There were no airy cloud-boats, no far-reaching sky, no birds, or murmuring forest brooks in his music this time.

There were only the poverty-stricken room, the dirty street, the boy alone at the window, with his sightless eyes--the boy who never, never would know what a beautiful world he lived in.
Then suddenly to David came a new thought.

This boy, Joe, had said before that he understood.

He had seemed to know that he was being told of the sunny skies and the forest winds, the singing birds and the babbling brooks.

Perhaps again now he would understand.
What if, for those sightless eyes, one could create a world?
Possibly never before had David played as he played then.