"I'm David. I told you."
"But David who? Where do you live?"
The boy's face clouded.
"I'm David—just David. I live at Farmer Holly's now; but I did live on the mountain with—father, you know."
A great light of understanding broke over Miss Holbrook's face. She dropped back into her seat.
"Oh, I remember," she murmured. "You're the little—er—boy whom he took. I have heard the story. So THAT is who you are," she added, the old look of aversion coming back to her eyes. She had almost said "the little tramp boy"—but she had stopped in time.
"Yes. And now what do they mean, please,—those words,—'I count no hours but unclouded ones'?"
Miss Holbrook stirred in her seat and frowned.
"Why, it means what it says, of course, boy. A sundial counts its hours by the shadow the sun throws, and when there is no sun there is no shadow; hence it's only the sunny hours that are counted by the dial," she explained a little fretfully.
David's face radiated delight.