"Did you think that was what I was playing?
It's the flowers here that I'm playing--the little faces, like people, you know.

See, this is that big yellow one over there that's laughing," he finished, letting the music under his fingers burst into a gay little melody.
Simeon Holly raised an imperious hand; and at the gesture David stopped his melody in the middle of a run, his eyes flying wide open in plain wonderment.
"You mean--I'm not playing--right ?" he asked.
"I'm not talking of your playing," retorted Simeon Holly severely.

"I'm talking of that woodbox I asked you to fill." David's face cleared.
"Oh, yes, sir.

I'll go and do it," he nodded, getting cheerfully to his feet.
"But I told you to do it before." David's eyes grew puzzled again.
"I know, sir, and I started to," he answered, with the obvious patience of one who finds himself obliged to explain what should be a self-evident fact; "but I saw so many beautiful things, one after another, and when I found these funny little flower-people I just had to play them.

Don't you see ?" "No, I can't say that I do, when I'd already told you to fill the woodbox," rejoined the man, with uncompromising coldness.
"You mean--even then that I ought to have filled the woodbox first ?" "I certainly do." David's eyes flew wide open again.
"But my song--I'd have lost it!" he exclaimed.