see no further service to be rendered, "do
you mind telling me who you are, and how you came to be the center of
attraction for the blows and cuffs of six boys?"

"I'm David, and I wanted the cat," returned the boy simply.

"Well, that's direct and to the point, to say the least," laughed the
man. "Evidently, however, you're in the habit of being that. But,
David, there were six of them,--those boys,--and some of them were
larger than you."

"Yes, sir."

"And they were so bad and cruel," chimed in the little girl.

The man hesitated, then questioned slowly.

"And may I ask you where you--er--learned to--fight like that?"

"I used to box with father. He said I must first be well and strong. He
taught me jiujitsu, too, a little; but I couldn't make it work very
well--with so many."

"I should say not," adjudged the man grimly. "But you gave them a
surprise or two, I'll warrant," he added, his eyes on the cause of the
trouble, now curled in a little gray bunch of content on the window
sill. "But I don't know yet who you are. Who is your father? Where does
he live?"

David shook his head. As was always the case when his father was
mentioned, his face grew wistful and his eyes dreamy.

"He doesn't live here anywhere," murmured the boy. "In the far country
he is waiting for me to come to him and tell him of the beautiful world
I have found, you know."

"Eh? What?" stammered the man, not knowing whether to believe his eyes,
or his ears. This boy who fought like a demon and talked like a saint,
and who, though battered and bruised, prattled of the "beautiful world"
he had found, was most disconcerting.

"Why, Jack, don't you know?" whispered the little girl agitatedly.
"He's the boy at Mr. Holly's that they took." Then, still more softly:
"He's the little tramp boy. His father died in the barn."

"Oh," said the man, his face clearing, and his eyes showing a quick
sympathy. "You're the boy at the Holly farmhouse, are you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And he plays the fiddle everywhere," volunteered the little girl, with
ardent admiration. "If you hadn't been shut up sick just now, you'd
have heard him yourself. He plays everywhere--everywhere he goes."

"Is that so?" murmured Jack politely, shuddering a little at what he
fancied would come from a violin played by a boy like the one before
him. (Jack could play the violin himself a little--enough to know it
some, and love it more.) "Hm-m; well, and what else do you do?"