irely mechanical,
instead of emotional. It is perfect, but, like most of our other arts,
it is almost completely without feeling."

"But your statues are wonderful!"

"As I told you, those statues were made myriads of years ago. At that
time we also had real music, but, unlike statuary, music at that time
could not be preserved for posterity. That is another thing you have
given us. Attend!"

At one end of the room, as upon a three-dimensional screen, the four
Terrestrials saw themselves seated in the control-room of the _Skylark_.
They saw and heard Margaret take up her guitar, and strike four sonorous
chords in "A." Then, as if they had been there in person, they heard
themselves sing "The Bull-Frog" and all the other songs they had sung,
far off in space. They heard Margaret suggest that Dorothy play some
"real music," and heard Seaton's comments upon the quartette.

"In that, youngster, you were entirely wrong," said Orlon, stopping the
reproduction for a moment. "The entire planet was listening to you very
attentively--we were enjoying it as no music has been enjoyed for
thousands of years."

"The whole planet!" gasped Margaret. "Were you broadcasting it? How
could you?"

"Easy," grinned Seaton. "They can do most anything with these rays of
theirs."

"When you have time, in some period of labor, we would appreciate it
very much if you four would sing for us again, would give us more of
your vast store of youthful music, for we can now preserve it exactly as
it is sung. But much as we enjoyed the quartette, Mrs. Seaton, it was
your work upon the violin that took us by storm. Beginning with
tomorrow, my companion intends to have you spend as many periods as you
will, playing for our records. We shall now have your music."

"If you like it so well, wouldn't you rather I'd play you something I
hadn't played before?"

"That is labor. We could not...."

"Piffle!" Dorothy interrupted. "Don't you see that I could really play
right now, with somebody to listen, who really enjoys music; whereas, if
I tried to play in front of a record, I'd be perfectly mechanical?"

"'At-a-girl, Dot! I'll get your fiddle."

"Keep your seat, son," instructed Orlon, as the case containing the
Stradivarius appeared before Dorothy, borne by a pencil of force. "While
that temperament is incomprehensible to every one of us, it is
undoubtedly true that the artistic mind does work in that manner. We
listen."

Dorothy swept into "Th