CHAPTER IX.
JOE Day by day, however, as time passed, David diligently tried to perform the "dos" and avoid the "don'ts"; and day by day he came to realize how important weeds and woodboxes were, if he were to conform to what was evidently Farmer Holly's idea of "playing in, tune" in this strange new Orchestra of Life in which he found himself.
But, try as he would, there was yet an unreality about it all, a persistent feeling of uselessness and waste, that would not be set aside.

So that, after all, the only part of this strange new life of his that seemed real to him was the time that came after four o'clock each day, when he was released from work.
And how full he filled those hours! There was so much to see, so much to do.

For sunny days there were field and stream and pasture land and the whole wide town to explore.

For rainy days, if he did not care to go to walk, there was his room with the books in the chimney cupboard.
Some of them David had read before, but many of them he had not.

One or two were old friends; but not so "Dare Devil Dick," and "The Pirates of Pigeon Cove" (which he found hidden in an obscure corner behind a loose board).