"You see," he explained with the easy patronage of a captain who has led his troops to victory, but who is about to be promoted out of their midst, "it is not as though I were to be a musician when I grow up. It is all well enough for you fellows to play on these things every day, but I really ought not to waste my time with them, for," importantly, "when I am a man, I am going to be a jurist." "A _what_?" demanded his hearers in one breath, much impressed by the high-sounding title. "A jurist," Georg repeated, folding his arms, much gratified at the effect his announcement had produced. "What does a--a jurist do?" inquired Frieda, feminine curiosity conquering her awe. "Oh," replied Georg easily, "a jurist, Frieda, writes down in a book everything that people ought to do, and when they don't do just as he has written, he cuts off their heads." "Ach!" "Their heads?" "You will learn to cut them off?" Georg bowed. "Now you understand why I must give up the orchestra. If you decide to keep on without me, perhaps, sometime--" He was turning away with a kingly wave of the hand, his last sentence unfinished, when a question from Peter recalled him to the second and most distressing part of his mission. "You'll have your party to-morrow afternoon? We needn't play on things, you know." The blood mounted to Georg's forehead, and his fingers twitched uncomfortably; but he managed to speak so boldly that his listeners were quite unaware of his struggle. "I am glad you mentioned the party, Peter, for I had nearly forgotten it. No, I won't have any party, and I must tell you--at least, father says--that--that Hans and Otto and Gretchen and Leopold must not come to my house any more. Of course," he added hastily, seeking to drown the gasps of his troopers, "it isn't that you're not good enough and nice enough for me to play with, but father says that you four are very musical, and you might make me musical too; but Frieda and Peter can come, for they are dull." "I hate your old tunes and notes, anyway," protested Peter, much injured; but Frieda cut him short with the excited proposal,-- "Let's have your party for Peter and me and you, to-morrow!" "_Have_ your party! _Have_ your party!" sneered Otto; and Hans informed Georg in biting tones that he wouldn't forget this when his birthday came next month. Here Georg visibly weakened, for he remembered that Hans was expecting either a violin or a flute upon that occasion, and he nearly lost his studied indifference with the recollection. He was obliged to face about, to hide the sudden teardrops that glistened on his cheeks; and, marching proudly toward his father's pasture, with head high in air, and back steadily kept toward his forsaken band, he called out,-- "I'm not mad at you, but you can be mad at me if you like. I won't have a party to-morrow for Frieda and Peter, 'cause I like Hans and Otto better than I do them, 'cause they know how to keep time when I beat."