th
a deep, resonant tone, but before the sound had died away, there was an
exclamation of horror in his ears and a firm grip upon his arm.

"Mine brudder's Cremona!" cried the woman, her eyes flashing lightnings
of anger. "You will at once put him down!"

"I beg a thousand pardons! I did not realise--I did not mean--I did not
understand----" He went on with confused explanations and apologies
which availed him nothing. He stood before her, convicted and shamed, as
one who had profaned the household god.

Wiping her hands upon her apron, she went to her work-box, took out her
knitting, and sat down between Lynn and the piano. The chair was hard
and uncompromising, with an upright back, but she disdained even that
support and sat proudly erect.

There was no sound save the click of the needles, and she kept her eyes
fixed upon her work. After an awkward silence, Lynn made one or two
tentative efforts toward conversation, but each opening proved
fruitless, and at length he seriously meditated flight.

The approach to the door was covered, but there were plenty of windows,
and it would be an easy drop to the ground. He smiled as he saw himself,
mentally, achieving escape in this manner and running all the way home.

"I wonder," he mused, "where in the dickens 'mine brudder' is!"

The face of the woman before him was still flushed and the movement of
the needles betrayed her excitement. He noted that she wore no wedding
ring and surmised that she was a little older than his mother. Her
features were hard, and her thin, straight hair was brushed tightly back
and fastened in a little knot at the back of her head. It was not unlike
a door knob, and he began to wonder what would happen if he should turn
it.

His irrepressible spirits bubbled over and he coughed violently into his
handkerchief, feeling himself closely scrutinised meanwhile. The
situation was relieved by the sound of footsteps and the vigorous slam
of the lower door.

Still keeping the piano, with its precious burden, within range of her
vision, Fraeulein Kaufmann moved toward the door. "Franz! Franz!" she
called. "Come here!"

"One minute!" The voice was deep and musical and had a certain lyric
quality. When he came up, there was a conversation in indignant German
which was brief but sufficient.

"I can see," said Lynn to himself, "that I am not to study with Herr
Kaufmann."

Just then he came in, gave Lynn a quick, suspicious glance, took up the