certain that she understood this? He wondered if it had not been a
great mistake to let her go to Mrs. Vanderlyn, and then laughed
bitterly because he had not "let" her go; a grim necessity had forced
it--it, or something else which might have been much less desirable.

It was almost dinner-time when Anna came--radiantly beautiful, with
her crisp color heightened by the rapid run from her employer's in the
Vanderlyn's great touring-car. She had not wished to ride in it, but
had been told to, so that she might have the time to do some errands
and still get to her home on time.

"It is fine for you, up there, at the great house of Mrs. Vanderlyn,
eh, Anna?" said the old man after they had greeted one another
lovingly.

"But yes," said Anna, "it is pleasant. She is kind--oh, ve-ry kind;
but, father, I miss you! I miss you every day and every hour. Of
mornings, when I rise, I wonder what it is that you are having, down
here in the little home, for breakfast. I wonder if M'riarrr still is
thoughtful and remembers all that she has learned about the sweeping
and the scrrrubbing. I wonder how things went with you the night
before, in that grreat orchestra at that amusement park. Do they still
think the first-flute a gr-r-reat musician, father?"

He smiled. "At the garden none has, so far, made complaint about my
playing," he said slowly, "except that I am not quite willing,
sometimes, to play the music they seem best to like." He would not
have told her all the details of his battles against rag-time, for the
world. "It is music of the negroes, Anna. Er--er--syncopation. Ach!
_What_ syncopation! All right in its place, my dear, but a whole