"Nothing, except to go for walks and read."

"Nothing!--a big boy like you--and on Simeon Holly's farm?" Voice and
manner showed that Jack was not unacquainted with Simeon Holly and his
methods and opinions.

David laughed gleefully.

"Oh, of course, REALLY I do lots of things, only I don't count those
any more. 'Horas non numero nisi serenas,' you knew," he quoted
pleasantly, smiling into the man's astonished eyes.

"Jack, what was that--what he said?" whispered the little girl. "It
sounded foreign. IS he foreign?"

"You've got me, Jill," retorted the man, with a laughing grimace.
"Heaven only knows what he is--I don't. What he SAID was Latin; I do
happen to know that. Still"--he turned to the boy ironically--"of
course you know the translation of that," he said.

"Oh, yes. 'I count no hours but unclouded ones'--and I liked that. 'T
was on a sundial, you know; and I'M going to be a sundial, and not
count, the hours I don't like--while I'm pulling up weeds, and hoeing
potatoes, and picking up stones, and all that. Don't you see?"

For a moment the man stared dumbly. Then he threw back his head and
laughed.

"Well, by George!" he muttered. "By George!" And he laughed again.
Then: "And did your father teach you that, too?" he asked.

"Oh, no,--well, he taught me Latin, and so of course I could read it
when I found it. But those 'special words I got off the sundial where
my Lady of the Roses lives."

"Your--Lady of the Roses! And who is she?"

"Why, don't you know? You live right in sight of her house," cried
David, pointing to the towers of Sunnycrest that showed above the
trees. "It's over there she lives. I know those towers now, and I look
for them wherever I go. I love them. It makes me see all over again the
roses--and her."

"You mean--Miss Holbrook?"

The voice was so different from the genial tones that he had heard
before that David looked up in surprise.

"Yes; she said that was her name," he answered, wondering at the
indefinable change that had come to the man's face.

There was a moment's pause, then the man rose to his feet.

"How's your head? Does it ache?" he asked briskly.

"Not much--some. I--I think I'll be going," replied David, a little
awkwardly, reaching for his violin, and unconsciously showing by his
manner the sudden chill in the atmosphere.

The little girl spoke then. She overwhelmed him again with thanks, and
pointed to the contented kitten on the window sill. True, sh