that added ten
years to his age.

The subdued clatter of dishes from the kitchen finally ceased and Elsa
came through the room. Her father stopped her as she passed and put his
arm about her waist.

"Sweetheart, don't be cross with me," he said. "It's just that Papa so
loves to have his little girl with him."

Elsa put her hand on his gray head and looked down into his face but
said nothing.

"Come now," he went on, "sing a little song of forgiveness with me."

Still with his arm about her he played with one hand and sang as he
played:

"Du, du! liegst mir im Herzen!
Du, du! liegst mir im Sinn!
Du! du! machst mir viel Schmerzen
Weiss nicht wie gut ich dir bin."

There was a sudden ring at the doorbell and with a little laugh that was
half a sob, Elsa hurried to let Uncle Hugo in. He was tall, thin and
blonde, yet his resemblance to Mamma Wolf, his sister, was unmistakable.

"So! We make a little music to-night," he boomed in a rich bass, "and
the audience is set," bowing ironically to Roger, still in the clouds,
and Ernest, his head still in the paper. "Where is the Muetterchen?"

"Coming in a minute," called Mamma, from the dining room. "I can hear.
Go ahead."

Elsa sat down at the piano. Papa Wolf opened his 'cello case. Uncle Hugo
put his silver flute to his lips and played a tentative sweet note. In a
moment the strains of Schubert's Serenade, exquisitely rendered, filled
the quiet house. Roger relighted his pipe and let it go out. Whenever
over her shoulder, Elsa cast a quick glance at him, his gaze was
fastened intently on the ceiling.

For an hour the music continued without interruption. Then the doorbell
rang again and Ernest went to answer it.

"Come into the den so we won't disturb the concert," Roger heard him
say. "Rog, come in here, will you?"

Roger obediently made his way into a little room off the dining room,
devoted to the men of the household. A short smooth-shaven, sandy-haired
man was standing by the reading table. Roger and he shook hands.

"I've been talking to Dr. Austin a good deal about your solar heat
apparatus, Rog," said Ernest, "and he's got a proposition to make. Let's
sit down and talk it out."

He pushed a jar of tobacco toward Austin and the three men, eyeing one
another with frank interest, settled themselves in the easy chairs which
Ernest indicated with a nod.

"I think Ernest said that you represent the Smithsonian Institute,"
Roger said. "Wha