Mrs. Bach was kneeling before the open fireplace, busily engaged in turning the fowl that browned so temptingly above the blaze; but upon Sebastian's entrance, she rose and approached him with a troubled look. "Christoff is very angry with you," she whispered, indicating the chamber above with a motion of her hand. "Angry with me? What for? What's wrong?" exclaimed Sebastian astonished. Before she could reply, a door above was heard to open, and down the wooden stairway at the end of the kitchen rushed Christoff Bach, his face purple, his eyes gleaming. Seizing Sebastian roughly by the arm, he loudly demanded,-- "What do you mean by stealing my pieces, and trying to learn them behind my back, so that the town can laugh at me when you perform?" "Steal! Laugh!" echoed Sebastian blankly, unable to comprehend his brother's meaning. "Don't pretend to be innocent! You can't hoodwink me any longer, my young cub. I'll see that nothing like this occurs again." "What have I done, Christoff? I don't know what you mean." "You stole my book that I copied at Arnstadt, taking pains to lay hold of it while I was safe at Gotha." "I didn't _steal_ it," returned Sebastian horrified. "You didn't? What do you call your going into my room, taking music without my permission, and practising it while I am out of town?" "I didn't suppose you would care a bit. I thought if I learned one or two of Pachelbel's fugues, it would be a nice surprise for you when you came back from Gotha." "A nice surprise! Ha, ha! Ho, ho! I suppose that next time I go from home for a week you will surprise me by pilfering the contents of my money-drawer." "I _didn't_ steal, I _didn't steal_ the book," protested Sebastian, paling under the sting of his brother's taunt. "No, no, Christoff, I'm sure the boy meant no harm," interposed Mrs. Bach, touching her husband's arm with a coaxing gesture; "I knew that he borrowed your music book, but I thought also that you would be pleased with his desire to study it." "Then you, too, are engaged in a plot to ruin me!" shrieked the organist, carried quite beyond himself by the fury of his jealousy; "I'll see whether I am not to be master in my own house. If I can't leave my belongings in my room without fear that my brother will use them expressly to injure me, and that my wife will help him along with the scheme, I'll begin to put them out of reach!" Snatching up Sebastian's music bag, Christoff, too impatient to loose its fastenings of hook and tape, ripped it apart, seized his roll of manuscript, thrust it into the shelf of a side cupboard, slammed the steel wicker door, locked it grimly, and pocketed the key. "Let's have dinner," he growled, drawing out his chair noisily, and dropping into his place at table without a glance toward either member of his household.