way. Come, let's go into the waiting-room and talk it up."

It was not until after considerable discussion that their plans were
finally made and their line of march decided upon. To advance in the
open and take the house by storm was clearly out of the question, though
Ned remarked that in all probability the dear old creatures would be
dozing before the fire, and would not discover their approach. Still, it
would be wiser to be on the safe side; and it was unanimously voted that
Frank should go ahead alone and reconnoiter, preparing the way for the
rest, who could wait, meanwhile, at the little hotel not far from the
house.

The short winter day had drawn almost to a close when Frank turned in at
the familiar gate of the Bertram homestead. His hand had not reached the
white knob of the bell, however, when the eager expectancy of his face
gave way to incredulous amazement; from within, clear and distinct, had
come the sound of a violin.

"Why, what--" he cried under his breath, and softly pushed open the
door.

The hall was almost dark, but the room beyond was a blaze of light, with
the curtains drawn, and apparently every lamp the house contained
trimmed and burning. He himself stood in the shadow, and his entrance
had been unnoticed, though almost the entire expanse of the room before
him was visible through the half-open doorway.

In the farther corner of the room a large evergreen tree, sparkling with
candles and tinsel stars, was hung with bags of pink and white tarletan
and festoons of puffy popcorn. Near it sat an old man playing the