“Just like Beethoven’s things to the Countess von Something, don’t you know!” Phil murmured, awed and rapturous.

When Ken laid the pages down at last, Kirk seized on them, and though they could mean nothing to him but the cool smoothness of paper and the smell of newly dried printers’ ink, he seemed to get an immense satisfaction from them.

But the surprise was not yet over.  Beneath the copy of the song lay a much smaller bit of paper, long, narrow, and greenish.  It bore such words as Central Trust Company, and Pay to the Order of Kenelm Sturgis.  The sum which was to be paid him was such as to make Ken put a hand dramatically to his forehead.  He then produced from his pocket the money which had so nearly gone off in the pocket of the stranger, and stacked it neatly beside his plate.

“One day’s bone labor for man and boat,” he said.  “Less than a quarter as much as what I get for fifteen minutes’ scribbling.”

“And the Maestro says there’ll be more,” Felicia put in; “because there are royalties, which I don’t understand.”

“But,” said Ken, pursuing his line of thought, “I can depend on the Dutchman and my good right arm, and I can’t depend on the Pure Flame of Inspiration, or whatever it’s called, so methinks the Sturgis Water Line will make its first trip at 8:30 promptly to-morrow morning, as advertised.  All the same,” he added jubilantly, “what a tremendous lark it is, to be sure!”

And he gave way suddenly to an outburst of the sheer delight which he really felt, and, leaping up, caught Felicia with one hand and Kirk with the other.  The three executed for a few moments a hilarious ring-around-a-rosy about the table, till Felicia finally protested at the congealing state of the supper, and they all dropped breathless to their seats and fell to without more words.

After supper, Felicia played the Toad Song on the melodeon until it ran in all their heads, and Kirk could be heard caroling it, upstairs, when he was supposed to be settling himself to sleep.

It was not till Ken was bending over the lamp, preparatory to blowing it out, that Phil noticed the bruise above his eye.

“How did you get that, lamb?” she said, touching Ken’s forehead, illuminated by the lamp’s glow.

Ken blew out the flame swiftly, and faced his sister in a room lit only by the faint, dusky reflection of moonlight without.

“Oh, I whacked up against something this afternoon,” he said.  “I’ll put some witch-hazel on it, if you like.”

“I’m so awfully glad about the Toad Song,” whispered Felicia, slipping her hand within his arm.  “Good old brother!”

“Good old Maestro,” said Ken; and they went arm in arm up the steep stairs.