The Maestro grasped the man's arm fiercely.
"Turn around!" he said. "What do you mean? What can you mean--unless--" He flung his arm suddenly before his eyes, as he met the other's gaze.
"Martin!" he said, in a voice so low that no one but Kirk heard it. And they stood there, quite still in the pale September sunset--the Maestro with his arm across his eyes; the mate of the Celestine with his hands clasped behind him and his lips still shaping the tune of the song his father had made for him.
Ken, within the room, swung Kirk into his arms.
"The library door's open," he whispered to Felicia. "Cut--as fast as ever you can!"
The little living-room of Applegate Farm bloomed once more into firelit warmth. It seemed almost to hold forth, kindly welcoming arms to its children, together again.
"What shall we talk about first?" Felicia sighed, sinking into the hearth chair, with Kirk on her lap. "I never knew so many wildly exciting things to happen all at once!"
It came about, of course, that they talked first of Kirk; but his adventures went hand in hand with the other adventure, and the talk flew back and forth between the Flying Dutchman and the Celestine, Kirk and Mr. Martin--or Martin, the Maestro's son.
"And it was the same old Celestine!" Ken marveled; "that's the queer part." He fidgeted with the tongs for a moment and then said, "You didn't know I once nearly ran away to sea on her, did you?"
Two incredulous voices answered in the negative.