Suzanna, at some new electric quality in her father's voice, sprang forward. He procured a chair, placed it directly before the cabinet, drew the flexible arm till the helmet rested perhaps four inches above the child's head but did not touch it, pulled forward the telescope and focused its lens upon her expectant face. "Watch the plate glass," he said in a tense whisper, and Suzanna kept her eyes as directed. A moment passed. No sound came but the rhythmic ticking. The inventor's face was white. His eyes, dark, held a gleam and a prayer. Another space, and then very slowly a shadowy line of color played upon the glass set between the two tubes; color so faint, so delicate, that Suzanna wondered if she saw clearly. But the color strengthened, and at last all saw plainly a line of rich deep purple touched with gold. It remained there triumphant upon the glass, a royal bar. Silent moments breathed themselves away, for the test had come and it had not failed. Suzanna, at last moving her gaze from the color registered, turned to her father. She saw, with a leap of the heart, that his eyes were wet. He seemed to have turned to an immovable image, and yet never did life seem to flow out so richly from him. Peter broke the quiet. "What does it mean, daddy, that color?" he asked. Suddenly galvanized, Mr. Procter ran to the stairs outside. His voice rang out like a bell. "Jane, come, come!" Mrs. Procter, in the kitchen, caught the exultant note in his voice. She was stirring batter for a cake, but she flung down the spoon and ran up the stairs. "Oh, Richard, what is it," she cried, as she reached him. His eyes, half frightened, half elated, looked into hers. "I will show you," he cried. He took her hand and led her to The Machine before which Suzanna still sat. The wave of color still persisted on the glass. "See," he said, "registered color, for which I have worked and worked, died a thousand deaths of despair, and been resurrected to hope. This afternoon the color seemed promised, and so in fear and trembling I placed Suzanna before the machine." "Oh, my dear, my dear, after all these years!" She lifted her face and kissed him solemnly. And then Peter repeated his question, to which before there had been no answer. "What does the color mean, daddy?" he asked. "Two colors recording in that manner means great versatility; purple means the artist, probably a writer." Peter looked his bewilderment. His mother, smiling a little, reduced the explanation to simpler form. Even then Peter was befogged. The inventor went to a remote corner and brought forth a large book containing many pages. This he placed upon a small table, and the children and their mother crowded about him, eager to see and to hear.