Professor Maxon smiled wanly. He knew that his
daughter was equal to her threat.

"All right, sweetheart, I'll be through by noon for
sure--by noon for sure. Run along and play now, like a
good little girl."

Virginia Maxon shrugged her shapely shoulders and shook
her head hopelessly at the forbidding panels of the door.

"My dolls are all dressed for the day," she cried,
"and I'm tired of making mud pies--I want you to come out
and play with me." But Professor Maxon did not reply--
he had returned to view his grim operations, and the
hideousness of them had closed his ears to the sweet
tones of the girl's voice.

As she turned to retrace her steps to the floor below
Miss Maxon still shook her head.

"Poor old Daddy," she mused, "were I a thousand years
old, wrinkled and toothless, he would still look upon
me as his baby girl."

If you chance to be an alumnus of Cornell you may
recall Professor Arthur Maxon, a quiet, slender,
white-haired gentleman, who for several years was an
assistant professor in one of the departments of
natural science. Wealthy by inheritance, he had chosen
the field of education for his life work solely from a