"We must go home, Georg," said Peter, exchanging his bell for his cap.
"I'm going to run, 'cause I'm so dretful hungry," announced Frieda, disappearing in quest of curds and seed cakes.
"You may all go now," consented the director affably, "but," raising a commanding finger, "we will practise again at seven o'clock to-morrow morning, and whoever is one minute late won't be invited to my party in the afternoon."
"Oh, Georg," wailed Frieda, recalled from the corridor by this edict, "must I come at seven, whether I've had any breakfast or not?"
The leader bowed.
"Whether you have had any breakfast or not," he rejoined firmly.
The children trooped down the stairs, leaving their chief to gather up the toys and place them carefully upon the table.
He was about to leave the room when, for the first time, he discovered that he was not alone.
"Father!" he exclaimed, bounding gladly to the old man's side, and laying one hand affectionately upon his shoulder. "Did you hear us play? Didn't we do well? If only we had a fiddle we could make much better music. Oh, father, it is such fun—why—what's the matter, father? I sharpened your pens and aired your dressing-gown."
The boy's hilarious comments ceased as he became aware of his father's darkened expression, and he hastened to allay the doubts that he supposed to be the cause of this unlooked-for displeasure.