It was the voice of a little curly-headed boy out of the past.
When David stopped playing some time later, only the woman sat watching him--the man was over at his desk, pen in hand.
John, John's wife, and John's boy came the day before Christmas, and great was the excitement in the Holly farmhouse.

John was found to be big, strong, and bronzed with the outdoor life of many a sketching trip--a son to be proud of, and to be leaned upon in one's old age.
Mrs.John, according to Perry Larson, was "the slickest little woman goin'." According to John's mother, she was an almost unbelievable incarnation of a long-dreamed-of, long-despaired-of daughter--sweet, lovable, and charmingly beautiful.

Little John--little John was himself; and he could not have been more had he been an angel-cherub straight from heaven--which, in fact, he was, in his doting grandparents' eyes.
John Holly had been at his old home less than four hours when he chanced upon David's violin.

He was with his father and mother at the time.

There was no one else in the room.