Presently the concert ended, the children scrambled noisily to their feet, and the conductor leaned upon his cane, regarding them with the serene composure of a man who has wrought successfully and is modestly proud of the fact. "We must go home, Georg," said Peter, exchanging his bell for his cap. "I'm going to run, 'cause I'm so dretful hungry," announced Frieda, disappearing in quest of curds and seed cakes. "You may all go now," consented the director affably, "but," raising a commanding finger, "we will practise again at seven o'clock to-morrow morning, and whoever is one minute late won't be invited to my party in the afternoon." "Oh, Georg," wailed Frieda, recalled from the corridor by this edict, "must I come at seven, whether I've had any breakfast or not?" The leader bowed. "Whether you have had any breakfast or not," he rejoined firmly. The children trooped down the stairs, leaving their chief to gather up the toys and place them carefully upon the table. He was about to leave the room when, for the first time, he discovered that he was not alone. "Father!" he exclaimed, bounding gladly to the old man's side, and laying one hand affectionately upon his shoulder. "Did you hear us play? Didn't we do well? If only we had a fiddle we could make much better music. Oh, father, it is such fun--why--what's the matter, father? I sharpened your pens and aired your dressing-gown." The boy's hilarious comments ceased as he became aware of his father's darkened expression, and he hastened to allay the doubts that he supposed to be the cause of this unlooked-for displeasure. "I know, Georg, that you sharpened the pens, and I believe you when you tell me that you aired the dressing-gown, but I shall give you a new duty to-day. See that you perform it promptly!" Georg listened in wonder, for never before had his father addressed him with such hardness of manner, and instinctively the boy drew a pace backward. "A new--duty?" he stammered. "I want you to take those musical toys and throw them into the pond, or give them to some one who never comes into this house." Georg was dumfounded. "Throw them away--my trumpet, my fife, my--" Breathless with consternation the boy rushed to the table and gathered his treasures protectingly in his arms. "These--I must--keep," he asserted chokingly, eying his father from the breastworks of drum and bell. For answer Mr. Händel pointed to the door, and Georg, reading naught but doom in that significant gesture, dropped his toys with a crash and clasped his father's arm beseechingly. "Father, don't make me throw them in the pond! Tell me why it is wrong for me to have them; please, father, tell me!" The old gentleman's face expressed both resolution and kindness.