purples now. Above, the sky in one vast flame of crimson and gold, was
a molten sea on which floated rose-pink cloud-boats. Below, the valley
with its lake and river picked out in rose and gold against the shadowy
greens of field and forest, seemed like some enchanted fairyland of
loveliness.

And all this was in David's violin, and all this, too, was on David's
uplifted, rapturous face.

As the last rose-glow turned to gray and the last strain quivered into
silence, the man spoke. His voice was almost harsh with self-control.

"David, the time has come. We'll have to give it up--you and I."

The boy turned wonderingly, his face still softly luminous.

"Give what up?"

"This--all this."

"This! Why, father, what do you mean? This is home!"

The man nodded wearily.

"I know. It has been home; but, David, you didn't think we could always
live here, like this, did you?"

David laughed softly, and turned his eyes once more to the distant
sky-line.

"Why not?" he asked dreamily. "What better place could there be? I like
it, daddy."

The man drew a troubled breath, and stirred restlessly. The teasing
pain in his side was very bad to-night, and no change of position eased
it. He was ill, very ill; and he knew it. Yet he also knew that, to
David, sickness, pain, and death meant nothing--or, at most, words that
had always been lightly, almost unconsciously passed over. For the
first time he wondered if, after all, his training--some of it--had
been wise.

For six years he had had the boy under his exclusive care and guidance.
For six years the boy had eaten the food, worn the clothing, and
studied the books of his father's choosing. For six years that father
had thought, planned, breathed, moved, lived for his son. There had
been no others in the little cabin. There had been only the occasional
trips through the woods to the little town on the mountain-side for
food and clothing, to break the days of close companionship.

All this the man had planned carefully. He had meant that only the good
and beautiful should have place in David's youth. It was not that he
intended that evil, unhappiness, and death should lack definition, only
definiteness, in the boy's mind. It should be a case where the good and
the beautiful should so fill the thoughts that there would be no room
for anything else. This had been his plan. And thus far he had
succeeded--succeeded so wonderfully that he began now, in the face of
his o