There was no use arguing; the children were convinced. They were sure of the piano.
"There, mamma, didn't we tell you so," they cried, as Max came in, mysterious and exasperating.
"Father says the surprise will be ready for you to-morrow afternoon at three o'clock in the sitting room," he cried, and was gone, leaving a momentary vision of a bright patch in the seat of his breeches.
"Poor child," thought the little mother, regretfully; "he is all in rags—I wish I had some money!" with a patient sigh.
"There, mamma, we told you so! It'll stand by the window in the corner of the sitting-room," two excited voices cried, and the next moment the sitting-room was invaded by two small figures who looked at the empty corner by the window with delicious
expectancy; and so the day went slowly by.
In another room the little mother looked at her husband wistfully. "Karl," she began, timidly, "have you really prepared a surprise for the children? You won't disappoint them?"
"Betty, don't say a word! Wait! Did I ever disappoint you?"
Betty turned away with a half-suppressed sigh, while papa Karl strode up and down the room grandly, virtuously, with a good deal of injured innocence in his face.