He talked, too, almost constantly, though David could understand scarcely a word of what was said.

Later, the man caught up his violin and played; and never before had David heard his father play like that.

The boy's eyes filled, and his heart ached with a pain that choked and numbed--though why, David could not have told.

Still later, the man dropped his violin and sank exhausted into a chair; and then David, worn and frightened with it all, crept to his bunk and fell asleep.
In the gray dawn of the morning David awoke to a different world.

His father, white-faced and gentle, was calling him to get ready for breakfast.