olin that's
priceless, for all I know. Anyhow, I do know that its value is reckoned
in the thousands, not hundreds: and yet you, with equal calmness, tell
me it's owned by this boy who, it's safe to say, doesn't know how to
play sixteen notes on it correctly, to say nothing of appreciating
those he does play; and who, by your own account, is nothing but--" A
swiftly uplifted hand of warning stayed the words on his lips. He
turned to see David himself in the doorway.

"Come in, David," said Simeon Holly quietly. "My son wants to hear you
play. I don't think he has heard you." And again there flashed from
Simeon Holly's eyes a something very much like humor.

With obvious hesitation John Holly relinquished the violin. From the
expression on his face it was plain to be seen the sort of torture he
deemed was before him. But, as if constrained to ask the question, he
did say:--

"Where did you get this violin, boy?"

"I don't know. We've always had it, ever since I could remember--this
and the other one."

"The OTHER one!"

"Father's."

"Oh!" He hesitated; then, a little severely, he observed: "This is a
fine instrument, boy,--a very fine instrument."

"Yes," nodded David, with a cheerful smile. "Father said it was. I like
it, too. This is an Amati, but the other is a Stradivarius. I don't
know which I do like best, sometimes, only this is mine."

With a half-smothered ejaculation John Holly fell back limply.

"Then you--do--know?" he challenged.

"Know--what?"

"The value of that violin in your hands."

There was no answer. The boy's eyes were questioning.

"The worth, I mean,--what it's worth."

"Why, no--yes--that is, it's worth everything--to me," answered David,
in a puzzled voice.

With an impatient gesture John Holly brushed this aside.

"But the other one--where is that?"

"At Joe Glaspell's. I gave it to him to play on, because he had n't
any, and he liked to play so well."

"You GAVE it to him--a Stradivarius!"

"I loaned it to him," corrected David, in a troubled voice. "Being
father's, I couldn't bear to give it away. But Joe--Joe had to have
something to play on."

"'Something to play on'! Father, he doesn't mean the River Street
Glaspells?" cried John Holly.

"I think he does. Joe is old Peleg Glaspell's grandson." John Holly
threw up both his hands.

"A Stradivarius--to old Peleg's grandson! Oh, ye gods!" he muttered.
"Well, I'll be--" He did not finish his sentence. At another