But I can tell you.

Listen! This is what they say," finished the boy, whipping his violin from its case, and, after a swift testing of the strings, plunging into a weird, haunting little melody.
In the doorway, Mrs.Holly, bewildered, yet bewitched, stood motionless, her eyes half-fearfully, half-longingly fixed on David's glorified face.

She was still in the same position when Simeon Holly came around the corner of the house.
"Well, Ellen," he began, with quiet scorn, after a moment's stern watching of the scene before him, "have you nothing better to do this morning than to listen to this minstrel fellow ?" "Oh, Simeon! Why, yes, of course.

I--I forgot--what I was doing," faltered Mrs.Holly, flushing guiltily from neck to brow as she turned and hurried into the house.
David, on the porch steps, seemed to have heard nothing.

He was still playing, his rapt gaze on the distant sky-line, when Simeon Holly turned upon him with disapproving eyes.
"See here, boy, can't you do anything but fiddle ?" he demanded.