:--

"I believe, after all, I won't carry this along. There's nothing in it that
we really need, you know, now that I've taken out the luncheon box,
and by night we'll be down in the valley."
"Of course!" laughed David. "We don't need that." And he laughed
again, for pure joy. Little use had David for bags or baggage!
They were more than halfway down the mountain now, and soon they
reached a grass-grown road, little traveled, but yet a road. Still later
they came to where four ways crossed, and two of them bore the marks
of many wheels. By sundown the little brook at their side murmured
softly of quiet fields and meadows, and David knew that the valley was
reached.
David was not laughing now. He was watching his father with startled
eyes. David had not known what anxiety was. He was finding out
now--though he but vaguely realized that something was not right. For
some time his father had said but little, and that little had been in a
voice that was thick and unnatural-sounding. He was walking fast, yet
David noticed that every step seemed an effort, and that every breath
came in short gasps. His eyes were very bright, and were fixedly bent
on the road ahead, as if even the haste he was making was not haste
enough. Twice David spoke to him, but he did not answer; and the boy
could only trudge along on his weary little feet and sigh for the dear
home on the mountain-top which they had left behind them the
morning before.
They met few fellow travelers, and those they did meet paid scant
attention to the man and the boy carrying the violins. As it chanced,
there was no one in sight when the man, walking in the grass at the side
of the road, stumbled and fell heavily to the ground.
David sprang quickly forward.
"Father, what is it? WHAT IS IT?"
There was no answer.

"Daddy, why don't you speak to me? See, it's David!"
With a painful effort the man roused himself and sat up. For a moment
he gazed dully into the boy's face; then a half-forgotten something
seemed to stir him into feverish action. With shaking fingers he handed
David his watch and a small ivory miniature. Then he searched his
pockets until on the ground before him lay a shining pile of
gold-pieces--to David there seemed to be a hundred of them.
"Take them--hide them--keep them. David, until you--need them,"
panted the man. "Then go--go on. I can't."
"Alone? Without you?" demurred the boy, aghast. "Why, father, I
couldn't! I don't know the way. Besides, I'd rather stay with you," he
added soothingly, as he slipped the watch and the miniature into his
pocket; "then we can both go." And he dropped himself down at his
father's side.
The man shook his head feebly, and pointed again to the gold-pieces.
"Take them, David,--hide them," he chattered with pale lips.
Almost impatiently the boy began picking up the money and tucking it
into his pockets.
"But, father, I'm not going without you," he declared stoutly, as the last
bit of gold slipped out of sight, and a horse and wagon rattled around
the turn of the road above.
The driver of the horse glanced disapprovingly at the man and the boy