Still, there was the stage-driver--David was not sure but he would prefer to follow this man's profession for a life-work; for in his, one could still have the freedom of long days in the open, and yet not be saddened by the sight of the sick before they had been made well--which was where the stage-driver had the better of the doctor, in David's opinion.

There were the blacksmith and the storekeepers, too, but to these David gave little thought or attention.
Though he might not know what he did want to do, he knew very well what he did not.

All of which merely goes to prove that David was still on the lookout for that great work which his father had said was waiting for him out in the world.
Meanwhile David played his violin.

If he found a crimson rambler in bloom in a door-yard, he put it into a little melody of pure delight--that a woman in the house behind the rambler heard the music and was cheered at her task, David did not know.

If he found a kitten at play in the sunshine, he put it into a riotous abandonment of tumbling turns and trills--that a fretful baby heard and stopped its wailing, David also did not know.