All the while that he was thrusting his indignant self into his clothing, the runs and turns and crashing chords whirled about him until it seemed that a whole orchestra must be imprisoned in the little room over the kitchen, so skillful was the boy's double stopping.
Simeon Holly was white with anger when he finally hurried down the hall and threw open David's bedroom door.
"Boy, what do you mean by this ?" he demanded.
David laughed gleefully.
"And didn't you know ?" he asked.

"Why, I thought my music would tell you.

I was so happy, so glad! The birds in the trees woke me up singing, 'You're wanted--you're wanted;' and the sun came over the hill there and said, 'You're wanted--you're wanted;' and the little tree-branch tapped on my window pane and said 'You're wanted--you're wanted!' And I just had to take up my violin and tell you about it!" "But it's Sunday--the Lord's Day," remonstrated the man sternly.
David stood motionless, his eyes questioning.
"Are you quite a heathen, then ?" catechised the man sharply.

"Have they never told you anything about God, boy ?" "Oh, 'God' ?--of course," smiled David, in open relief.

"God wraps up the buds in their little brown blankets, and covers the roots with--" "I am not talking about brown blankets nor roots," interrupted the man severely.