"And he said if I'd play, my mountains would come to me here, and I'd really be at home up there.

He said in my violin were all those things I'm wanting--so bad!" With a little choking breath, David tucked the note back into his pocket and reached for his violin.
Some time later, Mrs.Holly, dusting the chairs in the parlor, stopped her work, tiptoed to the door, and listened breathlessly.

When she turned back, still later, to her work, her eyes were wet.
"I wonder why, when he plays, I always get to thinking of--John," she sighed to herself, as she picked up her dusting-cloth.
After supper that night, Simeon Holly and his wife again sat on the kitchen porch, resting from the labor of the day.

Simeon's eyes were closed.

His wife's were on the dim outlines of the shed, the barn, the road, or a passing horse and wagon.